Tag: via Garibaldi

Venetian-ness

Sandro: Here’s looking at you

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A few days ago this simple notice was stuck on the glass of the front door of the Trattoria alla Rampa del Piave.  That’s the exactly joint three steps from the fruit and vegetable boat and, more to the point, is by the balustrade where Sandro Nardo would sell his fish.

“Sandro has been gone for a year,” it says; “Today he’s standing drinks to all his friends.”  (Giorgio Nardo is his brother, Cristina is Giorgio’s wife.)  I asked Fabio at the bar of the trattoria how many friends had showed up to drink to Sandro’s memory: “One hundred?  Two hundred?”  An amiable shrug meant “At the very least.”  A free drink?  He was my best friend!  I apologize for the reflections on the image, but this is the best I could do.

He was no amateur just out making a little extra money — I don’t know that he had any other source of income.  In any case, he was always out, night and/or day, depending on whatever conditions were most favorable for a reasonable haul.

And then he’d weigh and bag whatever he’d caught, and in the late morning he would come and pile the bags on the balustrade.  He wasn’t there every day; it seemed kind of random.  Monday was often a good day to find him, as the fish shop is closed on Mondays.  And the balustrade was a prime spot, being at a sort of crossroads as well as a point where the street narrows dramatically.  It slows people down enough to give them time to glance, at least, at what he had caught.

We didn’t often buy from him — his prices were no bargain — but we rarely resisted when he had seppie because it’s not easy to find them fresh.

The very useful balustrade at the bottom of via Garibaldi makes a fine temporary sales counter.  The plaque is attached to the iron fence where it meets the marble.
This extraordinary memorial appeared a few months after his demise, and is attached to the metal fence by the canal.  “Here Nardo fisherman sold his fish and his history.  Here we LAST Castellani will remember him with unaltered affection down to the very last one of us.”  This likeness isn’t excessively accurate, but it does at least give him a lifelike aspect.  My own few recollections of him at work focused on the toil involved in unsnagging the fish from the net.  I speak from modest experience that a fish’s fins seem to have been created to get tangled up in filaments of nylon.  As to “selling his history,” I have no idea what is meant by that, but considering how taciturn he was, anything verbal must have been really expensive.

We went to his funeral at the church of San Pietro di Castello. It’s a big place, but it was crammed; I’m sure the entire neighborhood must have been there.  This was impressive, though not entirely surprising.

What truly surprised me was Nicola (probably not his real name, but the one he goes by).  He’s a wiry, gristly bantamweight Romanian man who showed up in the neighborhood some years ago.  At first he seemed to be just an anonymous mendicant who had installed himself between the fish shop and the vegetable boat.  Tourists passing — there used to be lots, all aiming for the Biennale — would make their contributions.

Then gradually he wove himself into the neighborhood net, doing odd jobs, mopping boats, helping with the loading and unloading of the fruit/vegetable boat, and so on.  By now everyone calls him by name, and he reciprocates.

But now we’re all at the funeral.  The service is over, and the casket is being wheeled out to the canal where the hearse is waiting, rolling along a paved walkway lined with everybody from within the radius of a mile.  Nicola is standing near us, all by himself, clutching his baseball cap, and he looks stricken.  I have no idea what his interactions with Sandro ever were, but they must have been important because he is weeping.  A lot of people are sad, but he seems to be the only person in tears.

Having nothing else, he wipes his eyes with his baseball cap.

You couldn’t make a memorial plaque big enough to match that.

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Venetian Events

Redentore, the best we could do

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Some weather on Friday evening slightly bedraggled the lanterny lights that usually give a happy glow to alfresco feasting along the Giudecca. This in itself doesn’t ruin the party, but it doesn’t help.

When last we spoke, Venice was on the verge of its annual celebration of the feast of the Redentore (held last Sunday).  By now the festa has come and gone, but this year the difference between the two was minimal.  “Reduced form” is the boilerplate description, but if you reduce something past a certain point it just isn’t it anymore.

