Every day, thousands of tourists flock to the Piazza San Marco. They marvel at the Doge's Palace, with it's powerful, yet graceful, gothic design. Perhaps they take a tour of the inside. Outside, they pose for pictures and admire the diaper pattern on the walls, the quatrefoils, the balustrades, and the long, gothic windows. No doubt they also admire the columns, but few take the time to really view them in detail; they may not even realize that each of the capitals is unique. In the case of our group, we pass the Doge's Palace almost daily, yet we rarely take the time to notice it. It seemed especially important to point out an interesting detail in what seemed like such an obvious place. Of all of the columns, the one I liked best was right at the corner. Again, something obvious yet often missed. From a distance, the column looks fairly typical. Above, there is a large statue of Adam and Eve. On the capital, there is an acanthus plant design, the typical decoration of Corinthian columns. Upon a closer view, the column takes on more detail. Below Adam and Eve, there is a depiction of Jesus, seated on a throne, with a child at his side. There, however, the biblical images end, and the other seven facets present us with something entirely different. Here are Aries, the ram, and Scorpio, the scorpion. Leo, the lion, and Virgo, the virgin. It is difficult to see in this picture, but she has rays of light emanating from her head, representing purity. Taurus, the bull, and Libra, the scales (in the woman's hand) Gemini, the twins. (right) Cancer, the crab. (right side of boat) Capricorn, the sea-goat, and Aquarius, the water bearer. Pisces, the fish (to the man's left) and Sagittarius, the archer. Interestingly, Sagittarius here appears in the form of a human rather than a centaur.
The other figures represent soldier and sailors- displays of La Serenissima's power- or various virtues, such as Justice, who holds the scales. The latin inscription around the top of the capital describes the images.
I would like to focus on the signs of the zodiac. It seemed strange to find them mingled with religious figures, and so close to the sacred place of the Basilica di San Marco. However, as has become evident throughout this semester, Venice is a place that constantly mixes the sacred and profane. Further, although most people today, when presented with the signs of the zodiac, think of horoscopes and fortune telling, it is important to remember that the zodiac serves another, more important purpose. More than just a list of characters on a newspaper page, the signs of the zodiac refer to the ring of constellations around the ecliptic, the apparent path of the sun across the sky over the course of a year. Each constellation is visible at a certain time of the year, for approximately a month.
Aries: March 21-April 19 Taurus: April 20 - May 20 Gemini: May 21 - June 20 Cancer: June 21- July 22 Leo: July 23 - August 22 Virgo: August 23 - September 22 Libra: September 23 - October 22 Scorpio: October 23 - November 21 Sagittarius: November 22 - December 21 Capricorn: December 22 - January 19 Aquarius: January 20 - February 18 Pisces: February 19 - March 20
Thus, depending upon which constellation is visible, it is possible to discern the time of year. This was especially important for sailors who, being far from home, might otherwise be unable to tell. The zodiac appears in one other place in the Piazza San Marco- on the clock tower- and it was made large enough so that sailors could easily view it from the port through their telescopes. Because of their position around the ecliptic, the constellations of the zodiac could also aid in navigation. Construction on the Doge's Palace began in the fourteenth century and continued until 1420. This was just in the middle of the Late Middle Ages, at the time when society was advancing toward modernity. At the time, Venice had a fleet of 3300 ships, and its empire was well established, controlling such territories as Padova and Verona. It is easy to understand, then, why the signs of the zodiac deserved such a prominent space in the Piazza San Marco. In the same way that Venice's commerce and control of trade between the east and west supported the power of its empire, this column supports the Doge's Palace, the very symbol of Venetian power. The metaphor this column presents calls to mind Ambrosini's Reconsidering Venice, in which they discuss the myth and antimyth of Venice. On the one hand, it was La Serenissima, an "ideal republic, strong maritime empire, and an independent state in which the Venetian nobles were devoted to the ideals of civic humanis, and the commercial values of sobriety, hard work, and self-sacrifice." [The bolding is my own.] Venice was admired for its wealth and power, and these were the sources of its beauty. On the other hand, the things considered by some to be virtues were considered by others to be evils. The antimyth of Venice is that of an evil, oppressive empire, that "sought to place the rest of Italy under its domination." Either way, I find it incredibly interesting that something as simple as a column- part of a column- an architectural feature, can reflect so much about the society that built it. Venice is, and has always been, tied to the sea. When new trade routes were discovered and Venice's maritime economy began to decline, so too did the republic. We can only hope that the Doge's Palace and its columns will not someday be left to crumble. The columns were replaced during 19th century restorations, and, despite what Ruskin would say about that, I'm glad that the originals are now being preserved and that we have the copies to give us a glance into the Venetian past.
