Venice-Art-Tours Blog

Brained...

The really big problem with a failing memory is password control. I spent 75 minutes on the phone to London with an unlucky bank clerk as I tried to explain how I had either misplaced or forgotten my on line banking password, my Barclaycard (cash Card) password for use at automatic teller machines, and one other password of which I do not remember its use.

The Barclays man was very patient with me. The big challenge will be in a week’s time when I receive 3 new passwords in the post and try to reconcile each to its account. I’ll probably have to phone Barclays again.

 

No doubt when he slammed the phone down at the end of our long chat, he screamed an expletive – deleted about the morons (me) who should not be allowed bank accounts.

 

Fortunately, I passed the phone to Laurie who explained in coherent fashion the nature of the problem – the password problem, not the brain problem. But Laurie is also good at Sudoku.

Happy Birthday, USA....

Yesterday was  Independence Day in America and as in years past, we have invited some American ex-pats living here to celebrate with us. We’ll have hot dogs, hamburgers, beer (Italian), and, of course prosecco wine, which appeals to all national tastes. The flag will be flying on the altana (balcony) overlooking the Rio Novo.

 

…here’s 2 pics of said flag  from a year or two past.

In the right hand  picture, I think the water taxi is flying our flag on his stern. Maybe he remembers Liberation here? Or his father does.

 

(Later...on further scrutiny, it is the Italian flag, alas.)

 

                           

Our building  from accross the canal      The Rio Novo in full swing                                        

Happy Fourth to All!!

God Bless America

Howard

The Doldrums...

Not quite August, i.e., the Dog Days, so let's turn to Coleridge for a report on Venice weather:

Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt down,
'Twas sad as sad could be ;
And we did speak only to break
The silence of the sea !

All in a hot and copper sky,
The bloody Sun, at noon,
Right up above the mast did stand,
No bigger than the Moon.

Day after day, day after day,
We stuck, nor breath nor motion ;
As idle as a painted ship
Upon a painted ocean.

Water, water, every where,
And all the boards did shrink ;
Water, water, every where,
Nor any drop to drink. 

call it the Doldrums...hot and airless...our terrace thermometer says 34C

Not that anyone in his sober mind would consider bathing or swimming in any canal in Venice with the possible exception of Venetian kids who, on days like today, can b still be seen in local canals, swimming. Generally never in the Grand Canal which would be too dangerous with boat traffic, although there is an argument that the Grand Canal with its high volume of water offers a cleaner alternative, i.e., less sewage (maybe). 

It is in the Cannaregio sestiere of Venice where you'll see such aquatic sport.

Anyway, today's a tough day for tourists and Venetians.

Do you like crowds?

Then come to Venice. Of course, some would say that nobody comes here any more - it's too crowded.

Today, I did the Doge's Palace on my own because I needed a refresher. It is a large and overwhelming place, sometimes too much for my limited synaptic functions. I have taken to writing crib notes, which is normal for teachers, lecturers, and others who wish to give the impression of erudition and and having an encylopedic grasp of facts and details. Hah!

The Doge's Palace, (Palazzo Ducale in Italian) is a must on the Venice trail: extraordinary scale; historical and politcal importance; architectural and artistic interest. It is filled with oil paintings from the 16th and 17th centuries all of which propagandise Venice: its military (naval) prowess, its wide-ranging possessions, its religious fidelity, its successful system of government, its physical beauty, its its wealth, its international outlook, and its own greatness. The whole Palace was a giant commercial meant to impress international visitors for eight centuries, and it still impresses. Today's visitors won't be feted like those lucky ones who were invited to dine with Henry III of France  at the Doge's Palace in 1578 when all the plates, cutlery, glasses were made of sugar. Try that for your next dinner party. Venice was such a show-off!

It was built in the 14th century of brick and then covered with small slabs of istrian marble and Verona marble, giving the Doge's Palace that pink-white look.  

In the photo above you can see a building (with scaffolding on it) to the right of the Palace.That is the old prison of Venice. You can also see between the two the dark outkine of a small bridge reaching from the Doge's Palace to the prison. That is the Bridge of Signs, so called because prisoners who had trials in the Doge's Palace were escorted to prison over the Bridge of Sighs and, realising they would die in prison of rats, cold, heat, or other prisoners, they would sigh as they crossed over. Let's call it urban myth.  

Still, the bridge is the most photographed thing in Venice.

PS the prison today is a tourist destination only, i.e., no prisoners left,  which is not to say there are no criminals in Venice.

  

   

Flying the flag...

 

 This is the President of Italy, Giorgio Napolitano, a faithful member of the Italian Communist Party (although websites call him a moderate Communist) until he was elected President, and now, no doubt, a firm believer in free enterprise, individual freedom, and, of course, anti-totalitarianism (which to a Red means anti-fascism). There are at least two, maybe three, communist parties here in Italy and there is a strong Venetian contingent which is seen in its flag-waving glory on May Day and during elections. Yes, the hammer and sickle are often seen flying in this country of free enterprise, free elections, and freedom of movement and expression. I wonder what the Russian women emigres (Badantes) who are all over Italy caring for old Italian people think about those flags and the hammer and sickle pins on many lapels of old Venetians, some of whom the Russians may be spoon-feeding at night. The Italian Communist Party is the largest in any western country.

One of the better things about Silvio Burlesconi, our prime minister,  is that he'll never miss an opportunity to ridicule the communists here. And they are ridiculous. 

20 Years ago my wife and I went to Moscow for a long weekend. In Red Square we ran into an English contingent of Trade Union members on a junket to the world headquarters of Socialism. In casual conversation, we discovered that they felt as if they were visiting the Bethlehem of their political philosophy. They were so excited, many sporting pins showing the Union Jack and the Soviet Flag juxtaposed. I doubt if they were being shown the gulag or the living conditions of the average Russian. If so, the smarter ones would be back on that BA flight home immediately. Thanking St. Margaret.

   

   

 

 

     

Not Obama again...

It seems impossible to open Yahoo or any other news website without seeing Obama eating a sandwich, or jacketless in a field, or grinning at us. Enough! Don't we have enough media stars invading our lives? Is he the only story in America? I pray not. Compare the fourth estate's love of Obama with its abject hatred of George Bush. To me it says it all about the objectivity of the fourth estate.  

And I live in Italy and we don't have a television. It must be frightening to see the slobbering media in the US -TV "News", New York Times and other newspapers,Time Magazine, Five O'Clock News, etc., drooling over Obama. Enough is enough.

Talk about appotheosis.  

  

The mess that is my office...

 

Thanks, Peter Denker

Have taken on board your wise comments...grazie from Venezia...HF

Guess he was always a socialist...

Obama that is.  I could not belive what I was reading this morning about the government bailout of GM. Has America gone bonkers? Certainly the Rubicon has been crossed. Can't the Senate and house impeach and try this loser of a president? What the F are the Republicans doing, anyway?  What a day in US history! Too many exclamation points, I fear. I voted McCain: don't point your socialist finger at me. 

Yes, my friends you got trouble, right there in Obama City. America for Sale. Call The Obama hotline...My wife and I wish to buy the Statue of Liberty. It has a nice view and an observation deck. And a decent restaurant.  

CA' FONCELLO, TREVISO

Ca' Foncello is a specialist  hospital in Treviso, Italia, which specialises in certain types of neurosurgery, i.e., brain tumour surgery, which is why I was there. It is on a small scale but has a very good reputation throughout Italy. I was a resident there for three weeks and it was there that I had my tumour examined up close and then - not removed, for technical reasons.  When I awoke after the op I was disappointed when I heard the outcome . The outcome from this well-known hospital was that they could not remove the tumour due to potential collateral damage and so they let it stay in place in my brain in the foriman of Monro. Boy, was I glad to hear that 12 hours later!

YOU WHATTTTT!!!! I WHISPERED.

It seems it was doing no harm as it was smallish and they decided to go with the status quo.  

Back home now...happy, pain-free, slightly confused at times. Venice looking bootiful. Listening to boats going by our watergate. A new day has begun. 

Although the entire experience had its share of negatives, I have no desire to be one of those expats who who go home (US, UK) for medical or dental care.  Generally I am happy with my GP, Dr Mazzi, and with my dentist, Dott. Brunello. And by and large, the surgeons at Ca Foncello must have done okay, because I seem to be closing in on 99%. I'll be visiting them for a follow-up next month. We knew some American expats here, who,  prior to moving to Venice, lived in Paris and ,thus, had a French doctor in Paris and whenever they needed to see a doctor, they took the eurostar to Paris, and probably had a good lunch. 

Thank you, Dr. Pier Luigi Longatti. 

HOME AT LAST...

YEP, SPRUNG, FREEDOM, HOME AT LAST, SAID GOODBYES, BIG LUNCH IN VENICE SATURDAY WITH FRIENDS AT GIANNI'S ON ZATTERE. HAD THE EXIT INTERVIEW...AT THE HOSPITAL. HOPE NEVER TO RETURN  WHICH IS NOT A CONDEMNATION OF CA' FONCELLO. I JUST WISH THEY HAD TOLD ME MORE. PATIENTS DO NOT GET MUCH INFORMATION ABOUT THEIR CONDITION FROM THE STAFF. iT WAS A BLACK HOLE AT CA FONCELLO. GUESS IT'S THE ITALIAN WAY...MAI PIU FOR ME. hAVE A FOLLOWUP INTERVIEW AT HOSPITAL 29 jUNE.  I AM ON MY GAME . NO FURTHER HALLUCINATIONS, SOME HEADACHES, SOME CONFUSION, HARD TO CONCENTRATE, MAY SKIP THE COURSE ON CHINESE IDEOGRAMS. Lots of sleep required.

