Venice-Art-Tours Blog

Richard III...some funny typos...pub decking...Peak District...

 

 

Well, we took our annual holiday break to the Land of Hope and Glory, Mother of the Free and for the third year in a row it pissed rain the entire trip. This year it was the Peak District, last year it was Cornwall (where we never saw Land's End despite the fact we were 20 metres from it), and the year prior we attempted the Lake District (you know, Wordsworth, etc). So that's it, never again. Scotland? Wales? Are you kidding? Certainly we'll go to London for Covent Garden, friends and family, but that-is-it.

Above is a pic from our lovely guest house ("Ruskin's") at Monsal Head in the Peak area. It was one of the less rainy days. As an aside, the owners of the guesthouse have bought a house in Croatia and will be living there within a year or so...how can you blame them.

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Readers of my blog will recall I sometimes refer to yobs, English hooligans, fueled by drink who practice violence, usually in groups, against normal citizens who make the mistake of looking at them or walking past their pub some evening when the yobs have reached their critical mass for ugly behaviour. They have ruined England. ..Anyway, in Laurie's home town, Blaby, outside Leicester, we came across a pub that apparently set aside an area reserved for their criminal activity...see the sign above  advertising it. Care for a decking, scumbag! Can't you hear it, mate! (for a Herald Tribune report on British hooliganism, see this: http://www.iht.com/articles/2008/08/24/europe/journal.php

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    RICHARD III, KING  OF ENGLAND 1483 - 1485

The main reason to visit England was to celebrate the anniversary of a noble king's death in battle in 1485 on 22 August, at Bosworth Field in Leicestershire. Yearly, they re-enact the famous battle between King Richard Plantagenet's army and "the usurping, weasel-faced Welsh bastard", Henry Tudor, soon to be King Henry the VII. (The phrase in quotes is taken from the speech at the Richard III memorial service given by Dr Phil Stone, Chairman of The Richard III Society).

Richard was the last Plantagenet king and he fought bravely and died nobly at Bosworth.  He was the victim of court intrigue by his late brother's in-laws, he was betrayed by trusted nobles as he lived in a world of shifting allegiances. His reputation entirely rests upon Shakespeare's play, creating a scarcely believable monster with evil motives and blood on his hands. Shakespeare was, well, a Tudor publicist (lackey?) and spent his life attempting to lionise and justify the Tudor cause. He was on the payroll. The scholarly book which lays to rest the Tudor myth about Richard is Richard the Third by Paul Murray Kendall. Available everywhere.

We heard Dr Stone's speech at the memorial service in the Church of St. James the Great in the tiny village of Sutton Cheney. The church dates from the 14th century and it was where Richard spent part of the night before the battle, praying. About 100 people attended last week. Below is the program with Richard's symbol of the boar. Two slightly embarassing but very funny typo errors can be seen.The second line of page 2("moth"), and the first four words of paragraph 3 on page 6 ("Thou sadist..."). Below is page 2, then page 6, then the cover.

  

 

                            

                                                                  LET THE BATTLE BEGIN!

We are not re-enactment types but for 3 hours we had some entertainment watching accountants, butchers, salesmen playing Tudors and Plantagenets, wearing armour or mail, shooting arrows or brandishing swords. Yelling medieval imprecations, pretending to die and then getting up 60 seconds later. Usefully shouting "Long live King Richard" or "Hooray Henry", etc. A half hour was enough for us. We wandered around the 100 tents where period dressed people forged (?)  horseshoes, repaired armour, cooked medieval vittles, sold reproduction clothing, glasses, swords, lances, and the whole nine yards. Earlier there was a joust, I kid you not.

But you should not sneer. In 1485, the original battle saw two armies of approximately 10,000 men each. Our combatants that day numbered 300, all on foot except Henry and Richard. In 1485 it would have been a frightening scene of blood, death, fear, chaos, and, ultimately, regicide. But on this day we saw none of Matthew Arnold's " where ignorant armies clash by night"...no siree. Also, in the original battle there was no announcer and especially not one who periodically interviewed soldiers or camp-followers during the action to get their "take" on the battle. "Yahhh, I mean, really, I think things are looking okay for the king..." says one soldier. Love that medieval argot.  