We did not have fireworks, as all the world knows.  Without fireworks, I discovered, the festa can’t achieve liftoff.  Yes, people did come to Venice — according to La Nuova Venezia, 108 tables had been reserved for the usual dinners outside (68 of them along the fondamenta of the Giudecca), and a total of some 15,000 people came to join the Venetians making some sort of merry.  Fifteen thousand may sound good compared to nothing (let us cast our minds back to the desolation of the total lockdown), but it represented less than a fifth of the number that crammed the city last year.  I used to hate the cramming, but without it the evening felt strangely deflated.  No, actually, it felt partially deflated, which is not much better.

Seeing that we did not go roaming the city in search of entertainment, I only know what I saw in our little lobe of land, or what the newspaper reports.  It says that there were people eating outside around the city, along fondamente big or small, or in their boats tied up in the Grand Canal or some other major waterways.  That sounds nice.

To warm the general atmosphere to an even happier level, four large boats bearing a total of some 30 Venetian musicians moved around the Grand Canal, the Giudecca Canal and the Bacino of San Marco.  Floating music has a long tradition in this festival, although in recent years it has been co-opted by the big party boats blaring music at levels that would pulverize a small planet.  It must have been wonderful to have a bouncier, smaller sort of soundtrack as the evening drew on (for the record, the participants were Batisto Coco, Josmil Neris and Laguna Swing, Pitura Stail and Ska-j).  All these groups are on YouTube, and here is a small clip that shows how little it took — at least, compared to the labor and cost of a 30-minute fireworks display — to get the party going.

It looks really sweet and I send huge compliments to the organizers, etc.  Unhappily for us, none of these boats made it down as far as via Garibaldi — or at least not during the brief period I was roaming the waterfront.  So if this sort of thing is ever organized again (and I hope it will be, though probably everyone will want fireworks again), the landlubbers need to lub somewhere further afield.

So I can only report on Redentore as observed south of the Arsenal and north of Sant’ Elena.  But I will throw in some of the races held on Sunday afternoon, and a glimpse of the Patriarch going to mass, if that will help liven things up.  We’ll hope for better and happier things next year.

The late afternoon scene was a little melancholy. At this point, in a normal world, this stretch of water would have been a turmoil of boats arriving and moving around and getting settled for the evening.
There was a moment when weather looked like it was working up some fireworks of its own, but then it moved away.
The Riva Sette Martiri is usually lined with enormous luxury yachts, driving the mobs crazy by blocking the view of the fireworks.  These obviously did not present a problem.  It was kind of touching, seeing yachts again, no matter how small and unassuming.  This marks a kind of milestone in the return to normalcy.
Getting ready for company, and lots of it, too. Via Garibaldi in the late afternoon seemed like one long table.
Most of the tables were reserved, even if they were merely the picnic type.
Individual tables have been separated, at least somewhat. But if your party consists of 30 friends and family, you’re not going to start measuring distances.
Many people were looking very nice indeed. Not what one usually imagines with the word “tourist.”

Almost all the restaurants add more tables and the police look the other way. But this is sublime! Need two more tables? There’s plenty of room in the middle of via Garibaldi. People can just walk around them.
And they did.
More expansion into the mainstream, cleverly delimited by fake boxwoods.
Just one more table? What a fabulous problem to have — needing more room — after the Long Closing of the spring.
The waiter is wearing a mask because he’s going inside so often. Also, he probably isn’t related to any of this group. Also, I think it’s required.
There was music here too — several places had live performers.  The night’s still young, so the band hasn’t set up yet.
Of course there are dogs. There are always dogs. But the street is uncharacteristically uncrammed.  It feels a little strange.

A few families staked out their own territory, the basic building block of the festival. Forego fireworks? If we must. Forego food with the folks? No. Just no.

