Venice and the Rule of Law

Yesterday we were restored to a day of pristine beauty and cloudless skies. Billie and I set off for our promised jaunt along the Grande Canal per vaparetto. A few stops into our journey, however, we were accosted by a woman inspector wanting to see our tickets. Mine was fine; Billie hadn’t one. A fine of 67 euros loomed. After several circumlocutions, I convinced the youngish lady to simply let us off at the next stop – no money, no documents, wallet lost in Paris, etc. On our way through the boat another, perhaps more legally diligent colleague of hers asked what was happening. At the stop both women got off with us; further questioning and circumlocutions commenced. A compromise to our accompanying them to the police station: our names, addresses and birth dates were written upon a notice of fine. I was to present this at any police station in Italy within five days to pay up. Thank you, I said with sincerity and relief, as Billie and I escaped their clutches and retreated into the by-ways and alleys of Venice. A brush with the law. Who would have thought? Billie was torn between shock and awe at my demeanour. We had to calm our somewhat rattled nerves by indulging in a mid-morning gelato. A new Venetian lesson: unlike days of yore, having a valid ticket is de rigeur for the vaparetto. My reasoning that the 20 euros I had already paid surely was more than plenty to pay for the addition of one child. But still, the rule of law is essential for the smooth administration of the city. So I was bad.

We made it over to San Marco once again by foot, bought a couple of sandwiches and some water and perched upon one of the stacks of table-like boards in the square, left there perhaps for placement over the rising waters that flood the area once the late-fall rains commence. Pigeons danced around the feet of the legion of our fellow tourists enjoying their use. Billie amused herself by hurling someone’s left-over bread into a flock of birds, instigating an instant pigeon war – really more a state of individual combat, each bird for itself. After eating we walked again out to the quay, passing the entrance to the Doge’s palace. Billie seemed interested so we paid the fee and set about touring this enormous and sumptuous building which for centuries had housed the administration of the city of Venice, of its colonies on the mainland, and of its extensive holdings along the Adriatic coast. Beautifully panelled room after room, each with mammoth wall paintings, and high ceilings festooned with gold décor and the masterpieces of renowned artists like Tintoretto, was identified for its particular function during the centuries of the Venetian republic. 

Another major role of the palace aside from the reception of foreign dignitaries and the first stage of the election of the Doges by the heads of about 2000 of Venice’s leading families, was the administration of justice – both civil and criminal. A prison in the lower basement held the unfortunates awaiting their moment of judgement and/or of execution. Our tickets allowed a visitation to this spot of undoubted misery and despair. Billie was understandably most interested in this feature of the palace. I was able to snap a couple of shots of her in close proximity to these actual locations of incarceration, giving warnings to her at the time of the penalties exacted by the state to malefactors. (We were both conscious at the time, however, of my own recent falling into poor repute with the powers that were.)

After the lengthy ramble about the palace we started back home once again via the Rialto. A second gelato hard by one of the fish markets near the foot of the bridge, not open on a Sunday; then a walk through the variety of alleys and campos toward the train station, stopping at a supermarket for fresh staples. We had been out for about five hours and had walked close to 14,000 steps, according to my cell phone. At home we settled into our usual occupations of reading and snacking and visiting the internet. Somewhat later we decided against going out again, satisfying ourselves with the comestibles at hand. I made up my mind to sleep early so that when I awoke in the night I would have had enough rest behind me to allow for following the Jay’s third game against Texas through Game-day. It was to begin at 1:30 AM our time. And so it came to pass. I woke up at 2:15 and watched to the very end of the 10^th inning to see our boys pull of another close one. What happiness! In between innings I checked some of the commentary ensuing from the simultaneous broadcast of the second Clinton-Trump debate. It’s good to see that as Trump has continued to show his truly awful colours, that Hilary’s edge over him has widened somewhat.

Today is our last in Venice. We have agreed to try again to make it over to the Arsinale. And so we shall see what the day brings.