And a diverse group of fans, fantasists, and others were here to view this spectacle: see below for what I thought was an unlikely group of devotees, but also we saw some Arabs there or people in Arab costume. Maybe there was to be a re-enactment of the Battle of Khartoum later on that day?

Below see Laurie desperately searching for the car keys so we could make a fast exit. Later she informed me that she was afraid I would go back and buy the suit of armour I admired, for our front hall only, you see. By the way a medieval suit of armour weighed 150 pounds and a medieval bowman's arrow (metal tipped) could pierce armour at 150 yards. Ouch! The stuff you learn...   

The Olympics...a bad idea.

                                                           

This pic shows a Castro soldier executing an opponent. A popular sporting event in Communist Cuba.  

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It's time to scrap the Olympics, in fact, it was time long ago.

It's a crazy idea having athletes compete on behalf of their respective countries. It's especially crazy to allow dictorship countries to compete. Surely those countries should be pariahs, excommunicated from the community (sic) of nations and not be allowed any credibility or respectibility to rub off onto them. Among dictatorships, let's especially include the host of this year's games, China. A country drenched with blood and still a dictatorship.

Are athletes at the olympics there as ambassadors of good will to create friendship and understanding between and among nations? Puleeze! They are there to bring some credibilty to those countries attending, especially the countries which need credibily.  And what credibility does China, Cuba, Zimbabwe, Russia, Iran, Eritrea, North Korea, Vietnam, Laos, Syria , Turkmenistan, Libya, Mauritania, Myanmar, Pakistan, Sudan, and Thailand deserve?  None. Despite the fact that the athetes from these countires are paid, housed, and protected (guarded when overseas) by the state, if allowed, the athletes would immediately swap their plane tickets home for a ticket and a visa to New York or London, or 150 other places. 

So, please think about international goodwill and brotherhood next time China invades and brutalises a neighbouring country or when an open boat of Cuban freedom seekers sinks in shark infested waters in the Caribbean. 

When the ridiculous Olympics closing ceremony is over, nothing will have changed except in some feeble minds China will be admired because they have such good divers or weightlifters.

I don't know about you, but I don't go to parties which invite Hell's Angels, inmates from death row of San Quentin, or Raul Castro. Neither should responsible countries.

                                                                *****

Coda: Shouldn't there be an Olympic firing squad competition among the dictatorships?     

 

  

A great man has died...Aleksandr Isayevich Solzhenitsyn

A great man died yesterday and, as the essay below from National Review explains, he was the man of the twentieth century. He was able not only to sound the death knell of communism, but he himself drove it to defeat. His moral authority was manifest because he lived through communism and was its victim, its survivor and, ultimately, its destroyer. Just to my right as I write this, is my autographed copy of The Gulag Archipelago. a treasured possession.� Howard

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Aleksandr Isayevich Solzhenitsyn, R.I.P.

When 1999 turned into 2000, a lot of people asked, “Who was the Man of the Century?” And many answered, “Solzhenitsyn.” That was a very solid choice.

Born in 1918, Aleksandr Isayevich Solzhenitsyn became the voice and conscience of the Russian people. There was no greater or more effective foe of Communism, or of totalitarianism in general. His Gulag Archipelago was a crushing blow to the Soviet Union — after its publication in the mid-1970s, the USSR had no standing, morally. The book was effective because it was true.

Because he was such a great and important man, it is sometimes overlooked how great, versatile, and prolific a writer he was. He wrote novels, novellas, short stories, poems, memoirs, essays, speeches, and more. The Gulag Archipelago, he called “an experiment in literary investigation.”

The First Circle, a novel, is many people’s favorite book. So is another novel, Cancer Ward.