Neighborhood folks haven’t yet been outnumbered by the visitors. With plenty dogs and kids, it’s just a normal summer night on the street.
The votive bridge got a reasonable amount of traffic, but as many seem to be going as coming. There was one balloon vendor, but no stands selling candy or cotton candy. No parish charity lottery, no stand selling products made by the prisoners. We were down to the bare bones.
However, there were more spectators at the races than usual. I heard several people remark on it.
Masks aren’t required outdoors, as you see. But plenty of people keep one on hand, if they should need to go into a bar/cafe, or take the vaporetto. Passengers aren’t allowed to board if a mask is not already in place.
There are three races: Young men on pupparinos, older men on pupparinos, and men on gondolas. The blue boat has just crossed the finish line, marked by the vertical cord in the wooden frame, which is aligned with a marker further out in the canal.

Andrea Bertoldini and Mattia Colombi winning for the second year in a row.  They were at least one boat-length ahead of their closest competitor.
The battle for third place came down to the last few seconds.
Well, that’s settled!

To enter the church required a line, of course; this year, a modest and very orderly line. Hand sanitizer on the table at the entrance, clearly marked entrance and exit (no more milling around), and monks with masks. It was all rather subdued.
The Patriarch of Venice (last seen at the festa of San Piero at the end of June), arriving to get garbed for the big ceremonial procession.

 

 

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Eating out at home

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The restaurants lining via Garibaldi are opening up — at least as far as they can, which is summed up in a word: “Takeaway.”  I hear that the coronavirus-adaptive procedures at restaurants here are essentially the same in the U.S. these days, but still thought I’d show how the local places, and a bar and a pastry shop, are starting to make do while awaiting the next directives on their future.  A hint has already been released that restaurants and hair salons may be allowed to open before June 1, to universal rejoicing.

Here is a look at ViaGaribaldiWorld and environs at the moment, as seen through hungry eyes (those of the customer, as well as the proprietor).

Majer was the first shop I noticed that was starting to spread its commercial wings, so to speak. Once a small family bakery, it is now a local chain that sells bread, cookies, pastries, and some modest additions (small pizzas, soup, sandwiches) as well.  The outside tables are always full in the summer, but obviously we can’t be waiting for the jeunesse doree’ to come back.  I’m not a frequent customer — the space is awkward, the staff apathetic and disagreeable, the prices unreasonable even by Venice standards, but hey — after ten weeks of your own cooking, I could see the appeal.
Mostly finger food is available, which is what you’d expect from basically a bakery.  Bread, pizza (those would be small pizzas, the size of a flattened baseball), first courses (meaning pasta or rice, which can also be served cold), “salty cakes,” more like pies,that usually involve a crust and a cheese or other filling, and arancini, or fried spheres the size of unflattened baseballs made of compressed rice, sometimes with a filling.
This is the sort of pizza (called “pizzette,” or little pizzas) I am referring to, although these aren’t from Majer, but from the window of “El Forner,” a bakery near campo San Giovanni e Bragora.
“Take-Away” needs no translation, but they just want to make sure you’re not imagining you can have your sacred spritz at the bar.  “Bar Service Closed.”  Then the usual terms are listed:  The opening hours and days, the requirement that only one person enter at a time, the wearing of mask and gloves.
“Nevodi” is Venetian for “nipoti,” which means both “nephews” and “nieces” (the preposition tells you which it is) and also means “grandsons” and “granddaughters.”  (Don’t blame me.  Evidently the word-coining machine broke down and everyone decided just to make do with what they had.)  Speaking of coining words, the yellow sign introduces a new one: “Nevodita’.”  Interpreting the suffix in the usual way, it indicates “state of being of.”  (“Venezianita’,” the quality or essence of Venetian-ness,)  So they’ve created a word for the special state of being that their cuisine inspires.
When Nevodi was preparing its transformation to takeaway, some explanation was in order.  For several days before May 5, this helpful sign was posted at the door: “On Tuesday May 5 we’ll start takeaway,” they wrote in Italian.  Then, in Venetian, they added: “Che saria el Porta Via” (che sarebbe il Portare Via) — “that would be take away”).  The sign continues: “During the next few days I’ll explain to you how it works.”
This is the procedure, here and at most of the other restaurants:  “For reservations, please send a message with your order, the time and your name for pickup.  Once you have received our confirmation, all you need to do is come by at the agreed time.  For anyone who doesn’t use WhatsApp, you can telephone at both of the numbers on the little card here.”  They have added a glamorous extra feature: “If you want to receive the daily menu via WhatsApp, send a message on WhatsApp to (number and name and surname). “
Nevodi: Ready with the list of wines taped on the bar.  There is a prohibition against drinking outside these establishments, so I don’t know how to interpret the bottles and glasses.  But the barista is happy.  “I’m smiling,” he said behind his mask.  “I can tell,” I answered.
People began to stop, and orders undoubtedly followed.  Maybe they’re waiting to pick up the orders that they had already made.  But I also saw people stopping in front of restaurants seemingly  just to talk to each other, whether or not they were customers in the common sense.  It would seem that places with food and drink magnetically draw people to each other.  An industry expert said openly that one of the purposes of the takeaway phase isn’t just to try to scrape up money for the light bills (my phrasing), but to create and maintain links with their customers.  Jump-start the instincts that send you out of the house in search of something different to nosh, an instinct that has been dormant far too long.
Most places make it clear that you are not allowed to consume your purchase anywhere near the establishment.  Outside Hopera the instinct to stand around with your drink is just too strong, but there would have been fines if any roaming policeman had seen this.