The description on the back of this book reads, "A Room With a View brings home the stuffiness of upper-middle-class Edwardian society in a tremendously funny comedy that pairs a well-bred young lady with a lusty railway clerk and satirizes both the clergy and the English notion of respectability."
To summarize for those who have not read the book, and to provide a reminder for those who have, the basic plot of the book is this: The well-bred upper-middle-class young lady, Lucy Honeychurch, visits Italy and is drastically changed by her experiences there, most notably the sublime death, before her eyes, of an unfortunate Italian man. Later, she returns to England and is soon engaged to Cecil Vyse, a well-bred, well-educated, and well-connected man, a fine match according to her station. However, Cecil is completely abominable. It takes some time, but Lucy finally realizes that fact and breaks off her engagement with him. After that, in a bout of madness, she makes plans to run off to Greece, but instead she is convinced to marry George Emerson, the lusty railway clerk she met in Florence. They return to Italy together, and are happy.
In the beginning of the book, Lucy and her cousin Charlotte Bartlett, who has accompanied as a chaperone (and to take advantage of her aunt’s money for a trip to Italy) have two very simple problems: they don’t have “south rooms with a view close together” as promised, but instead “north rooms, looking into a courtyard, and a long way apart” and they are not getting the authentic Italian experience they apparently hoped for. The owner of the pension, the Bertolini, where they are staying is “a Cockney,” a low-class English woman. Clearly they expected a quaint Italian innkeeper and a picturesque view of Florence. From there, things only get worse. They soon meet some of “the ill-bred people one does meet abroad,” namely George Emerson and his father.
At this point, A Room With a View appears to be an anti-tourist novel. Forster satirizes the pushy, impatient, dissatisfied tourist facing culture shock and criticizing everything (such as when Charlotte declares “This meat has surely been used for soup.” or Lucy complains that their rooms smell.) More specifically, he satirizes the well-bred English tourist who manages to be intolerable while still attempting to retain “the English notion of respectability.” (One of the gossips in Pension Bertolini can’t bring herself to say the word “stomach” for example, since it’s such a vulgar, bodily term.)
Not much later, however, Lucy and her cousin meet another tenant of Pension Bertolini, Eleanor Lavish. Mrs. Lavish is herself an anti-tourist, the sort of tourist who would prefer to be called a “traveler.” She refuses the aid of guidebooks, and recommends the same to Lucy. “I hope we shall soon emancipate you from Baedeker. He does but touch the surface of things.” She goes on to say, “The true Italy is only to be found by patient observation.” Largely by virtue of having been in Florence longer, Mrs. Lavish has plenty of advice to dispense, and she is at first considered a “clever lady.” However Lucy soon loses patience with Mrs. Lavish after she robs her of her guidebook and leaves her alone in the city. She only grows more irritating. Thus, Forster provides an anti-anti tourist novel as well.
The larger part of the novel, however, and the more important problem, comes after Lucy leaves Italy and returns to England. Part II begins with Lucy accepting an engagement to Cecil Vyse, an exceptionally eligible man she met in Rome. Cecil is described thus: “He was mediaeval. Like a Gothic statue. Tall and refined, with... a head that was tilted a little higher than the usual level of vision... Well educated, well endowed, and not deficient physically...” However, like Ruskin’s favorite Gothic structures, Cecil is imperfect. In fact, he’s completely intolerable. He finds Lucy charming, but he will not let her be herself. He dislikes her family and the requisite pre-marriage activities, such as the garden party Mrs. Honeychurch holds for them. He’s positively unkind to people- ironically, he arranges for the Emersons to move into a nearby rental property as a joke- and he refuses to do even simple things, like be a fourth for tennis, for the sake of others.
The engagement with Vyse is a source of great anxiety for Lucy. If this were any other nineteenth century novel, she might simply end up marrying him in spite of his faults. After all, he has money and position; personality would be secondary. At any rate, Lucy’s aversion to him could be explained away as a result of her travels; perhaps it would even be something from which he must save her, in the same way that the British Empire set out to “save” territories it considered uncivilized. Thankfully, Forster was an author in favor of liberation. Yes, Lucy’s trip to Italy changed her, but this is not meant to be seen as something negative. Instead, Lucy is allowed to be true to herself and her own desires and to make the decision that the reader at this point should want her to make; she breaks off her engagement with Vyse.