He wrote no more gripping or beautiful work than The Oak and the Calf, his literary memoir. The title refers to an old folk image of a calf butting its head up against an oak: This symbolizes futility. And that was a writer — a lone, persecuted, hounded writer — trying to bring down the Soviet state. Yet the oak fell. With this memoir and The Gulag in mind, Norman Podhoretz once wrote, “[Solzhenitsyn] is returning [to the Russian people] their stolen or ‘amputated’ national memory, reopening the forcibly blocked channels of communication between the generations, between the past and the present . . .” Few writers have written under such pressure. He would receive mail saying, “Look after your health, Aleksandr Isayevich — we are all depending on you.”

In his later years — after age 50 or so — he had the support of a wonderful family, consisting of three boys and his wife, Natalia. Their exile home in Cavendish, Vt., was kind of Solzhenitsyn, Inc.: They all helped with the many tasks of writing and publishing. Out on the grounds of their home is a large rock — a boulder. Solzhenitsyn used to tell the boys, when they were little, that this was a magic horse, which would fly them back, when Russia was free.

Solzhenitsyn returned to his homeland in 1994.

Like everyone else, he had his critics: He was accused of being a megalomaniac, a Slavophile, a right-wing nationalist, an anti-Semite. He was too humane for any of that.

And he did not spend much time on his critics, for better or worse — some of his admirers wished he had. But, as his son Ignat once put it, he could have written The Red Wheel (his multi-novel magnum opus, treating the Bolshevik Revolution) or he could have kept up with his critics. He could not do both. He was not interested in popularity or fame. He simply wanted to tell the truth, wherever it took him.

Truth was the essential ingredient of his controversial 1978 commencement address at Harvard: “A World Split Apart.” He told the graduates, “[T]ruth eludes us if we do not concentrate with total attention on its pursuit. And even while it eludes us, the illusion still lingers of knowing it and leads to many misunderstandings. Also, truth is seldom pleasant; it is almost invariably bitter.” Solzhenitsyn went on to discuss the multiple ailments of the West.

This speech rocked the country, with many prominent liberals — e.g., Arthur Schlesinger Jr. — denouncing him for it. Sidney Hook wrote, “Rarely in modern times . . . has one man’s voice provoked the Western world to an experience of profound soul-searching.”

Years later, another of Solzhenitsyn’s sons, Stephan, caught some flak in the press for a position he took on an environmental issue. One of his opponents said, “Didn’t he learn anything from his father?” Stephan answered, “Yes — mainly that the truth isn’t always popular.”

The hope Solzhenitsyn gave to millions is immeasurable — but we can measure some of it. There is a woman, Youquin Wang, who chronicles China’s Cultural Revolution. She does this from the safety of the United States. But, as a girl, she was less safe. Back in the PRC, she found two authors who changed her life: Anne Frank and Solzhenitsyn. After she read The Gulag, she knew what she would do with her life: commit the lives of the lost to historical memory.

National Review is grateful to have had a relationship with Solzhenitsyn. Mainly, we admired and cheered him. But occasionally we published him — he once sent us a piece over the transom, which is to say, unsolicited. No magazine could dream of more.

Malcolm Muggeridge called him “the noblest human being alive.” After passing away yesterday, he is now one of the noblest human beings on earth or in heaven. He is one of the greatest witnesses in all history. And, like all great witnesses, he was inspired by love, the crowning quality of his work and life.�© National Review

Obama and Yahoo...

Has anyone noticed that the www.yahoo.com news brief page has become a very slanted cheerleader department for Obama? Every day, I mean EVERY day a new happy story. Good grief!

Italian health care...

Just returned from a local hospital (Justinian) where I intended to make an appointment for someone to look at my painful hand/thumb joint. It's only a 20 minute walk and I have been there before. I arrived at 10AM to find that the window for appointments has the following opening hours: 7:45 AM to 8:30 AM.Talk about small windows. Guess you could say it's what you get with socialised medicine. Here are the basics of the health system.

