Wheelbarrow & Madonna dell'Orto, This Morning

If a wheelbarrow is going to be flying through the air at the end of one of the many cranes in Venice, it seems strangely apt for it to be doing so near Madonna dell'Orto (or Madonna of the Garden).

Hazy Morning Vogata, Arsenale, Today

photo credit: Jen

Adrift in Venice

I think this is the smallest boat in Venice: less than 6 feet or 2 meters from stern to prow

If you're thinking of buying a boat in Venice and want to save a good deal of money on the cost of a mooring place, buy a wood boat. The comune is trying to stem the continuing decline of wooden boats in Venice by offering steep discounts for ormeggi to those who own such boats. Of course, what you save on mooring fees you may spend on the extra work and upkeep one must put into a wood boat to keep it sound. And, more immediately, there simply are no mooring places available.

None.

How bad is it? The other day I was talking to a native Venetian friend when he suddenly leaned in close and said quietly, sheepishly, "I'm embarrassed to be asking you this, as I've lived here all my life, but if you hear of an ormeggio, please let me know. I'd like to get a boat, just a little one, but I can't find a place to put it."

As real estate is a constant topic of concern in New York City, so ormeggi are here. Especially as I'm discovering that even the least likely of Venetians--folks who rarely venture outside, for instance, or people who had boats for decades and sold them off after reaching a certain age--all get the itch to buy one.

You'd think that with so many fewer people in Venice than there were 40 years ago there would be more ormeggi available than ever before. But it seems that perhaps the percentage of boat owners among city residents has greatly increased over the years: a friend complains that even teenagers now have their own. And according to another friend, the size of people's boats has greatly increased. He claims that one large boat now takes up the space in which two or three could formerly have been moored.

All of this is very bad news indeed for boat owners but, even as I sympathize, I have to admit what a relief it is to me. You see, among those who would love to have a boat are my son and wife, and I've found it infinitely more effective and pleasant to remind them that there simply is not a single place to put the boat they so ardently desire than to remind them, once again, that there's no way we could really afford it.


PS: A couple of days ago, after I'd started a draft of this post, I happened upon a beautiful photo of the same little boat pictured above on the 16 February post of the Venetia Micio blog. It's taken from a different angle and shows more of the surroundings:

http://venetiamicio.blogspot.com/#

Venetian Beach Rule # 1,359

                                                                                          photo credit: Jen

Is it proper to walk upon this pier in Cavallino Treporti on February 26? Probably not. 

For a country that is infamously factious and difficult to rule, it's amazing to observe the number of inherited rules and proscriptions from which individual Italians would never dream of straying-- nor even question. For instance, tax laws exist solely to be flouted, but letting some grated parmigiano fall upon a piece of fish merits the sternest rebuke. Or while even Venetian firemen believe that smoke alarms are absurdly unnecessary in family dwellings, for a child to go swimming any sooner than three hours after eating lunch is to invite certain death.

This last example is one of the first (of countless) beach rules one learns when one starts to go to the Lido during the summer with Venetians. But yesterday Jen learned another.

It was a mild sunny day and Jen and Sandro spent much of it on Lido. Sandro met a girl of his own age there and they played together for quite a while. She was there with her grandfather, a friendly man, and good with kids, as many older Italian men seem to be. But he looked a little less conventional than the average Italian grandfather, Jen said. His gray hair was long, he wore camouflage pants and a black T-shirt, he smoked cigarettes. He looked a bit like a very tidy biker, a bit like a sculptor. He pointed out sea gulls to his grand-daughter and Sandro. He looked on pleasantly as they ran around and played in the sand with sticks, but when his grand-daughter began to dig in the sand with the plastic beach shovel Sandro had brought he gently took it away from her, telling her in Italian that it was not the right season for sand shovels and buckets.

Inevitably, in the course of their play she succumbed a few more times to the temptation to use the shovel and each time he took it away from her again and calmly explained once more that it was not yet time to use such things. It's only February, after all. He held up a hand to her and counted off on his fingers the number of months until the proper time will arrive: one, two, three. Late May or the beginning of June, depending on how you want to calculate it. Then, and only then, will it be time to use sand shovels at the beach. At least according to Venetian rules.

Carnevale Comes to a Fiery End, This Morning

The ancient rite of Dionysus clamorously concluded with the murder of a live bull. The female followers of Dionysus, inflamed by music and dance and (depending on whom you believe) certain intoxicants and/or the presence of the god himself, would reach such a state of ecstasy that they would, with their bare hands, tear a bull to pieces. That famous resident of San Michele here in Venice, Stravinsky, had something like this in mind when he composed his Rite of Spring. A version of the rite also appears at the end of Apocalypse Now.

The destruction of a bull in the wee hours of this morning to mark the end of Carnevale was not quite so dramatic as this, but it was certainly a great spectacle.

Well endowed at all points with everything that makes a bull a bull, the sacrificial victim had been moored beside La Punta della Dogana since the beginning of Carnevale--except during a period of repair after some extraordinarily high winds got the better of him.

You can find close-up photos of the bull and a description of what he was made of at the excellent Venetian blog Hello World:

http://ytaba36.wordpress.com/2012/02/05/more-bull-and-other-stuff/

As the gondolieri began to reach the basin of San Marco at the end of their annual Vogata del Silenzio down the Grand Canal, the bull, floating on a raft in the basin, was put to the torch. It was about 12:30 am. The large crowd on the molo had begun forming just after 11 pm. I'd arrived at 11:15. It was worth the wait. There's something peculiarly satisfying about concluding a festival with fire; last year they simply set loose a raft-load of helium balloons as the gondolas arrived at San Marco. Here's hoping that, as the old gospel song puts it, it's the fire next time--or next year--as well.

An effigy of a cruise ship might be rather fun to see go up in flames...

 

The Venice FD gets in a little practice

Time to pack up the wine fountain: after the immolation, peace returns to the Piazzetta.

Martedì Grasso on Via Garibaldi, This Afternoon

Fat Tuesday has a lot different feel on Via Garibaldi than it does in Piazza San Marco. Not nearly as many people in costume--and not nearly as many people, period--but a lot more actual socializing and catching up between old friends. It's a local crowd, which gathers to enjoy the food and drinks table set up in front of La Società di Mutuo Soccorso fra Carpentieri e Calafati--or the Mutual Aid Society of Carpenters and Ship Caulkers, whose membership, sadly, is surely dwindling, and whose headquarters is probably my favorite storefront on Via Garibaldi.

Like Piazza San Marco, Via Garibaldi (as you can see to left) offers live entertainment of its own. After watching this singer for a while I think he has some right to lay claim to the late great James Brown's title of "The Hardest Working Man in Show Business." It can't be easy to give your all when your performance, amply amplified though it is, rarely draws a single person away from the food and wine some 20 yards to your right. But give it his all he did, nonetheless.

Night & Day, Front & Back: 2 Views of San Pietro di Castello