Now Lucy is faced with another problem. She is again single, and not only is this a cause of embarrassment and disappointment for the people close to her, it is a threat to the very well-being of the empire. If she is not married soon, she risks spinsterhood, which would mean she wouldn’t be contributing any good English babies. Far from being content, Lucy becomes so upset that she makes plans to travel to Greece. If Italy is a less-civilized place than England, Greece is downright savage. Going there could be positively fatal for a young lady like Lucy (in terms of her English sensibility) especially considering how much she has already been affected by Italy. Now she does need to be saved, and the man who accomplishes this is none other than the ill-bred Mr. Emerson, who convinces her to marry her son. Of course this is exactly what Lucy has desired all along, almost from the moment she met George at the pension.
Lucy’s marriage to George is, in some ways, a safe ending- a truly transgressive novel would have Lucy choosing to remain single and thus completely free. She would go to Greece, and wherever else her New-Womanly heart desired. However, although in this scenario there will no doubt be English babies, Forster’s ending is still scandalous. George and Lucy’s marriage is not immediately accepted, since George comes from a lower class, and the two return to Italy not only for its romantic setting, but also to escape English society’s disapproval. Further, it is also a hopeful ending, suggestive of the potential for upward mobility even in repressive English society, and it is also a critical ending. If Cecil was Gothic, George is Romantic. By discovering "the holiness of her direct desire" and going against societal norms, Lucy actually moves toward a more enlightened existence. Overall, then, I would say Forster is in favor of tourism, at least as long as it broadens one’s horizons and facilitates liberation.
Thanksgiving in Venice was, to say the least, an interesting affair, and far from traditional. The festivities started in the afternoon with a surprise visit to the clock tower. Not only was the tower a timepiece and a showcase of civic pride for Venetians (and well it should be, to be worth demolishing several residences) it was a useful tool for the sailors who docked in the Venetian port. In addition to telling the hour (a later addition created a sort of digital clock that changed every five minutes), the clock displays, on an inner dial, the signs of the zodiac. Today, the zodiac is mainly associated with astrology, but it is important to remember that the astrological signs wer first related to astronomy. The signs corrospond to constellations, which reveal the time of year and can be used to navigate. Wikipedia provides this explanation: "In astronomy, the zodiac is the ring of constellations that lines the ecliptic, which is the apparent path of the Sun across the sky over the course of the year. The Moon and planets also lie within the ecliptic, and so are also within the constellations of the zodiac. In astrology, the zodiac denotes those signs which divide the ecliptic into twelve equal zones of celestial longitude. As such, the zodiac is a celestial coordinate system, more precisely an ecliptic coordinate system, taking the ecliptic as the origin of latitude, and the position of the sun at vernal equinox as the origin of longitude." In the center of the clock face, another dial shows the phase of the moon, which was especially important for predicting tides. The tide is highest at the full and new moon, and lower when the moon is waxing or waning. This information is still useful today, since, not only does Venice operate mainly by boat, but also because high tide is when there will most likely be acqua alta.
Inside the clock tower, we saw the mechanisms that move all of the separate parts. Today, everything is situated in the center and run by electricity, but originally everything had to be run manually. The cables holding the weights that controlled the clock had to be wound by hand cranks, gears had to be oiled, and everything generally had to be kept running, well, like clockwork. Since the keeper of the tower had to be, literally, on the clock at all hours, he and his family had their living quarters inside the tower. The mechanisms were once situated against the walls in order for there to be living space in the center. Being the keeper of the clock was a position of some prestige, so it tended to be kept within families, with the secrets of the clock's inner workings being passed from father to son, or uncle to nephew, or to cousins, or so on. Even so, over the centuries changes were made and information was occasionally lost. One keeper was bewildered by a pair of closed doors on the floor above the clock face, but he soon saw opportunity. The supposedly empty spaces soon became home to the two "digital" wheels that show the hour and the minute (changing every five minutes). It was only later, upon opening a locked door, that he discovered the spaces were originally meant to allow the passage of an procession- an angel and the three wise men- around Mary and the baby Jesus. A previous keeper had removed them for repair, intending to replace them much sooner. Originally, the procession made its round hourly and had to be powered by a hand crank. However, no one was willing to remove the "digital" wheels permanently, and removing them and putting the procession in place requires far too much effort to do hourly, so now the angel and wise men have only to work twice a year. The statues are surprisingly complex for their age; as they make their turn around a clock face, they brush against a lever which triggers their movement. The angel blows the trumpet, and the three wise men tip their crowns. At the top of the tower, there are two more animatronic statues- the two moors who ring the bell. The right moor strikes the bell two minutes before the hour, and the left moor strikes it on the hour. We were up on the terrace just in time to see them strike four o'clock. Video
After that, we climbed all the way to the top to get up close and personal with the moors, and also see the two little hammers at the back of the clock. These strike the bell 156 times at midnight; 156 is the sum of all of the other strikes during the day. When our clock tower tour ended, it was time for a visit to San Giorgio Maggiore, another awesome gothic church, and, after that, Thanksgiving dinner.