(Picture shows the Venice hospital next to the church of S Giovanni & Paolo. The facade you see belongs to the former Scuola San Marco, a wealthy confraternity of merchants, built in 1500 in Renaissance style, naturally.)

If you are an EU citizen or the spouse of one (which I am), one is entitled to medical care in any European Union country. So we are on the health system here. Doctors work for the state and when you join the system you are assigned or you choose a "medico base", a local doctor. We chose Dr Mazzi.

Doctors here usually have office hours every weekday and usually for 3 or so hours. The vast majority of doctors do not make appointments, but rather, a patient arrives at the office during office hours and people are served first come, first served. Of course, the type A patients (like me) arrive half an hour before the doctor arrives. So when you arrive at the front door, there are a group (3 to 15) people waiting aheard of you. So you ask, "Chi é l'ultimo?"  Who's last? Now you know where you stack up. Some doctors have a stack of tiles with sequence numbers on them which a patient takes when he enters the office. So when our doctor arrives, he opens the door, and we all march in, in sequence, and take our sequential numbers. There's always some other Type A there to monitor that the sequence is maintained. However, we are in Italy where queues and orderliness is always a challenge and there is always someone who comes in later and says "I need only a minute" . Some of the other Italians permit it because they do it, too; but usually object and stop it. Call me churlish.

When your turn comes, you meet the doctor and do your business. It is usually verbal with no medical exams or procedures occurring. For those things the doctor writes a prescription on a government form for whatever (X-ray, MRI, blood test, specialist, etc). Now you take that form to the hospital, as I did today, to schedule an appointment for the thumb. Depending on the requirement, it could take two weeks or three months, normally closer to the latter. That, of course, is unacceptable if, say, you have pain or need help somewhat earlier. In that case, you go to the emergency room of the hospital and wait your turn. 

The last alternative is to go private to avoid a wait. Here in Venice is the Sherman Institute which houses a team of doctors, labs, and equipment. You can get an appointment within a week or so. The downer is you have to pay. And sometimes for tests, x-rays, etc, you want to do that, and it's not priced outrageously. 

If you are a tourist, i.e., non EU, and you become ill, go directly to the hospital and it will take care of you free of charge. Forget your Allstate Insurance Health Card or your travel insurance policy, no one here will know what you are talking about. Go to the hospital of have a friend arrange a private doctor's appointment whhich will cost you a modest amount.

If you're on the health system here, prescription drugs are cheap, in fact, a flat amount per prescription is about 5 euro. Also, anyone (including tourists) can buy most drugs over the counter at a pharmacist (assuming you look and act normally), but at non-subsidised price.  

  

    

  

France, popes, wines, sun

La Belle France with friends Goldsmith Peter Page and not-quite-yet-therapist Louise Andrew. And it was, indeed, belle: blue skies, no humidity, lovely villa in Provence with a terrific pool, landscaped property, 10 minute walk to the village of Beaume-de-Venise, et alia. Vineyard tour and wine tastings although I preferred to stay at the pool and read  the terrific The Honoured Society, The Sicilian Mafia Observed by Norman Lewis (1964). For me, an unexpected bonus: we found the local shop-owners and people we ran into quite friendly. I have not used French since Waterloo, but Laurie and Louise managed well. I kept speaking Italian, automatically. But oddly enough, the first 3 days back in Venice I found myself saying "merci" instead of "grazie". Go figure. 

