Notte Di Luna, Notte Di Vento

To capture the essence of a moment on any sort of device, thankfully, remains elusive. It does not come across in the video posted here but this night was glorious. The reflection of the full moon exploding into a million diamonds which danced on the wavelets produced by the wind. For the passengers: concerns about the wind were replaced by awe at the overwhelming beauty and for the gondolier: a nice technical exercise against the wind and the memories of the canals alight.

The Changing Channel

These are just a few photos which show the changing face of our view. Day by day, hour by hour, changes in light, cloud and even humidity create subtle changes only visible to those who are on the water for a living. After a rain the mountains are clear in the distance reminding one of the view of the Alps after rain in Venice.

Photos recovered from a smashed cell phone

San Marco


In late February and early March Tiberius "Bruno" Maximus and I were in Venice for two weeks to purchase a couple gondolas. As we strolled along the empty streets we, like everyone, took photos. After a lot of searching we purchased our vessels took them to the ship yard and had them loaded. While assisting a dock worker I had to jump to hand him a tool and without my knowing my cell phone lept from my pocket. A while later a fork lift operator showed me the phone, smashed, run over by his fork lift.

There were many photos on the phone, not just of Venice but also my family. Initially I was tempted to toss it but decided instead to take it home. After returning home I found we had an extra phone of the same model so I played the losing game and attempted to transfer to the circuits of one to the other. I put it all together and... it turned on! I quickly went to the picture list and there were my pictures, at least most of them, some were black, the data lost from the shock. I took the phone to the Verizon store to transfer them but no go, that part of the phone was lost.

I purchased a memory card but the phone would not recognize it and I gave up. My daughter found the phone and asked about it and I explained the problem showing where the memory card went and at that moment the phone decided to recognize it. Rapidly I scrolled until I found the command to transfer the pictures to the card. My joy was great when I sat down at our computer to upload the images. But the computer wouldn't recognize the card and my new phone didn't recognize to old picture file types. There was still a chance to I took the card to work and tried the office computer. The "bing bong" sound of a device being recognized never sounded sweeter and then there they were. Many photos were lost but these are some of the best shots.


The Erberia



Reflections



The one road to Venice, and the Alps




So Nice!

Episode I: Living the Gondola Dream

In Venzia did the goods

of the pious theft

get stored in better quarters.

stolen by exiles of his kind

from a land that was the home.



When I consider the confluence of historical events that culminated in my becoming a gondolier I am overwhelmed and am forced to consider that that same could be so for everyone on earth; each in their own unique condition. Yet still I am compelled to admit that I feel a certain sence of superiority in that my occupation is shared by so few, as a percentage of the world population. I also see that beyond death and taxes there is love and love will alway be.



Each evening as I row, be it in wind, rain, or shine there is a satifaction that comes with competantly manuvering a 37 foot, one ton vessel with a single oar. It is a skill aquired over time and I often remark that it took me a year to figure out that I didn't know what I was doing. The oar stroke is simple yet I could write a book about what happens in that forward and back motion. Most of the passengers little note the style but experienced boaters are dumfounded at the ease with which we manuever and the fact that there is no motor.



When I travel to my Mecca, Venice, I am dumfounded by the scale of influence this tiny city exerted in the mediteranian. I am humbled by the artifice of those who lived in such uncertain and less secure times. I am instucted by the statues of men with a book in one hand and a sword in the other, the "Warrior philosophers", forebearers of our "scholar athletes".


There are some moonless nights when the wind dies and you can see the stars reflected in the still lagoon and the gigantic homes are mirrored in the slowly rolling waters. Late at night the stillness urges the couples to talk in low whispers lest they break the magic of the silence. More later. Beppe