Other than having vast quantities of food, dinner was anything but traditional. There was no turkey in sight, nor mashed potatoes, nor pumpkin pie... But that didn't stop us from getting plenty to eat. We started with bread and several types of seafood. There was bacala, smoked salmon, shrimp with some kind of dressing, and a cold pickled sardines and sauerkraut dish. After that there were plates of vegetables. The stuffed red peppers were surprisingly good. Then came a cheese tray and plate after plate of sliced meat (various types of beef and pork/ham). For dessert (also part of Audrey's birthday festivities) we sampled a collection of delicious pastries. The best part of the evening, though, was receiving Thanksgiving cards and goodie bags; I don't think I've ever enjoyed candy corn quite so much. It was a little difficult for everyone to celebrate such an important family holiday so far from home.
The following day (or for some, later that evening) it was back to business as usual. We've realized that we don't have much time left in Italy, and, while we're ready to be home, there's still so much we could do here, so we're using our weekend time to its fullest while we still can. Thanks to the train strike that led to the Pisa-in-the-rain adventure, I had an extra day on my Eurail pass to use, so Friday I got up early and caught a train to Bologna. I didn't have any plans; I just wandered, saw the sights, and took pictures. I came upon an outdoor market and purchased a set of gift boxes, which will be useful for packing fragile things as well as wrapping gifts, and later I found my way to yet another tower. At only three euros, the opportunity to climb it was a bargain I couldn't pass up. I regretted the decision before I reached the top- I think this was the tallest tower yet- but it was well worth the effort once I finally got there.
Bologna had a much different feel from Venice. It had its old parts, ruins here and there, but they were just that- parts. Venice, as a whole, feels old. This, in itself is odd because it's actually one of the newer parts of Italy. Venice was not an ancient Roman city; rather, it was formed by Roman refugees fleeing barbarian invaders. The difference, I believe is due to some resistance of the modern and the simple inability to accept some aspects of the modern (the most obvious is the lack of cars on most of the islands, because they're simply not big enough). This is not to say Venice is not a modern city, but its narrow streets, crumbling walls, and museum and museum like spaces (anything one can take a tour of), and even daily things like riding in boats make it a place that is decidedly not like any other. Venice feels like an old city with modern touches. Bologna, on the other hand, feels like a modern city with old touches. Saturday, I remained in Venice, but I took a break from my homework to do some shopping. As I approached the Billa on Strada Nuova, I found my path blocked by a line of demonstrators waving or wearing Venetian flags. I believe the demonstration was a call to help preserve Venetian culture, and, like the mock funeral, it shows that Venice is not dead yet. It is not a museum city. However, I find the fact Venetians seem to believe they need to fight so hard against the idea a little worrisome. I hope this aren't the last, valiant efforts of people fighting a losing battle. Here's a short video. The bewildered "grazie" is from me. I was a little nervous when two people left the group and approached me- after all, camera-toting tourists are exactly what Venetians don't like- but they just handed me a little Venetian flag and went on their way. The winged lion is the symbol of Venice (a non-winged lion represents Saint Mark). The open book indicates a time of peace, though, with sword-in-paw, the lion looks prepared to fight, if need be. I think the demonstrators have a good policy: if you can't beat them, get them to join you. I'm sure many tourists are or would be interested in the preservation of Venice. It's sort of a tourist's playground, but there is much more to it than carnevale; there's important history and culture as well.
Sunday I travelled again, this time to Monselice, a little town I noticed on the way to Bologna. With its fortress, high on a hill, I thought it looked like a cool place, and, after some initial train-related problems, I was well rewarded for taking a chance. I was unfortunately unable to visit said fortress at the top of the hill, since November is in the off season, but I found my way to the castello (castle) just in time to take a tour. I joined a group of Italian tourists, but after the tour guide explained everything in Italian, she always summarized for me in English. While there, I learned some new and surprising things. First, in the armory, one of the displays was a collection of stilettos. Stilettos were one of the few weapons effective against knights in chainmail, but I never before knew that they were also used by priests to put people (wounded soldiers or people suffering from diseases) out of their misery. Upstairs, we saw the nobles' bedroom, and I learned that beds were shorter in the past not only because people were shorter (as I've always heard) but also because nobles slept sitting upright, propped up on cusions. They did this to separate themselves from their servants and from the dead. In a small room, off the chapel, that was used like a Sachristy, there is a very peculiar depiction of the Madonna and Child. For one thing, Jesus is drinking a bottle, odd enough in itself, and it's a certain type of bottle which would have been filled with milk and also poppyseeds, which were used to soothe babies during teething. Another important detail is the baby's bare bottom; both that and the bottle are meant to show Christ's humanity. In the kitchen, there was one final highlight. (Final because I can't list them all, not because these were the only things that stood out.) The tour guide called it a semi-automatic spit. Similar to the origninal mechanisms in the clock tower, a hand crank was used to raise a weight. The weight would then slowly lower over fifteen minutes and turn the spit, cooking the meat evenly on all sides.