Babylonian Captivity: also poolside, I read "The Avignon Papacy" by Yves Renouard and then we visited the Papal Palace which was  spectacular but we saw no popes, alas. Touring the Palace we ventured into the enormous Chapel Clementine which, in fact, is catheral size. It was was bereft of decoration, but the gothic arches,  vaults, windows and its size were all impressive.   It was a beautiful building built by Christians for worship. Unfortunately, it hosted, on the day we were there, some sort of exhibition which featured 3 sets of competing, deafening, cacophanous noises, apparently representing or replicating  jungle activity and snake charming, I am not sure. It was accompanied by 3 sets of huge projection screens flashing, in 2 second intervals, photos or videos of snake charmers (why? I ask).  Some kind of political "art". It was ludicrous and off-putting for this junk, especially the noise, to be in a grand cathedral, albeit deconsecrated, and to hear and see this crap.  Therefore, I calmly walked over to the giant amplifiers nearest me and yanked out the plug. No video, no bong bong. And, of course, no one noticed. Pop Culture and idiocy getting you down? If the mood strikes you, you might wish to similarly intervene on behalf of good taste and sanity while attending a similar "art" event  Have no fears about taking action...the staff notice nothing as they are talking about their next holiday and/or are usually on an extended break (who could blame them?) and, of course, it (the staff) has no interest whatsoever in the display. Just walk over, with aplomb, no hesitation, flick the switch, pull the plug, hit the stop button,or whatever, walk away. You have said "I cannot take it anymore". A last ditch vote for civilisation.

Finally, Laurie and I drove to a remote Cistercian monastery (Sènanque), founded in the mid 12th century. Its principle products are prayers,  lavender, and honey. The handful of monks who live there do not speak, to each other or to anyone. The abbot reads the lesson daily and one of the monks who manages the bookshop is allowed  to speak. Sènanque reminded me of a passage in A Time to Keep Silence by Patrick Leigh Fermor.  Fermor wrote that monks such as are at Sènanque are "the anonymous well-wishers who reduce the moral overdraft of mankind".

Photo of famous writer at Sènanque and lavender at Sènanque.

     *Note...one of Lewis's premises is that the US government (per the US Army), actually bolstered and propped up the Sicilian Mafia which it saw as an ally in the war against the Axis in Sicily.  An interesting point.   

     

La Belle France with friends Goldsmith Peter Page and not-quite-yet-therapist Louise Andrew. And it was, indeed, belle: blue skies, no humidity, lovely villa in Provence with a terrific pool, landscaped property, 10 minute walk to the village of Beaume-de-Venise, et alia. Vineyard tour and wine tastings although I preferred to stay at the pool and read  the terrific The Honoured Society, The Sicilian Mafia Observed by Norman Lewis (1964). For me, an unexpected bonus: we found the local shop-owners and people we ran into quite friendly. I have not used French since Waterloo, but Laurie and Louise managed well. I kept speaking Italian, automatically. But oddly enough, the first 3 days back in Venice I found myself saying "merci" instead of "grazie". Go figure. 

Babylonian Captivity: also poolside, I read "The Avignon Papacy" by Yves Renouard and then we visited the Papal Palace which was  spectacular but we saw no popes, alas. Touring the Palace we ventured into the enormous Chapel Clementine which, in fact, is catheral size. It was was bereft of decoration, but the gothic arches,  vaults, windows and its size were all impressive.   It was a beautiful building built by Christians for worship. Unfortunately, it hosted, on the day we were there, some sort of exhibition which featured 3 sets of competing, deafening, cacophanous noises, apparently representing or replicating  jungle activity and snake charming, I am not sure. It was accompanied by 3 sets of huge projection screens flashing, in 2 second intervals, photos or videos of snake charmers (why? I ask).  Some kind of political "art". It was ludicrous and off-putting for this junk, especially the noise, to be in a grand cathedral, albeit deconsecrated, and to hear and see this crap.  Therefore, I calmly walked over to the giant amplifiers nearest me and yanked out the plug. No video, no bong bong. And, of course, no one noticed. Pop Culture and idiocy getting you down? If the mood strikes you, you might wish to similarly intervene on behalf of good taste and sanity while attending a similar "art" event  Have no fears about taking action...the staff notice nothing as they are talking about their next holiday and/or are usually on an extended break (who could blame them?) and, of course, it (the staff) has no interest whatsoever in the display. Just walk over, with aplomb, no hesitation, flick the switch, pull the plug, hit the stop button,or whatever, walk away. You have said "I cannot take it anymore". A last ditch vote for civilisation.