Bleak and cold in Venice...nice to see friends and locals again, the favourite bar in S Margherita, the fruiterer,  the Phillipine news agent, the wine merchant, though not sure of allowable wine consumption in my recuperative state. I received no proscriptions. Except a surgeon told me on the last day...NO SEX!. Hunh? 

Thanks to all who offered condolences and sympathy..and to those who helped Laurie and me along the way. Especially Frank O'Hallloran, Venice's favourite Irish-American.

xx Howard (back in Venice)

back home in Venezia...

Sun shining, lunch on the terrace, tutto a posto.

Nurse Laurie nearby, many callers, pain at bay. trying to download Ipod music...duhh! Ain't easy when brain does not work...

home home on the range

Released, just like Jean valjean in Les Mis. Back in Venice, freedom, some pain, tired, trying to cope, as is Laurie, I am sure. Some mental lapses on my part. Like being 15 degrees off reality. Very tired.  Have asked Laurie to back fill the last 5 days. Most of which I do not remember. I do remember that the surgeons forgot to remove the stitches from my scalp where the catheter was inserted to  drain excess brain fluid. Had to remind them. Laurie yanked a few of them out. (Laurie wanted to be a physician when she attended University in UK.)  Guess I was in A DIY hospital.

Have analysed the Italian approach to patient care and will reveal all later in the week. In short, the patient has to be pro-active, ask questions: why, when,  by whom?  how long?  where?  Doctors here tell you gick. the word equivocation looms large.

    

       

fur is flying....EXALTED SENSE OF STAFF RESPONSIBILITY.

Time: 10.00  place my hospital room...ca foncello. Laurie is sitting on edge of my bed. In comes a room CLEANER WITH MOP AND RAGS AND  and tells Laurie  NOT to sit on the bed.... screw you I say sotto voce. Talk about being above one's station. sheeesh!

HOSPITAL IN TREVISO, BIS

boiled chicken cutlet is

on my plate....yuch!Italian cuisine ground zero...ospedale ca Foncello noise centrale SEND A SMART room 9 BOMB TODAY

AC WORKING WELL, WILL WATCH  movie today on my computer. The revenge of Dr Frankenstein.Laurie has spent a fortune popping up credit on my mobilephone. Planning a luncheon at Gianni's for the big Venice re-entry, ALL VENETIAN FRIEND INVITED.....sit outside watch barche, have a diavola pizza, receive huzzahs from Vittorio, Sergio and Bruno. Not sure yet about vino'''sperodi si.

MY ROOMMATE'S WIFE IS FEEDING HER HUSBAND IN BED AND SIMULTANEOUSLY NARRATING THE MEAL......IT'S AN EYETIE THING....SHE'S A GREAT NARRATOR.BY GREAT I mean frequent LY she starts every sentence witth ascoltami, listen to me.....a conversational wasteland is this black hole. rOOM SIX

Maria Stuarda at the Fenice...

What would Donizetti say?

 "&%!7Xç!&!!" In Italian, of course.

At curtain up at the Fenice this past Thursday, my heart sank as the curtain rose. The sets in opera today, I lament. For this production, think Legoland on an opera stage with strong hints of the bleachers at Yankee Stadium in the Bronx. Rectangular laminated boxes on a slanted stage formed into a maze. Each box one meter or two meters high, some 4 meters long. All reflecting the alternating designer colours projected  from lighting above, green, blue, violet, red, and, of course black and gray.  Green suggesting, I guess, the garden at Fotheringhay Castle where Mary Stuart was held captive by her cousin-rival Queen Elizabeth. The stage had a Vegas look. I was half-expecting Englebert Humperdinck (the singer, not the composer) to appear from the top and saunter down through the maze as he sung The Last Waltz. The creator of all this was the director, set designer, and costume designer, Denis Krief, as in grief.

Singers walked inside and through the maze while singing, left here, right there, back again left, then forward, etc. Exits and entrances were slow and awkward. In one scene, a duet between Stuart and Talbot, the cubes upon which they were leaning as they sang, actually started to move  away from each other in a bizarre scene of bordering on the ludicrous. Giggle-worthy. 

Within this setting sang some excellent singers:  Fiorenza Cedolins and Sonia Gonassi, among others. And you can't fault the music of Donizetti.

It was a night to use your ears, not your eyes.

We are seeing Bryn in the Flying Dutchman in Munich in two weeks and if the sets are similarly dreadful, Act II will see me in the bar.

Why we are fat...and some bad signs...

Here's a public service website available to all which identifies the causes of our obesity...it is also quite entertaining... http://thisiswhyyourefat.com/ 

After viewing the above you may wish to cheer yourself up with some ill-advised signage... at www.engrish.com , samples below.

  

 

 

The Old Man and the Sea?

Yesterday, daughter Kate and I were riding the waterbus from S Marco to the Zattere where we were to snarf some ice cream from Nico's. It was a lovely day and the Giudecca Canal was void of traffic. But I spotted in the distance a lonely rower. As we got closer, Kate took a photo using her mobile phone. More commentary below the picture.

 

The lonely rower, wearing his rower's kit, is bravely powering his passage across a dangerous body of water known for its strong currents, its waves, and especially for its ocean liners which use it to ferry hundreds of thousands of tourists into and from Venice. Some of those ships are 30 stories tall and 3 football fields long. We can see these behemoths from our altana and we need to look up at the passengers on deck. 

Of course, rowing is the participation sport in Venice. Rowing clubs, regattas, races, festivals, men, women, children, old, young. Tutti.

The elderly gentleman shown in the pic has a single oar as he smoothly rows home to Giudecca. Rowers in Venice stand in the boat, just the same as gondoliers, and they row on only one side of the boat...it's the natures of the stroke and of the boat's design that produce straight ahead movement.

As for me, I'll take the waterbus, thanks anyway.

  

What doctors don't say...a rant

I mentioned last month in the blog about the colloidal cyst in my brain (in the third ventricle where they almost always hang out) and about my week's hospitalisation at the Venice hospital in Zelarino. Discharged after a week in which an x-ray, CAT, and MRI were done plus 5 blood tests. Then released and told to await phone call from Treviso hospital who will perfrom surgery endoscopically. Seems to me the tests could have been done and analysed in 2 days. Save taxpayers money.

I received the call two weeks later and was instructed to arrive at Treviso hospital 4 May for surgery.In the meantime, life as usual except for the severe headaches, vertigo, loss of memory and fatigue.

Our friend Michelle in Venice has a London Dr friend who was visiting Venice and was kind enough to bring with her extracts and reports about colloidal cysts she obtained from her hospital's on line medical database. We read them all and were surrprised to read that people with these cysts are instructed not to fly. The change in air pressure can have adverse effect on the brain with a cyst - numerous incidents were cited. Like death. Did I know this? No. No one told me: specialists, hospital staff, head of neurology at the hospital ? Sheeesh!  We fly about 25 times a year but fortunately had no travel plans these two month. And now we certainly have no plans.

Coda: My friend Frank O'Halloran tells me that the doctors did not tell me because I did not ask.

  

Tonight is Pascha...and a moving sermon from St John Chrysostom

At midnight tonight the Eastern Orthodox Church celebrates Pascha (Easter). There are two services: Matins and The Divine Litrugy. It is a long and joyous event celebrating Christ's Glorious Resurrection.

Between the end of Matins and the beginning of the Divine Liturgy, signaling the beginning of Pascha, a priest reads The Catechetical Sermon of St. John Chrysostom.

It is a very moving and beautiful exhortation to participate in Christ's Resurrection. Here it is below...

"If any man be devout and love God, let him enjoy this fair and radiant triumphal feast. If any man be a wise servant, let him rejoicing enter into the joy of his Lord. If any have labored long in fasting, let him now receive his recompense. If any have wrought from the first hour, let him today receive his just reward. If any have come at the third hour, let him with thankfulness keep the feast. If any have arrived at the sixth hour, let him have no misgivings; because he shall in nowise be deprived therefor. If any have delayed until the ninth hour, let him draw near, fearing nothing. If any have tarried even until the eleventh hour, let him, also, be not alarmed at his tardiness; for the Lord, who is jealous of his honor, will accept the last even as the first; he gives rest unto him who comes at the eleventh hour, even as unto him who has wrought from the first hour.

And he shows mercy upon the last, and cares for the first; and to the one he gives, and upon the other he bestows gifts. And he both accepts the deeds, and welcomes the intention, and honors the acts and praises the offering. Wherefore, enter you all into the joy of your Lord; and receive your reward, both the first, and likewise the second. You rich and poor together, hold high festival. You sober and you heedless, honor the day. Rejoice today, both you who have fasted and you who have disregarded the fast. The table is full-laden; feast ye all sumptuously. The calf is fatted; let no one go hungry away.