One of the most interesting parts of the castle tour was seeing Venetian influence far from Venice. Monselice isn't far from Venice (I believe it's the stop just after Padova) and we know that Venice was once an Empire with fairly substantial holdings, but that's still somewhat hard to imagine in the Venice today. The castle in Monselice, though, was once owned by a Venetian family, and the personal touches they gave the place help give an idea of La Serenissima's reach. These touches include Venetian terrazzo (a mixture of stone chips in a cement matrix that forms a very flexible surface- perfect for a city built on wood piles and settling) floors, a chimney decorated like a gothic tower, and a courtyard made to look like a small Venetian campo. Sadly, I was not able to take pictures inside the castello, but there is a photo gallery on the official website. link
There are many possible reasons for a trip to Venice. It is a totally unique place, and it has many attractions. Yet any reason one might give for a visit to this city can be attributed to some sort of longing. Further, I believe that longing, whatever one might say they long for, can be pared down and defined as a longing for association, identification, and/or authentication. For example, Venice is perhaps most commonly identified with the Renaissance. Significant Venetian Renaissance artists included Bellini, Giorgione, Tintoretto, Titian and Veronese, among many others. Although he was not from Venice, Leonardo da Vinci famously visited (fled to) the city in 1499. The art aficionado visiting Venice does not come merely to see great artwork; he or she comes to see artwork by “the greats,” and thus to be, in however small a way, associated with them.
A lover of music will find numerous options in Venice. String quartets perform all day in the Piazza San Marco. Vivaldi concerts and operas take place constantly; it’s nearly impossible to walk in the city without passing a sign or being handed a flyer by someone in costume. As I write this, there is a multi-story advertisement covering scaffolding along the Doge’s Palace; Venezia: The Story of Venice, a “unique and entertaining show,” is performed every day at the Teatro San Gallo. (It’s performed in English, with audio guides in seven languages.) For those interested in the history of music, they can visit the Basilica di San Marco, whose great size and two separate choir lofts necessitated the invention of an entirely new style of music: Venetian polychoral style. Few know the name of Adrian Willaert, the maestro di capella who made the Venetian polychoral style famous, but they recognize Venice as a place of innovation and genius, and they wish to identify with it.
For anyone with an interest in architecture, Venice offers a chance to view almost every style from a single spot in the city. From the Piazza San Marco, it is possible to look upon and appreciate the Byzantine Basilica di San Marco, the gothic Doge’s Palace, and Sansovino’s Renaissance Loggetta, then across the lagoon there is Palladio’s conservative church of San Giorgio Maggiore contrasted with the nearby baroque cathedral Santa Maria della Salute. Elsewhere there is neoclassical and rococo, and practically anything else one might wish to find, even a pair of really horrible camels on another baroque church, San Moise. When one reports seeing these buildings, or sends postcards bearing their images, they are also claiming, however subtly, to have absorbed from them some knowledge, perhaps even some part of their creators.
Venice has much to offer even outside of the realm of the arts. Long before it was a member of the Italian Republic, it was “La Serenissima,” The Most Serene Republic of Venice. Its democracy served as a model for the United States. Although history has exposed Venice as something other than a prefect utopia, that is the idea which was created for it and which it embraced. Add to that the overabundance of churches- add faith to liberty and justice- and Venice is perceived as a land of high morals as well as superior education and talent.
Even those who come to Venice not to analyze, but only to appreciate and enjoy, come for identification. Any place in the world may be enjoyed, but Venice is a destination. As a tourist attraction, it serves, as we have discussed before, as a heterotopic space, much like Disneyland. It is a place of carnevale, even when it is not the time of carnevale. One of the peculiarities of Venice is that it can exist simultaneously as a place for very high society, high morals and ideals, and also a proscribed space of debauchery. This is due, in part, to such figures as Casanova and Lord Byron, but also to the nature of Venice itself, which has always hidden a darker side behind its bright marble facade. For tourists seeking that side, Venice is an outlet- like Las Vegas or many spring break destinations- and a place of freedom in many senses of the word. Venice is also a place of novelty, of perceived scarcity. One must see Venice before it sinks, or before all of the other tourists ruin it forever! Merely the ability to say one has seen Venice provides social capital; the visitor, upon their return to reality, is vested with knowledge everything their less fortunate friends and family associate with the city.