Finally, Laurie and I drove to a remote Cistercian monastery (Sènanque), founded in the mid 12th century. Its principle products are prayers,  lavender, and honey. The handful of monks who live there do not speak, to each other or to anyone. The abbot reads the lesson daily and one of the monks who manages the bookshop is allowed  to speak. Sènanque reminded me of a passage in A Time to Keep Silence by Patrick Leigh Fermor.  Fermor wrote that monks such as are at Sènanque are "the anonymous well-wishers who reduce the moral overdraft of mankind".

My country tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing...

"Hallowed be the day, forever bright its memory in the heart of the Nation.
Sing to it, poets;
shout to it, freemen;
celebrate it with bonfires, parades, and triumphant assemblies"

(Daily Alta California, 4 July 1855).

July 4TH! The Fourth! or Da Foth! as we said in the Bronx. The flag is flying here (see pics below), the hamburgers, hotdogs, hotdog rolls, beer and ice cream are almost ready. Could not get corn on the cob, but I'll make french fries - after all, the French helped us out in the War of American Independence (help which we have repaid in spades).

A few years ago we had our Amurican (Lyndon Johnson's pronunciation) expat friends here in Venice for a terrace July 4th party and did American things: patriotic readings, American poets, and and had workshop to decide which states should be tossed out of the union as we listened to Gershwin, Copland, Barber, Bernstein, and ate American food, drank American beer. 

Tomorrow, July 5th, we are off to France for a week in Provence, so we did not manage a party this year. Speaking of wars and France, coincidentally, Laurie wrote her blog (http://lauriegraham.com/blog/ ) yesterday about  D-Day, specifically Juno Beach upon which her father drove a landing craft laden with Canadian infantry soldiers. 

Below are a few photos of our flag flying from the altana. I'll look for another Stars 'n Stripes here in Venice, I won't hold my breath. 

Happy Birthday, America!

     

Curtains...and Bellini

Sometimes in Venice you see things being done the ...Italian way. Spontaneously, quickly, practically, without reference to wider issues: insurance requirements, health and safety (as they say in the UK), risk or damage to property or persons, common sense, inconvenience, etc. This blog records such an event that occurred in the sacristy of the Frari Church (Santa Maria Gloriosa di Frari) late 2007.

This past winter, I was at the Frari here with customers Robin Landgren and family to gaze at and appreciate the wonderful Giovanni Bellini (1430-1516) painting, called the Frari Altarpiece, painted 1482-1488, oil on wood. It is in a the sacristy which is used twice daily for mass and also for smaller weddings and for baptisms. According to me (and others) it is the best painting in Venice. In addition, it is quite moving to see a painting in the same place for which it was intended and also being used for religious purposes, as intended, instead of, say, being in a museum. Masses are said in the sacristy twice daily plus there are baptisms and smaller weddings there. The painting is a triptych featuring the Madonna and Christ, plus Saints.

When we arrived, the sacristan was moving a few items on the altar...something was up. We sat in the front row and watched an amazing scene unfold. The curtains behind the painting were opaque with dirt which may have predated Bellini himself and today was curtain removal day.

We heard a noise and turned to see a rather portly, elderly, workman approaching the altar carrying a very tall extension ladder. He was there to remove the curtains, it turned out. He approached the altar with the ladder swaying left and right, up and down, as he aimed to the right of the altar. We held our breath as he approached the altar. He juggled the ladder, got contol of it and aimed it to the right of the altarpiece and succeeded in leaning it against the curved wall, right next to the painting. Only one arm of the ladder was secure against the wall as the wall was irregular.

The painting remained in place uncovered, unprotected. Mr Ladder proceeded to slowly climb and so he could reach the curtains. Along the way, when he was on the right once he found it necessary to place his left foot on top of the picture frame.

                 

After four climbs, all with much stretching to reach windows, all curtains were retrieved.Of course, dust and dirt was freely falling from the curtains onto the altar and painting. Who knows, maybe he's a specially trained art-historian-restorer.