Enjoy ye all the feast of faith: Receive ye all the riches of loving-kindness. let no one bewail his poverty, for the universal kingdom has been revealed. Let no one weep for his iniquities, for pardon has shown forth from the grave. Let no one fear death, for the Savior's death has set us free. He that was held prisoner of it has annihilated it. By descending into Hell, He made Hell captive. He embittered it when it tasted of His flesh. And Isaiah, foretelling this, did cry: Hell, said he, was embittered, when it encountered Thee in the lower regions. It was embittered, for it was abolished. It was embittered, for it was mocked. It was embittered, for it was slain. It was embittered, for it was overthrown. It was embittered, for it was fettered in chains. It took a body, and met God face to face. It took earth, and encountered Heaven. It took that which was seen, and fell upon the unseen.

O Death, where is your sting? O Hell, where is your victory? Christ is risen, and you are overthrown. Christ is risen, and the demons are fallen. Christ is risen, and the angels rejoice. Christ is risen, and life reigns. Christ is risen, and not one dead remains in the grave. For Christ, being risen from the dead, is become the first fruits of those who have fallen asleep. To Him be glory and dominion unto ages of ages. Amen."

Identifying morons...

Today's blog is an advertisement for a website of which I am very fond: for its dedication to public service and its intelligent and incisive, and often humorous, analysis of cultural trends in the U.S., principally among the more youthful. I refer to http://www.hotchickswithdouchebags.com/. Douchebag is a word we high-schoolers bandied about in the early sixties, at least high-schoolers in the Bronx. It is not a complimentary word. Arguably, in the early sixties it was merely a term of disapprobation for non-cool guys. In Mount St Michael we abbreviated it to "douche", as in "he's a douche". Don't ask me its etymology.

Getting back to the website. It is authored by a California thirty-something who, sometimes hourly, provides pictures of douchebags accompanied by hot chicks, as he calls them. He uses post-modern literary and linguistic analysis and terminology in his witty and thoughtful texts accompanying the photos. But let a picture or two tell the story: below are some douchebags.  Tatoos, headbands or caps tilted sideways, kissy lips, stupid sunglasses, unseemly poses and apparel - all wrapped up, it's called douchebaggery.

The website's author's aim is to explore the seeming cognitive dissonance the pictures depict, i.e., lovely, attractive, normal young women in the company of douches. Or douchewanks as he sometimes refers to them. 

Readers are invited to vote for Douchebag of the Week, of the Month, and of the Year.

I have seen very, very little douchebaggery here in Italy, but Venice is not cutting edge...maybe in Rome it's the rage.

   

  

 

Palm Sunday/Easter Sunday...

The bell above is the original bell from Trinity Church on Wall Street.

Today, in our church in Venice, S Giorgio dei Greci, it is Palm Sunday. In all other churches here (except the Russian) it is Easter Sunday (Pascha). So on our way to church this morning, walking through Piazza S. Marco and various other campos, we'll be hearing the bells of many of the 150 churches in Venice proclaiming Christ's Resurrection. It is a joyous experience. Before moving to Venice we lived in Cambridge (England) and walking to church on Western Easter morning then was like walking in a vacuum: as if all the church bells in Cambridge were silenced...and, in fact, they were. 

You see, the good people of Cambridge wanted their lie-ins on Sunday mornings and those annoying church bells were disturbing their peace. So the city fathers and mothers virtually silenced them. I am glad the poet John Betjeman isn't around to (not) hear them. We have not lived in Cambridge for 10 years so I'd be glad if a Cambridge resident could advise if the no bells rule is still in place.

If you happen to be in the market, here's a website of a company selling used church bells. Shoppers can choose a bell and listen to its ring...... http://www.brosamersbells.com/hear.html. Delivery and installation costs extra.

And here's a pictorial history of church bells: http://prc.cccbr.org.uk/pubs/bellsAndBellringing.php#notableBells

Westgate-On-Sea by John Betjeman

Hark, I hear the bells of Westgate,
I will tell you what they sigh,
Where those minarets and steeples
Prick the open Thanet sky.

Happy bells of eighteen-ninety,
Bursting from your freestone tower!
Recalling laurel, shrubs and privet,
Red geraniums in flower.

Feet that scamper on the asphalt
Through the Borough Council grass,
Till they hide inside the shelter
Bright with ironwork and glass,

Striving chains of ordered children
Purple by the sea-breeze made,
Striving on to prunes and suet
Past the shops on the Parade.

Some with wire around their glasses,
Some with wire across their teeth,
Writhing frames for running noses
And the drooping lip beneath.

Church of England bells of Westgate!
On this balcony I stand,
White the woodwork wriggles round me,
Clocktowers rise on either hand.

For me in my timber arbour
You have one more message yet,
"Plimsolls, plimsolls in the summer,
Oh galoshes in the wet!"

The BBC and Christianity... cognitive dissonance?

Below is a report copied from the Website Ship of Fools which reports on the assininities of the established Church of England, and of others. You will note its tongue in cheek style and its recommendations.

 

Sikh and ye shall not mind

Like it or lump it, the BBC has dumped its Christian head of religion without reason, while the flagship devotional programme, Songs of Praise, is now in the safe, sympathetic hands of a Sikh producer.

For almost 70 years, the BBC played it far too safe when it came to religion. It's hard to believe, but only people with a long-term commitment to religious broadcasting (and a devoted faith) were appointed head of BBC Religion. Canon David Winter, Rev Dr Colin Morris, Rev Ernie Rea... an endless procession of dog collars ran the show. But the new millennium heralded a fresh, enlightened dawn. In 2001 Alan Bookbinder, avowedly agnostic and (refreshingly) with no particular commitment to religious broadcasting, was given the hot seat. Some doubted the move, but the thinking of the BBC's top brass was visionary. They took as their model Sir David Attenborough. He has absolutely no interest in wildlife and conservation, and that's what makes his programmes so compelling. And Alan Titchmarsh is a self-confessed, feet under the desk, office type who can't bear the outdoors. His highly popular programmes on gardening and the natural world are the result. It was a huge surprise, then, when Bookbinder didn't prove to be a spell-binder. In 2006, the high-ups reverted to type and plumped for Michael Wakelin as Bookbinder's replacement. Wakelin is a Methodist preacher with a disappointingly distinguished track record in religious programme production. A bit of a regressive howler, admittedly, but you can always trust the BBC to regain the plot... eventually. In November 2008, they made the sensible decision to give Songs of Praise, the department's flagship programme offering traditional Christian worship and loved by millions of churchgoers to... a Sikh. With Tommy Nagra as executive producer, Songs of Praise was obviously in safe and sympathetic hands. Hotfoot behind this excellent development came the news many had fasted and prayed for: the humiliating dismissal in all but name of Wakelin for no good reason whatsoever. "Michael was told to apply for a new role of head of production and commissioning editor for religion and ethics in a restructured BBC Knowledge division," said a BBC drone. "Unfortunately he was unsuccessful. He is currently considering his options." So, with Wakelin walking, we can joyously report the way clear for an imaginative, dynamic new commissioning editor for religion – to further discourage a department that has witnessed the departure of most of its senior Christian staff since the beginning of the year. This time the corporation must act fearlessly, radically. Informed discussion of religion has never been more important to our society. Let's pray the BBC doesn't again regress into dull conservatism. With that in mind, we present the Ship of Fools guide to... The obvious front-runners:

Sir Fred Goodwin – renowned for being "a safe pair of hands" on the money side, Sir Fred will know how to manage a department running on an ever-shrinking budget.   Richard Dawkins – has done more than anyone else to bring passion, debate and a fresh new perspective to the subject of God, and is therefore a natural choice for the job.   Eric Idle – acomposer of the hymn "Always Look on the Bright Side of Life" (a perennial favourite on Songs of Praise), Idle would bring a bracingly new approach.                  Terry Sanderson – not only President of the National Secular Society (a recommendation in itself), he has also just launched the popular debaptise yourself kit.   Lollipop Lady – Mrs Henrietta Scraggs, currently working (mornings only) in Belper, has said she is willing to "have a go" at the job.

Hurry up and wait...pictures of the Panto Campo

      

First, thanks for the many best wishes I have received from you out there. We do appreciate them. The above pic was taken from our altana two days ago on a seemingly Armageddon evening.

Medical update. Hurry up and wait is the latest instruction from the medical authorities. I was sent home, between hospitals, as one might say, or as an actor would say: resting. I predicted that nothing would happen till Monday when I pray l shall get the phone call to go to Treviso for the op. In Italy no operations are done on weekends, except emergency ones.Treviso has the monopoly on endoscopic brain surgery in the Veneto; in fact, it is called a "Centre of Excellence" for that procedure.  So this weekend it's two dinner parties, a tour, church, and relatively normal life except that I take painkillers for headaches and nap for 3 hours in the PM to enable me to keep up the heady pace.

Yesterday there was an improptu meeting of pantomime actors in Santa Margherita. Photos below. First Frankie Fleece'em and I were having our cappuccinos. Then a crowd of pantomime players were drawn in. So I phoned Laurie to join us and she brought down the scripts which are visible in actors' hands. Panto talk ensued. We are shown at the caffè owned by "Little Man" (as Frank and I call him and of whom I have blogged in the past).  (

Later...have been told today by head of surgery that I will be called "within ten days".

                      

  Frankie Fleece'em and Howie Howe (me).     The groups assembles, scripts in hand.