Of course, in today’s society, declarations of such magnitude are of little worth without some form of proof. Or, as Susan Stewart put it in On Longing, “Within the development of culture under an exchange economy, the search for authentic experience and, correlatively, the search for the authentic object become critical.” As previously discussed, there is no set single “real” Venice, or at the very least it is indefinable. However, there do seem to be certain things one must see and do in order for their visit to Venice to “count.” Enter the souvenir. People don’t buy miniature gondolas (or gondola switchblades) because they value the thing for itself. “The souvenir... authenticates the experience of the viewer.” One buys a carnevale mask in Venice not because they plan to wear it at home, but so that they can display it; it will be a conversation piece, the thing that gives them an opening to discuss their journey and their experiences. “The souvenir is by definition always incomplete. It will not function without the supplementary narrative discourse that both attaches it to its origins and creates a myth with regard to those origins. What is this narrative of origins? It is a narrative of interiority and authenticity. It is not a narrative of the object; it is a narrative of the possessor. The souvenir as bibelot or curiosity has little if any value attached to its materiality. Furthermore, the souvenir is often attached to locations and experiences that are not for sale. The substituting power of the souvenir operates within the following analogy: as experience is to an imagined point of authenticity, so narrative is to the souvenir. The souvenir displaces the point of authenticity as it itself becomes the point of origin for narrative. Such a narrative cannot be generalized to encompass the experience of anyone; it pertains only to the possessor of the object.”
Stewart has much to say about postcards as well. In all honesty, it makes little sense to buy them. Their images are most often images one could (and probably does) reproduce for themselves. The space on the opposite is really inadequate for writing if you have much to say; it’s far inferior to a letter and can hardly be compared to any form of communication utilizing the internet. And yet people continue to send them, because it is not the message, but the postcard itself that is significant. “The other's reception of the postcard is the receipt, the ticket stub, that validates the experience of the site, which we now can name as the site of the subject himself or herself.”
To be fair, though, it is not only the visitors to Venice who experience longing. Venice is not only an object of longing, but a subject. Earlier in its history, Venice longed for power and recognition, much of which it received. It longed to be identified as the new Rome, to the point that Venetians looted Constantinople and proudly displayed part of their plunder, four bronze horses stolen from the Hippodrome, on the Basilica di San Marco. On the facade of another church, Santa Maria del Giglio, there are bas reliefs depicting cities under Venetian rule. Rome is arrogantly included as well.
Today, Venice is no longer a major power and is no longer aspires to anything so grand. Instead, it is lost in nostalgia. If its past glory cannot be reclaimed, it longs only to continue. Venice refuses to die, and it refuses to become a museum city, which is akin to death. Although I was not aware of it at the time, the mock funeral I witnessed last weekend may have been the most poignant display of longing Venice has to offer.
Today I happened to be in the right place at the right time. I had just boarded a vaporetto near the Rialto Bridge when all traffic through the Grand Canal was stopped. I didn't know what was going on at the time, but it looked interesting, so I took a quick video and some pictures. Oddly enough, when I logged onto my computer later, Yahoo news had the story: link
If I didn't know better, I'd say this procession was planned as part of our class; it goes along so well with many of our discussions. Is Venice just a tourist attraction, a museum city, a simulacra? Absolutely not; here's a little more proof of the "real" Venice that's still hanging on.
As described in my previous blog entry, last Sunday’s visit to Pisa was changed from a quick trip to an epic adventure due to a train strike. There were no trains running between Florence and Pisa, so we were forced to buses (from Florence to Lucca and Lucca to Pisa) instead. Further, there were no trains running between Pisa and Venice, so we had to back to Florence, first stopping and buying another bus ticket in Lucca because for some reason we couldn’t purchase a ticket for the full trip as we had on the way there, and then get a train from there. It made for a good story, but it was also an incredibly hectic, stressful day. Our Italian professor, Paolo Venerando, told us that “sciopero,” meaning “strike,” is one of the most commonly used words in the Italian vocabulary. Kathy McCabe wrote in her blog, “Italy wouldn't be Italy without strikes (scioperi).” link Those may be exaggerations, but strikes certainly do seem to be a common experience. There are numerous articles and travel blogs online warning and complaining of strikes, and I personally have experienced two so far. The first was a general transportation strike, which affected everything from vaporetti to airplanes, but I personally wasn’t very inconvenienced by it because I remained in Venice, and the San Servolo vaporetto, the only one I absolutely need, continued to run on schedule. The second was only a train strike, so it undoubtedly affected fewer people overall, but since I was traveling and had planned to rely on trains, it caused me more problems.