Note on the painting: The chapel was built as a burial place for Peter Pesaro's wife. Pesaro was generally considered to be the wealthiest man in Venice, owning the largest palazzo and had a finger in every boat entering Venice. Pesaro hired Bellini to do the painting. Peter Pesaro had three sons, Nicholas, Mark and Benedict. The onomastic saints in the painting are left to right, Nicholas, Peter, Mark  and Benedict (displaying a passage from Ecclesiasticus alluding to the Immaculate Conception, a favourite Franciscan dogma).

Thanks to Robin for the photos. She also took a video...maybe some day I'll post it.

  

The Fenice again...

Photo left, the Fenice on fire January, 1996.      Photo right: temporary accommodation for arsonists.   

The news:  the Fenice opera house did not burn down again, you will be happy to know. And the orchestra has not pulled an opening night strike in at least 4 months now (bravo!). The bad news is that no famous directors, conductors, or singers have been hired to work here. Also that the government building which houses the magistrates (judges) who look after criminals did not burn down, with the judges inside.

That last sentence a non-sequitor, you query? A judge recently agreed that one of the two idiots who torched the Fenice (29 January 1996)  should, after only one year in jail, be given the right to work within the local community during the day, returning to jail at night. Let's hope he's not going to work at the Accademia Museum here.

A quick recap: two moron cousins were working as electricians at the Fenice. They fell behind on their agreed contract schedule, risking serious financial consequences to themselves. Late at night on 29 January, 1996 they used their blow torches to start a fire in the area in which they were working, The damage would cover the fact that they were behind schedule and also, they felt - idiots that they are - it would allow them to recoup some insurance money. The fire went out of control. Fenice destroyed.

The culprits were identified: Enrico Carella (38) and his cousin Massimiliano Marchetti (36). In 2003, six years after the fire, they were tried, convicted  and sentenced. Carella got 7 years, Marchetti 6.  Carella felt the heat, if you excuse the word, and high-tailed it to Mexico a few days before he was to check into the slammer.  He was apprehended there in May 2007, 4 years later, and  brought here and finally jailed. He was given a seven year sentence in 2003, which would allow him to go free in July 2010. But he flew the coop. Got caught and was put in jail but with the original end of his sentence, 2010. So instead of 7 years he will do 30 mos. He was probably receiving dole money from Italy while in Mexico. Now, he has applied for the right to work outside prison in some sort of social service position (Youth Fire Patrol coordinator?) and the Judge's Tribunal has said "why not?", but he must return to prison in the evening (!). These Italian judges are tough.

In July, 2003, moron criminal arsonist number two, cousin Marchetti, started to serve his six years in the hoosegow, but lucky him, the previous lefty government here (Romano Prodi's) organised, in summer  2006, a general amnesty (indulto) and he was released (along with 23,000 other felons) in August 2006 instead of the planned 2009. He served 3 years. 

I think one of the reasons that Silvio Burlesconi was elected as prime minister was that this had to end. Yesterday, he said the judges and magistrates here in Italy were a cancer - they had become so politicised. He wants to fire those who ignore mandated sentencing requirements, which is half of them.  Go Silvio. 

   

  

Venice travel tips...

 

Many of my customers arrive here without knowing some of the small Italian-Venetian customs which, without knowing them, could cost them money and maybe cause some embarassment... So here are a few things to remember when you hit the ground:

TIPPING

Europeans and Italians rarely tip...Americans always tip. I tell Americans to behave like the Europeans, i.e., do not tip. 

• Most restaurants in Venice add 12.5% to the bill; it is called "service"...and that 12.5 % is the tip. In Venice, 95% of the waiters are professionals; they are not students, actors, dancers or singers waiting for their break. They usually have been with the same restaurant for years and years. Yes, the service charge on your bill goes to the establishment. However, the waiters, unlike their American counterparts, receive a good salary which allows them to own houses, have families, cars, etc. Thus,  the service charge goes to the owner so he can pay the waiters. Never ask the waiter if he, the waiter, gets that 12.5%; he will usually say, "no, the owner does", implying the waiter gets zilch. If the restaurant clearly does not include a service charge and your are handed a makeshift bill, then consider leaving a tip of 12%.   If the service is included but you felt it was worthy of additional reward, consider leaving a thank you amount in addition to the 12%, but do not go overboard, maybe 5% more.