                   
 Judith who will play Prince Charming              Alan who is the Lord Chamberlain

UPDATE: no hospital till around the 6 April.

   

Nice day here...

Here are from shots of the lagoon & S. Marco taken on the way to church this morning. A cold and crisp day with thousands of Italian day trippers from the mainland.

                        

                    

 

 

  

Weekend at home...

     

I mentioned in an earlier blog about my impending surgery. I am lately resident at the new Venice hospital awaiting surgery on what is laughingly called my brain. There is a colloidal cyst (cisto, in Italian) inside it and out it must come. The cyst blocks the flow of brain fluid around the brain and, thus, causing fluid pressure to build and to adversely affect the functioning of the brain, primarily causing memory loss of recent events. For example, on the day before I entered the hospital I went to my dentist for him to look at a troublesome tooth. He took x-rays and gave me an antobiotic. He said I should come back next week. I said, "I think I am going somewhere next week." As I said that, I desperately tried to remember where I was going. I failed. So as not to look really stupid I said that we are going on a holiday. Minutes later, I asked Laurie what I was doing next week and she told me I was going to the hospital for brain surgery. How could I forget that! But I did. But I still laugh about it.

Surgery hopefully will be via endoscopy but that depends on a few factors and the doctors will inform me of the manner of surgery Monday. I hope it will not be invasive surgery, talk about ruining the week.

The hospital here effectively shuts down for the weekends...no operations, no consultations, but many visitors. It ends up as a hotel for sick people and their visitors. So since nothing was doin' we asked if I could go home for the weekend and the answer was sure. If I was on a drip, needed shots (medical), was unconscious or otherwise bed-bound then I would still be there. But at 5PM, Friday, I was out the door faster than the Italian nurse could say "Jack-a Rob-een-son-a". Must be back at hospital 7PM Sunday. Am writing this from home as hospital has no internet, no wifi, at least for patients.

Estimate for stay was originally 5-6 days. Forget that. In the 4 days there so far they have accomplished an MRI scan, two x-rays, and 2 blood tests. A cat scan was done three weeks earlier. Information is in short supply. Remember that this is a state run institution, so certain expectations of rapid throughput, efficient and frequent communication is a pipedream. Maybe it's that way in most hospitals in the world. 

The new hospital is not in Venice proper, but in Zelarino, about a 15 minute bus ride from Venice. It just opened and and looks like a shopping mall. Above are some pics of the new hospital.

There is a restaurant and a very good bar downstairs where I go every two hours or so for my caffè and pastry, often with Laurie. This is possible because I always wear street clothes in my room - jeans, dress shirt, sweater, docksiders. Strikes me that wearing pajamas, as all other inmates seem to, is a surrender of sorts.

Snoring. My room-mate, Paolo, snores loudly all night and I am in a quandary. Do I complain? It's very difficult for me to sleep and I am amazed he can sleep through it. But I don't want to display the brutta figura, especially as a straniero. A friend here, an ex nurse, says I should ask for "drops" to put me to sleep. But to me it's sort of like shooting the messenger. Paolo should take drops to keep him awake.

I have also discovered here just how poor my Italian is. Doctors and nurses speak rapidly (using a  vocabulary new to me) and they make no allowances for a struggling foreigner. I barely get by and I worry a little that sometimes I agree to something I do not fully understand. For insurance, Laurie will be accompanying me Monday for the big meeting with the Capo of Neurosurgery.     

*****

Been reading a book about Girolamo Savanarola (1452-1498), Scourge and Fire: Savanarola and Renaissance Italy by Lauro Martines. It is a sympathetic history of the famous friar and the exciting times of late 15th century Florence.  I kinda like good ole Girolamo, pictured below.The painting of Savanarola on the book cover is a true likeness, painted by Fra Bartolomeo from life.

 

   

Vienna on my mind...

We did our annual trip to Vienna for the Kunsthistoriches Museum and for the Statsopera. The museum never disappoints. For example,there are over 50 Titian paintings there, more than twice the amount in all of Venice. In addition, we explored at length the Albertina Museum, a heart-breakingly beautiful palace of room after ballroom, after room of splendour... 

We have come to expect from the Vienna opera great singing, naturally, but also great staging. Last week we saw and heard Eugene Onegin with top quality singers Simon Keenlyside as Onegin, Ramon Vargas as Lensky, Tamar Iveri as Tatiana, and Nadia Krasteva as Olga. Seiji Ozawa conducted. 

But the sets? What sets? Below is Tatiana's bedroom, where the famous letter scene happens. Looks like a space ride at a cheap sea-side amusement park, if you ask me. But Miss Iveri sang and acted it beautifully and believably. Richly deserved bravi to Ms Iveri, very richly deserved boos to the moron who "designed" the sets.             

             Tatiana's bedroom  (Brrrr!)

  Onegin

  Ballroom

                         Onegin and Lensky with indigestion

The play opens in a garden (bare stage) where Tatiana and her sister Olga are enjoying the summer air, picking berries. Tatiana, being the introspective daydreamer, is a shy lover of poetry and books, while Olga is happy-go-lucky and full of joie de-vivre. At this moment Olga's fiancè, Lensky, arrives and has a friend in tow, Eugene Onegin, who just moved into the neighbourhood. Onegin and Tatiana pair off and get to know each other and Tatiana falls in love with Onegin (!). That evening in her bedroom she spends the night composing a letter openly declaring her love for Onegin and orders her nurse to deliver it to him.  And so on.

I tell you all this because from curtain up in this opening summer scene there is a full stage width and full stage height snowstorm falling (back projected - very realistic). In this production snow fell in summer, winter, spring and autumn. All the time. I found it overpoweringly distracting. I mean,Tatiana's picking love-me-nots in the garden of the dacha while a blizzard is occurring 2 meters behind her, hunh?  Okay, okay, suspend disbelief, but give me something to work with for god's sake. Onegin was wearing an off the rack suit from Next with a fashionable three day growth on his face, no tie. Hello! magazine all over again.

Seiji Ozawa was conducting (Vienna is his home base) and his hair is whiter and also longer than last year, but still flying all over the place as he conducts. Very energetic.    

Next time it will be the Zeffarelli Onegin, period. Call me old-fashioned.

 

 

Something in the brain...

At least that's what the brain scans showed...6mm something, spherical and dense. One neurologist at the hospital says it's an aneurism, but the neurosurgeon whom I visited said, "That's no aneurism, that's a colloidal cyst blocking the flow of brain fluid." I asked, which is more user friendly? Aneurism or cyst? His answer: cyst (cisto in Italian). I am betting on the surgeon's diagnosis.

So we'll see tomorrow at the hospital where I will be for a few days of tests..more scans, MRI's, angiogram, etc.; then for treatment, surgery of some kind...endoscopic or otherwise I do not know yet.  They say the new hospital at Zelarino has beautiful views of the Dolomites...can't wait.

Laurie and my friends will be relieved as I am driving them nuts since I have apparently lost my short- term memory. I can remember the entire circumstances of Titian's painting, La Assunta (1516-18), below, at the Frari, but don't ask me as I walk out the door where I happen to be going.

Will have laptop at hospital but somehow I doubt if this brand new hospital is wifi'd. We'll see.

 

 

 

  

Homeless with cell phone...

What's wrong with this picture.

 

Yep, here's the President's wife dishing out hot lunches for "The Homeless".

Guess the regular volunteer was ill so a hurry-up call was made to the White House seeking a replacement. I can do it, said Michelle, after consultation with White House Press secretary,  her husband, her hairdresser, her dresser, and her PR consultant.  

Story gives no word on how long she stayed to relieve those  hunger pangs of the homeless. I'm guessing 15 minutes or as many as it took to get the press boys in and out.  

And please note in the picture that the homeless man being served is taking Michelle's photo using his cell phone. Guess he just came from another queue where he was served his new cell phone.

Note to file: consider retirement benefits in D.C.

     

Greeks in Venice...

Sunday in Venice, and our normal thing is to attend the Divine Liturgy at the Greek Church here in Venice, S. Giorgio dei Greci. But today is the Sunday of Orthodoxy, a day in which the missing Greeks living in Venice who never attend services, except perhaps at Pascha, show up with their kids and grandkids so they can join in  the traditional procession of the icons. It's a participatory thing when parishioners and families each carry a church icon around the Church while the cantor is singing the beautiful Kontakion. "Hail Bride Ever Virgin."

Although it took us a long time to get used to the Greek way of doing things in the Orthodox Church, we almost always attend every Sunday. The first few years were tough, but then gradually the Russian and Moldovan women arrived in Venice to serve as badantes - minders - of old Venetians (who comprise 65% of the population here).  These women left their husbands and children back in the homeland so they could earn a living here in Venice to support their families back home. Venice is full of them. These women get one day off a week - Sunday- and every Sunday there are about 50 to 75 or more of them at our church. The normal Greek contingent there is comprised of around seven people, including two cantors (one on salary). Throw in a couple of tourists and a few Ukrainians, and us...that's our church.

This influx of these worshippers and plus a new priest gave the services more life and earnestness and, soon, many of the prayers were sung in Slavonic and Rumanian, in addition to the standard Greek. Progress indeed. We acquired a Moldovan priest, Papa Beniamin, who has a wife and children living in Moldova whom he supports by working in the restaurant at the Europa & Regina Hotel in Venice. He gets no money or housing from the Greek Church. He goes home for about two months at the beginning of every year.