Something else I would like to know is the cause for the strikes, but I have been unable to find that information. Italians seem to have the same problem, and Staughan wrote, “One of my long-standing complaints about Italian strikes is that, while we usually have plenty of warning that they are about to happen, it's rarely made clear to the public what the strike is about.” I assume the goals of the unions are the usual sort: better pay and benefits, or overturning unfair legislation. The best thing to do at this point is probably to do as the Italians do and just take the strikes in stride.
Perhaps more problematic than strikes are protests and demonstrations. I have only witnessed one demonstration, in Florence, and it was only a march which didn’t really disrupt anything, but according to Staughan, “Protesters, on the other hand, go to great lengths to bring attention to their cause, and don't care what innocent bystander gets caught up in it.” The demonstrators I saw, shown here in this video, seemed to be trying to win support for a fascist group. Odd as that may seem, Paolo told us that many people today are looking back and believe there was much good in fascism, and that, if done right, it could be a favorable form of government. I don’t pretend to understand Italian politics. I have only lived here for a little over a month, and I knew almost nothing about this country before hand. However, it seems to me that the abundance of strikes and demonstrations speaks to a country that is still very much a work in progress. Italy is still a young country. No one thinks of that, I think, because we identify Italy with something ancient, the Roman Empire, but the Italian Republic was not formed until 1946. Also, although Italy was one of the founding members of the European Union, Italians still do not quite identify with the rest of Europe. This is exemplified well in a cartoon Paolo suggested we watch: Europe and Italy. In short, Italy is not an especially tumultuous country, nor are “strikers... largely concerned... with a very narrow self-interest” as Staughan suggests, there are just some things the country needs to work out.
Video After Florence, the plan was to go to Pisa, just long enough to see the leaning tower and perhaps a couple of other things, then return to Venice from there. It was a good plan. Unfortunately, when we returned to the hostel Saturday evening, we discovered a sign posted, warning of a train strike the next day. When we went to the train station in the morning, no one was working at the ticket windows. We all have Eurail passes, but for some reason it was necessary to make a reservation for the trip between Venice and Florence. I’m not sure if we couldn’t make a reservation for the return trip in Venice or if we just didn’t think of it at the time, but now there was no way to do so. To complicate matters, there was no way of knowing for sure which of the regional trains would run as scheduled and which would be canceled. There were no trains between Florence and Pisa or Pisa and Venice. This was enough to deter two members of our group; they booked the first train back to Venice and went straight there. Perhaps they were the smart ones. The remaining four of us exhibited typical American stubbornness: we had planned to visit Pisa and we were going to do it. This was easier said than done. The train people said there were no trains, only buses, and the bus people said there were only trains. We went back and forth for awhile until we finally found a different bus place. For €6,10 we bought bus tickets to Pisa. We would have to change buses in Lucca, but still, that part was fairly easy. The bus ride was long, and except for a bout with motion sickness, not unpleasant. Tuscany has some great scenery.
Once we reached Pisa, however, things became a little more complicated. First, we couldn’t buy a bus ticket straight to Florence. We would have to go to Lucca again and buy a ticket for the second leg of the trip there. Second, buses ran every hour up to 3:45, then the next one would be at 5:00. Considering the length of the trip, we would have to be on the 3:45 bus in order to reach Venice before the last vaporetto to San Servolo, and that was assuming we would be able to get a train once we returned to Florence. We had very little time in Pisa. We walked straight to the tower, fighting light rain and gusts of wind that made it difficult to use umbrellas. The worst part was when we had to cross a bridge; with no buildings to block the wind, we were nearly blown over. We reached the tower, bought tickets to go inside, and stored our bags and umbrellas in lockers, and by the time we got back outside, it was pouring. We ran to the tower. We had a roof over our heads as we climbed the steps, but the wind howled down the spiral staircase and rain got in from the top and through the windows. The climb was slippery, and half the time it seemed as if the tower might finally topple over. When we reached the top, there was no more roof. We took pictures in driving rain while the wind threatened to blow us over or at least sweep away our cameras, glasses, scarves, or what have you. Our umbrellas were far away in lockers, but they wouldn’t have done us any good. We weren’t allowed to go all the way around the tower; there was a danger someone would fall off, despite the railing. Finally, police came up to kick everyone off. We were the last group that got the climb the tower.