“Strani” bar has been offering delivery of kits for making your favorite aperitivi, neatly packaged in little glass flacons.  Mojito, Caipirinha, Caipiroska, Americano, Negroni, Long Island, Sex on the Beach, can be yours starting at only 3 euros each, but the minimum order is 20 euros.  (It’s not clear whether they include the ice or not.)  They deliver anywhere in Castello, which is impressive, considering that Castello is the largest sestiere in Venice.
Gelato is a special challenge for takeaway — it’s one thing for your hot food to arrive at your home cold, but it’s another for something cold…you see my point.  It is absolutely forbidden to eat gelato, like any other food, on the street, so takeaway means employing special styrofoam boxes that  manage to keep the gelato cold for a reasonable time.  The Gelateria Crystal is offering the most basic, fundamental flavors AND home delivery (yes!).
A gelateria at Sant’ Antonin makes the terms very clear.  The chalkboard shows the hours, mentions gelato and crepes, and “DA PORTARE VIA!” (to take away).
“Just Take Away — Only takeaway boxes.  No cones, no cups.  Please maintain the security distance and use the protective devices stipulated by the current regulations in force.”  Impressive, as long as you know what those are.  Do we have a failed law student here?  The same amount of time and energy, and perhaps even individual letters, could have produced the much simpler and more common “wear mask and gloves.”
The Bar/pastry shop Chiusso, in Salizzada dei Greci, has managed to keep going by selling some of its products in the fresh-pasta-and-expensive-condiments shop on the other side of the street. They’ve used a few other stratagems too, such as home delivery. They have a clientele (including us) that would require an hour on the rack to reach the point of renouncing their pastries.
They too are now surviving on takeaway business, as per the sign: “From Monday May 4 the shop will be open from 9:00 AM to 2:00 PM for your order pickups.”  The sign above it is also reassuring:  “Seeing the appreciation that you have shown us we have decided to continue with home delivery of the products you can order by calling 333-236-9322.  Heartfelt thanks.”  (That would be “Grazie di cuore,” with the heart symbol.  Sweet.)
The Trattoria alla Rampa is getting ready to start takeaway.  The signs on their window, from left to right, are:  The standard list of conditions issued by the Venetian association of public services.  Then the set menus, which I will let you practice your Italian in translating.  The third sign states: “We advise our valued customers that the takeaway menu will be offered starting May 11.  We ask that you book your meals at this phone number 041-528-5365.  We ask that you book on the preceding day from 9:00 AM to 3:00 PM.  From Monday to Saturday.  On Friday and Saturday you can book for Monday.  Thank you for your kind attention.”
These are the rules as laid out by the Venetian Association of Public Services: “Selling for takeaway:  Only via booking.  Phone, or write us a message on WhatsApp, or email.  Agree on the time to come pick up your order.  Wait your turn respecting the distance of one meter.  Enter one person at a time, maximum.  Always wear mask and gloves.  Eat at home or in the office what you’ve bought.”
Notice to our Clients: To guarantee a rapid and safe takeaway service: Respect the distance of interpersonal security of at least one meter.  Use the mask inside the restaurant.  It is not permitted to consume the takeaway products inside or outside the restaurant.  As soon as you’ve concluded your transaction (i.e., got your order in your hands), we invite you not to stop near the restaurant.” That’s a rule in general, but it has survival connotations here, because the trattoria is in front of the fruit and vegetable boat, where people have already accumulated, on a stretch of fondamenta that accommodates the fish market and the wine shop.  As everywhere, customers, and their dogs and children, are lined up outside awaiting their “one person maximum” moment to enter, which would leave exactly zero space for standing around eating.  There’s barely space to get through the scrum as it is.  However, I predict that the broad balustrade at the end of the canal will be everybody’s go-to table.  At least until the vigili show up.
I rest my case. On the balustrade.  I predict that this will become a table in five seconds.
On this morning’s walk, I saw something I haven’t seen since quarantine began: Trash — specifically, the enticing, fragrant, food-related trash that seagulls cannot resist. Conclusion: Not everybody who takes food away brings it all the way home.  I don’t know where they’re eating it, but this is where the remains are being disposed of.  It may be a shock to the garbage collectors, who essentially had nothing to do on this fondamenta for two months.