But now we boycott the Sunday of Orthodoxy here as it is a Greek Rugby Scrum. People we have never seen before with kids we did not know existed arrive in droves and jockey for position so their child or grandchild can secure an icon to carry in the procession. It's a zoo, a Greek event... So today we scooted to the Anglican Church (also called St George's) to hear our friend, the vicar Fr John Henry Bowden, give an excellent  sermon relating the covenants of the Old Testament to those of the New Testament. 

Next week, back to normal for the Sunday liturgy at the Greeks. Kyrie Eleison! Lord, Have Mercy! Kyrie Eleison!

GUILTY! IT 'S A BIRD!!

Pentito The BBC story that follows this blog relates to a recent incident which strongly reminds me of an event out of my own high risk life. Our Venetian/London friend, Michelle Lovric, sent me the story.     My story was that about seven years ago while visiting Cambridge (UK) for a few days, I passed a pet shop and, on an impulsive, stupid whim, I bought a canary for £8 and also purchased a small carrying cage about 8x5x5 inches. I put the caged bird into a sturdy, small, designer shopping bag (the kind of which I make fun when Italian men here in Venice use them to carry their cigarettes, wallet and newspapers).   The next day, as I am travelling to Stanstead Airport for the plane to Venice, I considered what customs and/or animal immigration issues might arise. Duh! Arrest, fines, imprisonment? Unwilling to shed the tiny bird, I decided to bank on a  "Gee, I didn't know" defense when crunch time came.    I went into the gent's and removed the bird from the cage and put him into my inside sports jacket pocket; yes, it was a tight fit. Next we calmly and quietly walked from land-side through security to air-side. I was concerned that the x-ray machine might reveal the secreted animal. Animal smuggling! And what about the animal rights lunatics who would descend upon me in addition to the cops? But I have never been convinced that those xray watchers are 100% on the ball. No one frisked me and we both got through and the bird without a chirp, brave little fellow!  Bless his little heart which I could feel was beating like he had tachicardia. No one queried an empty cage. "Sir, I notice you are carrying an empty animal cage. Can you explain that, please?" I would have said it was a gift.   I was worried about sniffer dogs at Stanstead, but it was unlikely they are trained to ferret out aviary smuggling activities. But who knows? Paranoids see threats everywhere.   Once through to airside, I went to the  gent's again, a small one, entered a stall and waited for the other customer to leave. I then took birdie from my pocket, opened his travel cage... but the little bastard slipped out of my hand and headed for the rafters, terrified, I would imagine. I was nervous that some male passenger might enter and find me, well, acting suspiciously. I was visualising all sorts of tabloid headlines. The recapture required some athletic activity on both our parts with me hopping from urinal to urinal, and with him looking for open air. But I nabbed him just as a fellow traveller entered the men's room. The bird was returned to my pocket, both our hearts pounding. We resumed our outward-bound trip.   There is free seating on Easy Jet, so I grabbed a centre seat and casually placed my bird-shopping bag on the window seat to discourage other passengers. I put my sweater on top of the cage to muffle any bird sounds. A  woman soon sat in the aisle seat. Things were quiet, but I did hear a muffled peep now and then from the bag. I looked straight ahead although I could sense her and a fellow across the aisle both eyeing me. I tried to camouflage the bird sounds by occasionally making strange throat-clearing noises myself. Every now and then when the bird was very quiet, I leaned over to look at the little guy to see if he still lived. The lady next to me was casting a few sidelong glances. But I studiously avoided eye contact and conversation, feigning sleep. A few chirps in the next 2 hours and we landed uneventfully in Venice. Hand luggage and the shopping bag. Freedom.   Pentito, in his dotage, is still with us, pictured above.   But my exploits were nothing compared to the douchebag below who was caught for a far more innovative bird smuggling. Read the news article from The Australian... **************   And while reading, you will be happy to discover at the end of the article that the pigeons were not endangered", Phew! Neither was the smuggler's undeclared aubergine. 10 years in the slammer and a £50,000 fine for that!  Ah, Australia.

Australia holds 'pigeon smuggler'

A man has been caught with two pigeons stuffed in his trousers after he got off a flight from Dubai to Melbourne. Australian customs officials say the live birds were wrapped in padded envelopes and held to the man's legs by a pair of tights under his trousers. Australia has strict quarantine rules on the importation of wildlife, plants and food. The man, 23, could face up to 10 years in jail. As well as 10 years' imprisonment, the maximum sentence for wildlife smuggling includes a fine of A$110,000 (US$70,480; £48,902). The nation's quarantine regulations are designed to protect health, agriculture and the environment. Customs officials say the pigeons were not endangered. (Thanks be to God for that, hunh? - Howard)  Customs officials say they also seized seeds in the man's money belt and an undeclared aubergine, following the flight on Sunday.   Howard adds the follow up: "Customs Inspector 2nd Grade Simon Lonsdale of 23412 Tarrawarra Crescent, Indooroopilly, was awarded the Annual Xenophobia Medal of Honour today for saving Australia from an undeclared aubergine."

Post Carneval...pax!

 

Above is Campo S. Margherita this morning.

The post Carneval halcyon days are here. Streets almost empty except some Venetians and some prescient tourists. No tour groups and campos, such as our S. Margherita, are essentially back to normal.

 No more amplified junk rock music in S Margherita till midnight, no more aging and younger hippies beating on bongos and larger percussion "instruments" from 9PM till 4AM. No more diggeridos. No more mornings walking into certain areas that look something like Dresden: debris, broken bottles, glass, etc. No more walking by groups of the aforementioned during the day, sitting on their sleeping bags, absentmindedly beating their bongos or playing a recorder like the ones we had in Mrs. Jenkins music class in the 4th grade. A odd mix of seemingly middle-aged dropouts with a gaggle of lithe, pretty, younger camp followers. And so they are gone, to where I do not know.

But to be fair, those mentioned above, though annoying, are angelic compared to the Italian youth who invade the town each night to engage in a drinkfest. The city fathers in their wisdom, annually erect an elevated perfomance platform in S Margherita, upon which each night till midnight perform the miscreant rock "musicians" whose main goal is to deafen thousands of the young who have an appetite for this, in equal proportion to their appetite for alcoholic beverages. Besides the 7 bars in S Margherita, there are two free-standing  temporary Heineken booths from which beer flows till after midnight. At the end of the rock show the youth remain drinking and dispensing their urine against the walls of houses of local residents till 4AM. Vocal volume is ratcheted up as you can experience only in Italy. No this ain't the Mostly Mozart Festival.

***

Back to normal 

See an empty S. Margherita (at the top of the blog) taken at 9:30 this morning as I returned from my usual visit to The Little Man, as we call the proprietor of the furthest along caffèteria in S Margherita. He has delicious sfoglia (slightly crusty buttery croissant-type confection with apple-ish filling, heated, baked on premises) and does a good cappuccino caldo. Frank O'Halloran, Laurie and I go there whenever either or all of us are nearby. The Little Man's taste in music runs to retro-Italian-rock-ballad, but what can you do?  Below is The Little Man's establishment. If you go visit him, tell him you're friends degli due Americani.

***

 Below are our are fish sellers, Giapaolo Bassich & Son (son in photo). Every morning they are there, Tuesday through Saturday, 8 to 12. There are three fish seller families in S Margherita and each resident has his favourite. One would never be disloyal. If you had a hankering for, say, branzino, and Signor Bassich was sold out, you would choose another type of fish rather than go to one of the other fish sellers. But all three sellers are friendly to each other and will help each other out... I would not doubt if the three families have been selling fish there since Garibaldi's time. They will aslo happily advise on cooking methods.

 

This morning I bought a small pugno of small clams for a spaghetti vongole for lunch.

 

Buon Appetito! 

 

Carneval in Venice...

 

This year we decided to remain in Venice for Carneval, the first time in five years. And it nears its end as I write this. In years past we had always contrived to be in England, Ireland or other places, sometimes letting friends use our place here if they wished to do the Carnevale thing.  

Carnevale the first time or two can be fun, despite the crowds. However, that presupposes one's idea of fun is wearing a costume and regarding others so regaled. As I said once or twice, maybe. But it ain't a good time trying to tolerate overcrowded waterbuses, streets and campos. Then there are the over-priced restaurants, bars, and most egregiously, hearing crap, amplified rock music in various campos, especially Campo S Margherita to which the great unwashed youth migrate to continue their inebriation ritual.  And if one is foolish enough to visit Piazza S. Marco at Carnevale on Fat Tuesday...how shall I compare it? Times Square on New Year's Eve? Or Trafalgar Square on New Year's?  Or how about the no. 4 Lexington Avenue Express as it travelled between 125th Street and 42nd Street on a Monday morning, commuters cheek to jowl?

After the first two years of Carnevale here, Laurie and I insured that we were away from Venice during Carnevale and returning on Ash Wednesday. Ash Wednesday...Oh, the quiet...empty streets, campos, normale. The well organised city fathers have teams of rubbish collectors and street sweepers on the streets early AM (12:01) on Ash Wednesday  to restore Venice to it's natural beauty.