After that, we ran to the duomo, looked around for a couple of minutes, then ran outside to pose for pictures with the tower in the background. We had wanted some typical tourist photos, posing as if we were holding the tower up and whatnot, but no one was inclined to linger long enough for anything fancy in that rain. After that, we ran to the gift shop and quickly purchased souvenirs, and then we ran back to collect our bags. By then we had about half an hour to reach the bus station. We were already thoroughly drenched, but we didn’t want to try walking back in that rain and decided to take a taxi instead. We ducked into a hotel, and the man at the desk was kind enough to call us a cab and let us use the bathroom while we waited. The ride in the taxi was terrifying, and I have no idea how the driver managed to avoid killing someone, but we reached the bus station with time to spare. An hour or so later, we had dried out a little but were still wet and cold, and we arrived in Lucca. Purchasing a ticket to Florence was no problem, but we had about an hour to wait. We found our way, still walking in rain, which had lessened but never stopped, to a small cafe. Because of the time constraints in Pisa, we hadn’t eaten lunch, so we were starving. We were also freezing. As a result, the warm sandwiches we bought tasted absolutely incredible. We lingered in the cafe, drying and thawing, then braved the weather again to go back and wait for our bus. On the way to Florence, we were able to hang up our jackets and take off our wet shoes, and the bus was wonderfully warm.
In Florence, we were lucky enough to find a train to Venice. It was expensive, since we couldn’t use our Eurail passes, but it would get us back in time. We had a while to wait, so we were able to help out some confused Australian tourists and get a snack at McDonald’s. After we boarded the train, the worst was behind us, but the journey would not be over when we reached Venice. Once there, we still needed to take a vaporetto from the train station to San Zaccaria, and then one from there to San Servolo. Although the strike was scheduled to end at 9:00, we were still worried it might affect the vaporetto schedules. Luckily, they were running as usual and we finally made it back to our island home away from home around 1:00 in the morning. Dry clothes have never felt so good.
Of all of the columns, the one I liked best was right at the corner. Again, something obvious yet often missed. From a distance, the column looks fairly typical. Above, there is a large statue of Adam and Eve. On the capital, there is an acanthus plant design, the typical decoration of Corinthian columns.
Upon a closer view, the column takes on more detail. Below Adam and Eve, there is a depiction of Jesus, seated on a throne, with a child at his side.
There, however, the biblical images end, and the other seven facets present us with something entirely different.
Here are Aries, the ram, and Scorpio, the scorpion.
Leo, the lion, and Virgo, the virgin. It is difficult to see in this picture, but she has rays of light emanating from her head, representing purity.
Taurus, the bull, and Libra, the scales (in the woman's hand)
Gemini, the twins. (right)
Cancer, the crab. (right side of boat)
Capricorn, the sea-goat, and Aquarius, the water bearer.
Pisces, the fish (to the man's left) and Sagittarius, the archer. Interestingly, Sagittarius here appears in the form of a human rather than a centaur.
More than just a list of characters on a newspaper page, the signs of the zodiac refer to the ring of constellations around the ecliptic, the apparent path of the sun across the sky over the course of a year. Each constellation is visible at a certain time of the year, for approximately a month.
Construction on the Doge's Palace began in the fourteenth century and continued until 1420. This was just in the middle of the Late Middle Ages, at the time when society was advancing toward modernity. At the time, Venice had a fleet of 3300 ships, and its empire was well established, controlling such territories as Padova and Verona. It is easy to understand, then, why the signs of the zodiac deserved such a prominent space in the Piazza San Marco. In the same way that Venice's commerce and control of trade between the east and west supported the power of its empire, this column supports the Doge's Palace, the very symbol of Venetian power.
The metaphor this column presents calls to mind Ambrosini's Reconsidering Venice, in which they discuss the myth and antimyth of Venice. On the one hand, it was La Serenissima, an "ideal republic, strong maritime empire, and an independent state in which the Venetian nobles were devoted to the ideals of civic humanis, and the commercial values of sobriety, hard work, and self-sacrifice." [The bolding is my own.] Venice was admired for its wealth and power, and these were the sources of its beauty. On the other hand, the things considered by some to be virtues were considered by others to be evils. The antimyth of Venice is that of an evil, oppressive empire, that "sought to place the rest of Italy under its domination."
Either way, I find it incredibly interesting that something as simple as a column- part of a column- an architectural feature, can reflect so much about the society that built it. Venice is, and has always been, tied to the sea. When new trade routes were discovered and Venice's maritime economy began to decline, so too did the republic. We can only hope that the Doge's Palace and its columns will not someday be left to crumble. The columns were replaced during 19th century restorations, and, despite what Ruskin would say about that, I'm glad that the originals are now being preserved and that we have the copies to give us a glance into the Venetian past.
