Acqua Alta in Venice  
Jonathan Gash's book THE GONDOLA SCANDAL is my favorite mystery set in Venice. Whenever I find myself missing La Serrenissima Repubblica (the Most Serene Republic), I re-read Gash's mini-tour.
"It's [Venice] a man-made universe of alleys, ancient houses, and great -- great -- churches crammed onto a maze of canals. And where? On 117 islets, in a lagoon over two hundred square miles big, with the Adriatic Sea muttering sullenly just over a mile from the main island cluster which is Venice proper. Like the water bloke said, everything in Venice is famous. But to grow accustomed to Venice you'd need a lifetime. I was amazed at everything." (THE GONDOLA SCANDAL, Jonathan Gash)Me, too. No matter how many times I go to Venice, I am amazed at everything. Recently, I found myself thinking about Donna Leon's ACQUA ALTA. Not only was it one of the first books I'd with a Venetian setting, it was also my first introduction to the strange concept of a flooded city -- and its inhabitants who continue on their way, accepting the inconvenience (and water damage) as the price they pay for living there. In an attempt to experience acqua alta firsthand, I went to Venice in November, 2002. It didn't take me long. My first morning in Venice, sirens woke me up at about seven o'clock in the morning. In my groggy, jet-lagged fog, I first thought they were air raid sirens. Seconds later, I realized it was the acqua alta warning. Too excited to sleep, I jumped out of bed and dressed. When I walked out of my hotel, the calle was dry. But, when I turned the corner to the little walkway that runs along the Rio San Moise, the canal that passes in front of the San Moise, a 7th century church known for the overwhelming altar which has been carved out of rock and depicts God handing the Ten Commandments down from Mount Sinai, I saw the effects of the acqua alta. Water had bubbled up from the storm drains and flowed over the banks of the canals until anyone not wearing knee-high boots was destined to have wet feet. 
There's water everywhere I turn. When the raised passarelle (duckboards) end more often than not, the water's still present. My choice? Go wading and turn around and retrace my steps.The options? Take your shoes and socks off, roll up your pants, and step into the water. Not an option I'd consider. After all, this isn't bath water. At another high-water dead end, opportunistic merchants are selling "boots" that are little more than thin plastic (neon blue for some reason) with yellow plastic soles. In addition to be expensive (10 to 15 euro), they scream "TOURIST" to every passing Venetian. I look at the water in front of me and the merchants behind him. No matter how high the water rises, I decide, I won't buy those boots. Nor will I wrap garbage bags around my legs and struggle to hold them above my knees. "He saw a small, old woman with a shock of white hair and thick glasses a few feet away from the window. He had never seen her before. Dressed in a long, black shawl, she stood against one of the columns in front of the Chinese salon. She wore black fingerless gloves, and she held her shoes. Her feet were wrapped in black trash bags to make easier passage through the acqua alta that had seeped and washed into the city during the night." |