 

Today,the Saturday before Fat Tuesday, I ventured to S Marco to take a few photos. The vaporetto ride was like the aforementioned number 4 train. And 95% of the people in the street and on the boats and in the bars were Italians: all are day-trippers who drive, bus, train it to town. I would guess 250,000* visitors were here today, most of them hung in or around Piazza S Marco and Rialto.

How many wore costumes, you ask? I would say .001 percent. That's not one percent,  that's not one tenth of one percent nor is it one one hundreth of one percent, that's one thousandth of one percent.  Those who were in costume were foreigners (Germans, Americans, British, and especially French who apparently like to dress up, usually in 18th century aristocratic dress). As for Venetians, my guess is that there were no Venetians in S Marco today nor will there be on Tuesday evening, except for the retail shop or restaurant owners who will be counting their cash.

Many Venetians capitalise on Carnevale by renting their apartments to foreign revelers and leave town for a holiday. This weekend those Carnevalers who like to be seen will pay a high price as temperatures yesterday were about 1°C and at night below 0°C.  

The premium costume wearers are allowed to sip (inside) appertivi in Florian's in S Marco and to be seen by gawking passersby. Below is couple discussing drinks with a Florian waiter. He is explaining why a glass of prosecco on this special day is around 25 euro  and how they are so lucky to have been allowed to have a seat in Florian's window. I think, despite their masks, you can see how shocked they are at the prices.

 

 But they are in a window seat at Florian and dopes like me are outside with the riff-raff taking photos. To be seated near the window in Florian during Carnival is to reach the heights...for some. Florian, by the way, was the outdoor/indoor S Marco watering hole for the Venetians at the time of the Austrian occupation until 1866. The orchestra outside would play Gabrielli, Vivaldi and other Venetian composers. Across the square is Quaddri's, an equally prestigious and expensive watering hole and it was here that the Austrians, army officers mostly, would partake in their caffè and apperitivi. The orchestra outside Quaddri's would play Mozart, Shubert and Beethoven. You could say that this was the first battle of the bands. Today, alas, it's Andrew Lloyd-Webber, SInatra, etc. Still nice. Below is Quaddri's...not very elegant today, was it?

As for Venetians, they stay home and since the average age here is 62+, they're asleep by nine. Fat Tuesday nightfall sees the youth of the Veneto descend into Venice by the hundred thousand -  and their costumes are what they wear every day of their lives: inelegant ubiquitous black street clothes and jeans. A barbarian tribe in search of drink, reminiscent of a 4th century invasion. Such a bore. Valentino said he'd rather starve to death than eat off an ugly plate: there will be no Valentinos in Santa Margherita come Tuesday night.

*update on crowd numbers...today's (23 Feb) paper reported in excess of 100,000 visitors. Okay, if they say so, but they all must have been in St Mark's Square with me.

  

Fritelle are here...Hooray!

    

Lent is a time of reflection, in the Catholic church self-denial, a quiet time leading up to the death and resurrection of Christ. Lent begins on Ash Wednesday and thus many in the Christian world use the period preceding Lent as a last chance for various (soon-to-be proscripted) foods and entertainments. 

You, loyal reader, may have seen my photo of St. Mark's Square at midnight, the first few minutes of Lent last year. Here it is for the brave of heart. ..But I digress. In the above mentioned preparation it is incumbent for Venetians to feast on fritelle, pictured above, which are sweet pastries, of dark sweet dough often embedded with pine nuts and small pieces of dried fruit, then stuffed with either zabaglione cream or a plain cream filling. Finally they are dusted with powdered sugar. They cost one euro and we usually eat two each every day but it ends 24 February, thank God!

   Morons at play.

A little early flooding...

It must have been a day off (strike?) at Venice's flood advisory centre. We heard no siren. I casually looked out a window onto our local canal and saw water slightly lapping over its edge. But no acqua alta siren, so it is not high water, we assume. Also, no text message on my mobile from Weather Central advising high water. So to church we wore no boots. The Grand Canal was kind of high...below are pics of the FGC* at S Toma at about 9AM on our way to the Greci. The first pic is of a local canal and flooded watergate at S Toma. Then a shot of Palazzo Moncenigo (the palazzo on left - note the water is creeping in at the watergates) where Lord Byron lived.    *see blog Sept 25 for definition.

      

Finally, upon arrival at S Marco we were greeted with flooding sufficient to enter my shoes or to almost ruin Laurie's suede boots. And we saw no tourists having eye-openers at Quaddri's Caffé: note the lonely chairs huddled together. 

In warmer weather when it floods, tourists frequently remove their footwear, roll up their trousers and splash barefoot through S Marco. Today, with frigid sea water, low air temperatures, there was none of that foolishness. The first time you see acqua alta it's charming, thereafter, it's a curse. Recall the coining of the abbreviation AFA, by Frank O'halloran: the A and the A stand for Acqua and Alta.

    

 

 

In a fog...

Venice...Still cold and very damp here and fog, fog, fog. Here are some pictures taken on the way to S. Zaccaria to look at a few altarpieces...

 

An empty Grand Canal and an empty Venice near S Trovaso, but some brave souls in a gondola...

  

A forlorn and foggy Piazza S Marco and the Basilica up close...and a little further back.

"Take me to the Jordan...wash me down"

Yes, this past Sunday, it was the Christening in Dublin of the grandson, 3 year old Alexander Obihmon. I grant you, it took a couple of years longer than usual, but thanks to God it happened. And it was a lovely event. The important part took place at a a church in the form of an aircraft carrier in Blackock, Dublin, Ireland where the daughters, their spouses and their progeny live.

  

Here is the centre aisle of the Good Ship

Earlier in the day Laurie and I attended the 12:00 mass at  church, the site of the later Christening. At the morning mass I counted the available seats (950) of which 550 were occupied for the mass. (You see, Holy Cathoic Ireland is...well actively Catholic). We attended it in a gesture of solidarity for the Church even though, disappointingly, no none else in the Christening party felt it was necessary or appropriate. The church was very efficient for the morning mass. Of course, efficient does not necessarily mean  affecting. No music, speed talking, short version of all prayers, and for communion, on cue, four additional priests materialised from the wings and were already supplied with wafer-laden chalices. They positioned themselves strategically so the faithful could receive communion efficiently and in the shortest time possible. The whole mass, from bells to go in peace occupied 31 minutes. Mass Express. In that amount of time at our old  Russian Church in London the service would be only 20% over.   

Later, for the Christening, the 20 of us were positioned into side bleachers near the font. The Christening lasted 40 minutes as there were two initiates to process. No reading by family members,and no music there, either. Sheesh.

 

There was no customary struggle (symbolising good and evil?) as Alexander is three years old and all good so far. Here is Alex at his Christening party. If you're reading this, Alex, Happy Birthday!!

 

 O Master, Lord our God, call Your servant, Alexander, to Your holy Illumination, and grant to him that great grace of Your holy Baptism. Put off from him the old man, and renew him unto eternal life; and fill him with the power of Your Holy Spirit, in the unity of Your Christ; that he may be no more a child of the body, but a child of Your kingdom.

Through the good will and grace of Your Only begotten Son, with Whom You are blessed, together with Your most holy, good, and life-creating Spirit, now ever and unto ages of ages.

 

  

Electrics in Italy...beware!

The halogen lightbulb which illuminated the Francesco Hayez painting over our mantel burned out this week after 5 years. Here is what it looked like, although the fixture itself is hard to see . Basically the bulb is on an 18 inch double spring, one end supporting the bulb, the other tucked behind the painting and connected to electricity. The spring arches from behind the painting to a position enabling the light to fall on the picture. See below.

Below is a closeup of the fixture as it lays on a sofa.

   Yesterday, on a ladder, I was attempting to replace the bulb (a two pin bulb requiring a little force to insert properly) and grabbed the metal spring to be able to get at the bulb and as I grabbed it I felt 230 volts coursing through my body. What the hell, I said, as I lay recovering. Must be a short in it. Wrong! The electricity went through the metal sprongs, i.e., they conducted electricity, whereas I always thought the electric wire was somehow inside the spring. So essentially this lamp has two exposed live wires which anybody could innocently touch to adjust the light or change the bulb, as I did.

I ask how a major chain could sell such a dangerous product. Are there no standards of manufacture, no safety standards, no warnings? The words third world loom large. Should I get an American lawyer to sue? By the way, it's still for sale there. Want one? 

Pali...

                                                

                         Pali, old and new.

 

Pali are the long wooden poles to which Venetian boat owners tie their crafts. They are installed by the city and paid for by the boat owner...and you gotta have one. Unfortunately, they deteriorate in about 4 years and need replacing, paid for by the boat owner, but provided by the city at about 300 euro each.  Solution? Plastic Pali, colorised to look like stressed old-fashioned pali. And they never rot. They are popping up all over Venice, and the city is not installing them, individuals are; and the city is livid. Livid because the new ones are not traditional, and, also, they are not part of the city's income stream. The new ones cost about Euro 500 each, but they last forever, until stolen. Also, they are manufactured to look very much like wood. So next time you are in Venezia, take a look at another way the city is changing.

Remember that line from the movie, The Graduate?  Plastics. There's the future. Plastic gondolas?

 

New Year Snow in Venice...with photos

Happy New Year to All!