 

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Problems

Phase 2 begins

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In my last post I insensitively described small-business owners (shops, restaurants, hair salons, etc.) as “howling” to reopen.  If I were in their place, I would be howling too.  And the same anguished cries are being heard throughout Italy — in Florence, Rome, Milan, in hill towns and beach resorts and places you’ve never heard of — as the bills and “Overdue Rent” notices continue to drop through the slot in the locked doors of shuttered stores of every kind.  But the reopening is planned in stages, and belonging to a category whose stage has yet to arrive is heating up everybody’s atmosphere.  More on that in my next.

At the beginning of the quarantine in Venice, when silence fell and motion ceased, a few people wrote to me expressing variations on “You must be enjoying the peace and quiet!”  I know they would never have written that to a widow just returning home from the funeral, but it seemed similarly inappropriate.  I understood that they meant that compared to the chaos and unpleasantness of being overrun by tourists, the opposite extreme ought to be a welcome relief.  It wasn’t, it isn’t, it can’t be.  One extreme is a bad correction of another extreme.  Even on the first day of quarantine I realized that the quiet did not signify peace — au very much contraire.  We have listened for two months to a silence that might have been that of the world underwater when you’re trying to see how long you can hold your breath.

But the non-essential small-business owners and artisans and their colleagues and cohorts and conjunctions have been living in a world of -3,000,000 per cent peace and quiet because they’ve been closed for two months — and in many cases, it will be three.  And many of their businesses depend on tourists, which apparently have gone extinct.

Please note: No more tourists isn’t a problem just for Venice.  This is a European, even global, phenomenon.  A recent report by a group of analysts estimated that in the month of March, the tourist income in Europe shrank 68 per cent relative to that month last year.  ENIT, the Italian national tourist agency, reports that bookings for Italy from April 13 to May 24 are down 84.6 per cent relative to the same period last year.  (For the record, bookings to France are down by 82.9 per cent, and to Spain 80.3 per cent.)  ENIT predicts that tourism to Italy won’t be back to pre-2020 levels till at least 2023.

High season?  Where?

What can there be in Venice but tourism?  This is a question that people have been struggling with since before I came here in 1994, and have continued to struggle with as the monster grew and grew, like Audrey in “The Little Shop of Horrors,” constantly bellowing “Feed me!”  I hope somebody has been spending their stuck-at-home time studying whether anything else can keep Venice going, because this is the moment to step forward.