• Tipping in bars and cafes. If you are standing at the bar for a caffe or for a wine and sandwich, whatever - do not leave a tip. If you choose to sit down at a table in the bar or outside, then you will be charged roughty 2.5 times what you would pay at the bar. The extra charged is the bar's service charge, so you do not tip. For instance, an espresso at the bar here costs usually 90 cents. At the table you will pay €2,00 or €2.50. Don't tip.

• Gondoliers and taxi drivers, not customary to tip them.

DRINKING:

Coffee: My customer, a few days ago, on the day before I met her, ordered a latte at breakfast and got  a glass of milk (Starbucks has a lot to answer for).  If you order a "latte" you will get a glass of milk.  A caffe latte is a milky coffee. A caffe macchiato is an espresso stained ("macchiato") with a little foamy milk. If you order a latte macchiato you will get a glass of hot milk stained with coffee. A caffe coretto is an espresso with some booze in it, usually grappa, Sambuca or brandy. Your choice. 

Alcohol: here, before dinner people would likely have an aperitivo which is normally a "spritz". You see them in abundance in the outdoor cafes, etc. There are two basic spritzes: "spritz bitter" or "spritz Aperol". Spritz bitter is composed of prosecco wine, fizzy water, and Campari (or another bitter liquor - "Select" being a Venetian alternative). Red in colour, it comes with ice and an olive on a long stick.  "Spritz Aperol" is a less bitter version, using Aperol instead of Campari, but including the prosecco, fizzy water and olive. It is a pretty orange colour. 

If you choose not to have a spritz, try a prosecco, the fizzy white wine of the Veneto, delicious, served in a champagne flute. Of course, in the last 10 years the size of the flute has reached ridiculously small proportions. Some chintzy bars offer glasses containing two swallows and that's it. Sheeesh!  A bottle of prosecco can be purchased for about  €7 in a wine shop or supermarket.

Generally, Venetians do not drink lemoncello or sgroppino. However, a lovely dessert wine is called fragolino, made from the tiny white Veneto grapes of the same name. You want the white, still variety, not the red, fizzy fragolino which tastes like melted popsicles. White frag is technically illegal as its manufacture process does not exactly conform to DOC standards, but don't worry about that if you can get it. Schiavi  (Bottegon) bar near the Accademia on Rio S Trovaso opposite the gondola repair yard sells bottles of it (ask for it, it's not on the shelf). Also, try  the  local wine seller on the Calle Avogaria, near the church of S Sebastiano in Dorsoduro. I prefer this one. It is superior to Schiavi's. You won't find it on the shelf, you must ask...fragolino bianco.

 Food:

In Venice, eat fish. Shellfish, seppia, octopus, crustaceans, bronzino, orata, etc. Seppia (pictured left) or seppiolini (small seppia) are found in the lagoon and are popular in spaghetti, using the seppia's black ink as the sauce. It is sweetish and delicious. The dish is called spaghetti neri. Or you can have a risotto nero, same principles apply. Or you can have the seppiolini grilled in garlic and oil, all black ink sacs are removed.

Gondoliers and taxis:. 

A gondolier's fee structure is fixed by the city: before 6 PM a ride for up to six people costs (cash) €80 for 40 minutes. After 6 PM it's €100.  A gondolier cannot leave the zone he is licensed for, so don't tell him "Take me to Harry's!", he won't.

Some gondoliers may quote you a price in excess of the amounts mentioned above. Walk away from them, find an honest gondolier. Taxis cost about €60 anywhere within the city (not including Torcello, Burano or Murano) and will cost about €95 to airport. All cash.

Hope these help...h