 

The Frari in the distance.

 

As we left our friend’s party at 1AM New Year’s Day, the snow had already been falling for an hour and Campo Santa Margherita looked beautiful covered in white. True there were some morons there getting a thrill by igniting cherry bombs, poor souls. It's universal, I guess.  Next morning I took the fotos below from one of our windows. (Okay, you New Yorkers, I know I’m not Ruth Orkin behind the lens.) One of the pictures below shows our terrace in disarray as the canopy was unable to carry the weight of the snow and half-collapsed. 

 

This morning we saw that most of the snow had been trampled into ice patches. And it's still freezing here. But there are still tens of thousands of tourists about today who, I guess, enjoyed standing shivering in St Mark's Square at midnight last night. You see, it was the Night of the Bacione, the Big Kiss. So 60,00 people (30,000 lovers?) were encouraged to deliver a big romantic and erotic kiss to their inamorate. I wonder if some Italian moms and their sons also showed up?

 

      

    In the distance above is the Church of S. Maria dei Carmini.

              

Altana in snow                                                    The terrace, too.

Here's the Frari the next day...so much for bad weather.

A Christmas Message...from Mark Steyn

Grow Up!
An Obamafied American Idol Christmas.

By Mark Steyn

I was at the mall two days before Christmas, and it was strangely quiet. So quiet that, sadly, I was able to hear every word of Kelly Clarkson bellowing over the sound system “My Grown-Up Christmas List.” Don’t get me wrong — I love seasonal songs. “Winter Wonderland” — I dig it. “Rudolph” — man, he’s cool, albeit not as literally as Frosty. But “Grown-Up Christmas List” is one of those overwrought ballads of melismatic bombast made for the American Idol crowd. It’s all about how the singer now eschews asking Santa for materialist goodies — beribboned trinkets and gaudy novelties — in favor of selfless grown-up stuff like world peace. Which is an odd sentiment to hear at a shopping mall. But it seems to have done the trick. “Retail Sales Plummet,” read the Christmas headline in the Wall Street Journal. “Sales plunged across most categories on shrinking consumer spending.” Hey, that’s great news, isn’t it? After all, everyone knows Americans consume too much. What was it that then Senator Obama said on the subject? “We can’t just keep driving our SUVs, eating whatever we want, keeping our homes at 72 degrees at all times regardless of whether we live in the tundra or the desert and keep consuming 25 percent of the world’s resources with just 4 percent of the world’s population, and expect the rest of the world to say you just go ahead, we’ll be fine.” And boy, we took the great man’s words to heart. SUV sales have nosedived, and 72 is no longer your home’s thermostat setting but its current value expressed as a percentage of what you paid for it. If I understand then Senator Obama’s logic, in a just world Americans would be 4 percent of the population and consume a fair and reasonable 4 percent of the world’s resources. And in these last few months we’ve made an excellent start toward that blessed utopia: Americans are driving smaller cars, buying smaller homes, giving smaller Christmas presents. And yet, strangely, President-Elect Obama doesn’t seem terribly happy about the Obamafication of the American economy. He’s proposing some 5.7 bazillion dollar “stimulus” package or whatever it is now to “stimulate” it back into its bad old ways. And how does the rest of the world, of whose tender sensibilities then Senator Obama was so mindful, feel about the collapse of American consumer excess? They’re aghast, they’re terrified, they’re on a one-way express elevator down to Sub-Basement Level 37 of the abyss with no hope of putting on the brakes unless the global economy can restore aggregate demand. What does all that mumbo-jumbo about “aggregate demand” mean? Well, that’s a fancy term for you — yes, you, Joe Lardbutt, the bloated disgusting embodiment of American excess, driving around in your Chevy Behemoth, getting two blocks to the gallon as you shear the roof off the drive-thru lane to pick up your $7.93 decaf gingersnap-mocha-pepperoni-zebra mussel frappuccino, which makes for a wonderful cool refreshing thirst-quencher after you’ve been working up a sweat watching the plasma TV in your rec room all morning with the thermostat set to 87. The message from the European political class couldn’t be more straightforward: If you crass, vulgar Americans don’t ramp up the demand, we’re kaput. Unless you get back to previous levels of planet-devastating consumption, the planet is screwed. “Much of the load will fall on the US ,” wrote Martin Wolf in the Financial Times, “largely because the Europeans, Japanese and even the Chinese are too inert, too complacent, or too weak.” The European Union has 500 million people, compared with America ’s 300 million. Britain, France, Germany, Italy, and Spain are advanced economies whose combined population adds up to that of the United States. Many EU members have enjoyed for decades the enlightened progressive policies Americans won’t be getting until January 20th. Why then are they so “inert” that their economic fortunes depend on the despised moronic Yanks? Ah, well. To return to Kelly Clarkson — and Barbra Streisand and Michael Buble and Amy Grant — the striking thing about their “Grown-Up Christmas List” is how childish it is. The concerned vocalist tells Santa that what she wants for Christmas is: “No more lives torn apart, That wars would never start…” Whether wars start depends on the intended target’s ability to deter. As to “lives torn apart,” that, too, is a matter of being on the receiving end. If you’re in an African dictatorship, your life can be torn apart. If you’re in a society that values individual liberty, you’ll at least get a shot at tearing your own life apart — you’ll make bad choices, marry a ne’er-do-well, blow your savings, lose your job — but these are ultimately within your power to correct. The passivity of the lyric — the “lives” that get “torn apart” is very revealing. A state in which lives aren’t torn apart will be, by definition, totalitarian: As in The Stepford Wives or The Invasion Of the Body Snatchers, we’ll all be wandering around in glassy-eyed conformity. “Lives” will no longer be “torn apart” because they’re no longer lives, but simply the husks of a centrally controlled tyranny. To live is messy but liberating: Free societies enable the citizenry to fulfill their potential — to innovate, to create, to accumulate — while recognizing that some of their number will fail. But to attempt to insulate free peoples from moral hazard is debilitating and ultimately fatal. To Martin Wolf’s list of a Europe “too inert, too complacent, too weak,” we might add “too old”: Healthy societies recharge their batteries by the aged and wealthy lending their savings to the young and eager. But Germany is a population of prosperous seniors with no grandchildren to lend to. Japan is a society of great invention with insufficient youth to provide a domestic market. That’s why if you’re Sony or Ikea or any other great global brand, you want access to America for your product. That’s why economic recovery will be driven by the U.S., and not by Euro-Japanese entities long marinated in Obamanomics. One final thought on “My Grown-Up Christmas List.” The first two lines always give me a chuckle: “Do you remember me? I sat upon your knee…” When was the last time you saw a child sit upon a Santa’s knee? Rod Liddle in the British Spectator reports that at a top London department store Santa sits at one end of the bench while a large “X” directs the moppet to a place down the other end, well out of arm’s reach. For even Santa Claus is just another pedophile in waiting. Naughty or nice? Who really knows? Best not to take any chances. That’s another way societies seize up — by obsessing on phantom threats rather than real ones. Are free peoples now merely vulnerable infants in need of protection from the pedophile Santa of global capitalism? This is the issue that will determine the future: Euro-style state-directed protectionist sclerosis vs. individual liberty in all its messiness. I know what I want on my “Grown-Up Christmas List.” © 2008 Mark Steyn

The Eternal City...

 Yes, Roma is the Eternal City, and it's eternally noisy. It reminds me of the constant traffic in New York. We were guests of friends who live near Via Nazionale and I swear you can hear the rubber tires on each car as it bounce along each cobblestone. In other ways it reminds me of New York. Crowds of people, smart, unaffordable shops on the major avenues, pedestrians well dressed. Everybody busy. In other ways it said New York. The picture below below our temporary home could easliy be mistaken for 93rd Street between Madison and Fifth.

 

 

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GIOVANNI BELLINI

a once in a lifetime show

We went to Roma to visit the Giovanni Bellini show at the Scuderie. There are about 30 Bellini paintings in Venice, but this was a once in a lifetime show with paintings not only from Venice (Bellini's home) but from all over the world. There were about 60 paintings that you see only in books. It was a great show and beautifully presented.

Bellini was the teacher of both Titian and Giorgione. And while those two went there own ways and drove the Renaissance in Venice, Giovanni Bellini still retained his religious sensibilities while at the same time being attuned to the Renaissance.

He painted spectacularly beautiful, heart-breaking Madonnas. A few below. But to see them in person, lovingly presented, was a thrill.

 

 

 

Venice in a fog...

Fog galore. Here are some shots as I visited the post office at Rialto and returned by a traghetto at S. Toma.  Gino is rowing.

     

Below is a Venetian experience: How many Venetians does it take to change a light bulb?

ANSWER: quattro

 

Acqua Alta...

 

Acqua Alta today

We were awakened this AM by the sirens announcing acqua alta. It's the first of the season, and it's a doosie. See the photo of Piazza S. Marco  taken by a webcam an hour ago. The the prediction was for flooding maximum to be 155cm, which is high, very high.

Acqua alta occurs when certain events coincide:

• A very high tide (usually during a full or new moon).

• Low atmospheric pressure.

• A scirocco wind blowing up the narrow, shallow Adriatic Sea, which forces water into the Venetian Lagoon.