Happily for us, the world is coming back to life in via Garibaldi and environs; the first signs were a very sunny Sunday and the following two days.  More motorboats in the canals, more people out on the street, suddenly children were everywhere, running around and shrieking — it’s great.  It’s like some safety valve suddenly popped open.

Nobody waited for a sign to say “Unchain the children!”  But Sunday evening they were still out at sunset, racing around, having finally tired of covering the street with hopscotch boxes scrawled with yellow chalk.  There are noticeably more bikes and scooters around, too — they must have been the promised prize for not rebelling during two months spent almost exclusively indoors.

Some stores have been opening very gradually.  There were those that remained closed from the first day, and will have to remain closed till the official permission is granted (see chart below).  Others shortened their hours to opening only in the morning.  The supermarket closed early, and remained shut on Sunday.  I’ll be interested to see if that continues.

Over the past week or ten days, a few businesses (the office-supply/giftwrap/school supply store, the children’s clothes shop) were open all day, but only on Tuesday and Wednesday.  It was an adventure trying to keep track of what you could get, and when, but I was surprised at how quickly one could adapt.  The daily round just took more planning, and more willingness to wait in line.

Weeks ago, the big tobacco/toy/lotto shop at the end of via Garibaldi (the two smaller ones stayed open) posted new hours: “From Tuesday to Sunday from 9:00 AM to 1:00 PM Monday closed.” That didn’t bother us because we don’t smoke, and the various gambling schemes were suspended, so no playing the lottery. That surprised me — I thought the lottery would be the last thing standing in the devastated national economy, but evidently the government was more concerned with other millions and billions that really would keep people going, and not the phantasmagoric winnings that are always just about to come through.
The detergent/cosmetics/housewares store also cut back on hours. Too bad if you forgot to buy your Dead Sea exfoliant in the morning, you’ll just have to wait till tomorrow.
All sorts of stuff for kids, especially glittery garb.
“Emma’s Road ships!” (This in itself is amazing, because the post office on via Garibaldi has been shut since the acqua alta of November, 2019.) The shopowner (Emma, perhaps?) may have had to stay home but she obviously rejected the idea that she couldn’t keep working during lockdown.  “We can make an appointment for a video-call for virtual shopping…It’s possible to request information (photo, prices, sizes and measures) or book the articles in the following ways:  1 Sending a message to our Facebook page, 2  Contacting us via WhatsApp at 3491089086, 3 Calling this number 3924152292.  Shipping is free for all orders that are at least 99 euros or by delivery to your home if you’re in our area.  It’s possible to pay by bank transfer or PayPal.”  She doesn’t intend to leave ANY customer outside in the rain, that’s for sure!
This is progress — the office supply store has moved past the “only Tuesday and Wednesday” phase and now is open every morning from 9:00 to 12:30, but only one person at a time may enter, and must wear mask and gloves, and maintain a distance of two meters between — well, I guess that would be between the one client and the one shopowner.
I suppose it’s good news that funerals can begin to be conducted again. The need to prevent crowds has meant that since February 23, the dear departed departed alone.  This notice doesn’t mention that only a maximum of 15 people will be allowed to attend, and doesn’t indicate who the bouncer at the door is going to be to keep the 16th person out.  No funeral mass, either — those will begin on May 11, but this is a step forward.
These are the rules:  Only up to 15 people can enter.  They must wear a mask.  Enter and leave rapidly without blocking the door.  In church observe the prescribed distance.  Be seated on the pews where there are signs.  Other directions during the religious rite.
As you see, the openings are staggered according to the type of business. The hairdressers are furious;  they’re listed to open June 1, as are restaurants.  But restaurants are making do meanwhile by offering take-away food; it would need someone cleverer than I to organize a take-away haircut.  Or are those called “wigs”?  Shops (such as clothing) and team practice recommence on May 18.  The notice says “No” to playgrounds for children, but they have no idea how via Garibaldi works!

 

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