I went out at 9:30 to buy some croissants and an electrical item and sea water almost breached my rubber boots. High tide was about an hour ago. It is the first time I have seen significant flooding in Campo S. Margherita. All Veneticans have stivali (in English they are called wellies). Today, in some areas you needed hip boots. Vaporettos (water buses) are closed down because boats cannot dock in high water and the same for boat deliveries and since the streets are flooded, how can men push handtrucks along the flooded streets?

I mentioned that Venetians all have rubber boots, but on days like today you see thousands  of commuters (students, office and shop workers) from Mestre and further away who arrived this morning unprepared. They mostly stand around in isolated groups on high ground weighing their alternatives and smoking cigarettes. The alternatives are*: finding an unflooded bar and staying there for a few hours until the water subsides, or removing shoes and slosh through the filthy and freezing sea water, or try to find a shop or hardware store within dry walking distance and buy a pair of boots, or stand around on dry ground lamenting and waiting for the tide to change.

 * Strictly speaking an alternative is part of an either/or decision, i.e., it cannot be pluralised. There can be only one alternative. However, our friend Niki Lambros from Montreal disagrees with me. 

 Here are a few acqua alta pics:

Note that the shop in the lower photo is flooded but most shops carry on as usual.

                 

 

Quiet time in Venice...

November is a slow month in Venice, and that's good. Wise tourists are here enjoying relatively empty calles and squares. English is not heard too often now as Americans, I guess, wish to be home for Thanksgiving. 

St. Mark's Square in rain, Doge's Palace on right, Basilica S. Marco and clock tower

On weekends, especially Sundays, the local Italians from within 40 miles or so do come to Venice, en famille. You see the vanguard groups at about 11AM with the sleepier ones flowing in later and the exodus happens between 4PM and 6PM when the streets to the bus and train stations are chock-a-block. Most walk because the cost of a vaporetto ticket is 6.50 euro and a family of 6 would cost 78 euro, to say nothing of their bus fare to Venice from the hinterlands or their parking costs in Venice. Commercial enterprises here don't like the local tourists because they spend no money. Some local Italians even bring their own lunch and you see groups having a picnic on the sidewalks. They also travel in family groups - grandfolks, kids, moms, dads, aunts- all of whom  jam the laneways here. Their destination is always S. Marco Square and Rialto Bridge, just the same as most tourists. They never seem to widen their aperture and visit the Frari, Accademia, Doge's Palace, ghetto, Dorsoduro, Arsenale, Zanipolo, Miracoli, Ca D'oro, etc.  

Many shop owners use November for a their holiday and close down. They re-open for the Christmas season. Some restaurants use this time for renovation. But don't worry, you won't starve and if one thousand mask and glass shops closed this second, your opportunity to buy those products would be as good as ever.  

So while it's not exactly a ghost town, it's quiet and peaceful, except Sunday. Winter is a great time to visit. Okay, so it rains a little, so it's overcoat weather, all part of Venice's charm.

  

Wednesday in Venice...

It’s good to be back and to fall into my usual Venetian habits. Much of it centred on Campo S. Margherita, our local place. For instance, today I visited our dry cleaner, I bought two fresh salmon steaks from our local fishmonger, Giampaolo Bassich (see him below at his stand). Also purchased some dried eucalyptus and other flowers for our dinner party on Saturday (flowers for decoration, not a menu item). Bought three rabbits at the local meat market and discussed at length with the kindly butcher the way they were to be butchered; the rabbits will be attending the dinner (the recipe is from the Silver Palate Good Times Cookbook). You will note the honey-mustard coloured stains on the page as evidence of the frequency with which we use this recipe - see below). Also, paid my newspaper bill and bought some local wine to get us through the week.

 

When all was completed we (Laurie joined me at this point) took our elevenses at a small café at the far end of S. Margherita which happens to bake a yummy pastry called sfoglia (lightly crisped, sweet bread and filled with apple-stuff). The owner of the cafè is completely non-communicative, verbally, facially, bodily, but we tolerate him for his sfoglie.

Below are a few pics of S. Margherita including a painting of it from the 18th century when the bell tower of the church was at its full priapic height. In 1880 it suffered damage and was surgically reduced in size.

     

    

HONEY MUSTARD RABBIT RECIPE

(Silver Palate)

  

(Our experience is to double the amount of rabbit suggested above. 2 pcs per person ain't sufficient. Therefore, other ingredients must be doubled.)

The Holy Land Pilgrimage... in photos

HI ALL, ENJOY THE PHOTOS, HOWARD JOHN IN VENICE ... 

    

  

       

     

     

    

 

 

       

     

            

          

        

  

          

   More pictures at my www.venice-art-tours.com/pilgrim1.htm

  

That GD bridge....and Jordan (not Michael)

  Just back tonight from our 15 day Holy Land pilgrimage and will report on it over the next 5 days or so. Please check in for some great pictures and an interesting story or two.

Bridge talk...

Meanwhile, tonight at 7PM we arrived at the Venice train station from Milano. It was dark and the city was flooded with Italian tourists streaming home after a Sunday in Venice. Depending where you are, a quick way to the bus station, which most local visitors use, is over, dare I say it, the Calatravesty Bridge.   (See a past blog for more details)

We decided the shortest way home, especially with luggage, was the Calatravesty. We were among the Italians streaming home, but we were with two heavy suitcases and two heavy carry-ons. First thing we noticed is that here was no light, it was pitch black. Also, as the famous designer designed no ramp for strollers or for people with wheelie suitcases, like us, we had to hump them up the stairs.  But here's the rub...we could not see the stairs, as such. As my previous blogs described, the translucent glass steps are irregular. The (barely) illuminated glass (from below) is held in place by a brass 2 inch border which at night appears black. The iluminated glass has a blue haze appearance. But as the bridge ascends the tread length doubles as you get nearer the top, so looking down you see what appears to be two steps, but it is one step twice as wide, appearing to be two steps. Therefore, people looking down make an assumption that they must step UP onto the next step, only to find that there is no step and one hurtles forward, and repeat the the process until you have figured it out, by which time there IS another step going down...surprise, surprise.

New York Liability lawyers should set up shop at each end of the bridge. As mentioned in a previous blog, many people fall daily. When we left for our trip two weeks ago the deputy mayor said it was an easy fix and he was  going to have it finished in days...

Unrelated adddendum...

We took a Jordanian Airlines flight today from Amman, the capital of Jordan, to Milano. It was dreadful: the airline people were neutral or unfriendly, and when the central cabin temperature zoomed to about 30°C (because the ac was broken as (they later admitted)), I was the only complainer, which surprised me as the Italians on board are usually very loud about everything. But the staff was in denial and ignored my importuning. The last 10 rows were ice cold and I squeezed in there. Laurie was embarrassed by my scene-making, but  also she has that quaint English attitude of accepting inconvenience and discomfort  so as not to "cause trouble". We see eye to eye on most other things.  

  

 

Calatravesty...

Well, a blog or two ago, I did adumbrate the problems with the Calatrava bridge from my recent experience while at the same time admiring its look, or lo look, as they would say here. I am hardly prescient, but I wonder how Santiago Calatrava could not have experienced some problems himself on his bridge...

Yesterday's headline was "Calatrava: troppe cadute, cambiamo i gradini."  To translate: "Too many have fallen, we will change the steps."  In fact, the newspaper here says "tens" have fallen to the degree that they were taken to the hospital emergency room. The paper quotes Calatrava, "I note that some steps are twice a wide as the preceding step and also of the subsequent step..." Wow, glad he noticed that.

The city engineer says that it's an easy fix to replace the steps, i.e., the alternately larger and or shorter ones and remove the glass. Is this not an abject admission of failure of serious proportions? These steps and the single arch were the primary selling points of the bridge, for god's sake!  The double steps were there to create an illusion that the bridge was composed of a smooth unchanging arch. We were to admire the translucent, underlit glass. Calatrava will be denying his major.  

The city engineer says the work can be done in one night and will cost next to nothing. Presumably, they'll be looking at the cracks that have been springing up in the stone steps the last 3 weeks. Stay tuned for that promise.

We'll be away for about 16 days, but upon return we'll see what's up, as it were.  

P.S., Peter Denker in Texas informs me that Calatrava's projects are famous for significant cost overruns and lengthy delays in completion.  He reports that SMU has a Calatrava fountain that was meant to cost $300,000 but ended up at $1.5 million. Oy Vey! 

New life for Alitalia?

Just when you thought the body was buried...Lazarus (aka Alitalia) may be alive after all.

You will recall that the largest and most leftist Italian union (CGIL), about ten days ago, squashed the private consortium's plans for a new, streamlined Alitalia. The plan, of course, rightfully included very significant job reductions. The pilot's union also rejected the plan. Alitalia has not made a profit in ten years, by the way.  

These rejections meant the collapse of Alitalia unless some extraplanetary entity was willing to take a flyer and work with these employees. Fat chance. But Flash! Within the past 3 days, CGIL has apparently surrendered, recognising that 20,000 people losing their jobs was worse that 7,000. It and the government have reached an agreement and Silvio Berlusconi says Alitalia will fly again with the investment group back on board and the likely prospect of Air France taking a minority stake.

The above is last night's news. But here in Italy, every day is a crap shoot when it comes to people doing what they say they are going to do. There will be more plot dynamics to this story. 

I await this week's headlines.