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Notturno Veneziano
- Thread starter l'bogo
- Start date
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- Tags
- dark fantasy mystery
GabriellaSivilla
Governor
Madame Chloé has sent me a message last night, while I had the phone off, she says she will arrive back on Sunday, April 15. She doesn’t add anything else - still twelve days to wait, a little time for myself, I need to climb out of the pit I’ve tumbled into.
'Hello Architect,' I phone Stin, to thank him again, first of all, and apologise for not having made sense, and to ask to go out with him, let him take me out for a day away.
'Oh, welcome back!'
'You’re right – “come back” is the right phrase ... '
'Better?'
'Almost ... I’ve still to pay you for the phone you bought me, and thank you for the chocolates.'
'It’s nothing, I’d do anything for you.'
There is the weak spot of the male, so I take advantage of it,
‘I need to get out, breathe fresh air - do you want to take me for a ride?'
'How can I say no?'
'Then come round here in half an hour.'
'Okay!'
I have to keep him on a leash, my Stin, he is useful to me , helpful and nice. He appears, dressed just right for a trip to the countryside. I have put on a suitable dress myself too, a light one with a bell skirt in a floral pattern, a wide-brimmed sun-hat, dark glasses, a canvas bag. We exchange greetings, a hint of a kiss on the cheek. We embark on the vaporetto to Piazzale Roma, he gets his car from the public car-park, and we cross the Liberty Bridge to leave Venice.
'Do you have any idea where to go?'
'Yes, I’ve a surprise planned...'
'I like surprises.'
'Ah, good! You asked me last time who were the owners of the various buildings you wanted to visit...'
'Well?'
'I checked the Property Registry, all of them are registered in the name of a company, VZ Estates Limited, registered at Companies House in London.'
'Huh! As usual, everything’s in the hands of ghost companies.'
I cannot tell him that it is the 'Vito Zane Estates Company’, which now belongs to me.
(You could call your company 'Kaka Kazz Limited' or 'Skazza Kazz Limited', but the diligent clerk at the Property Registry would ask, 'What? Cats?' And you’d tell him, under your breath, peeping and glancing around, 'SKAZZA KAZZ'. But these are pleasures you cannot afford in Italy, it would be impossible here because no official would enter such an exotic company-name for you. Over there, they’ll register anything.)
'It’s based in a tenement in Edinburgh.'
'Curious.'
My architect is too curious.
‘What’s the address?'
'Something like 10b Bogle’s Wynd.'
'Bogle’s Wynd? A bogle's a scary ghost. It's always about ghosts,' I shake my head disconsolately.
(Mind your own business, Stin, who told you to go poking into things that don’t concern you? But I have to keep him as he is.)
'Hello Architect,' I phone Stin, to thank him again, first of all, and apologise for not having made sense, and to ask to go out with him, let him take me out for a day away.
'Oh, welcome back!'
'You’re right – “come back” is the right phrase ... '
'Better?'
'Almost ... I’ve still to pay you for the phone you bought me, and thank you for the chocolates.'
'It’s nothing, I’d do anything for you.'
There is the weak spot of the male, so I take advantage of it,
‘I need to get out, breathe fresh air - do you want to take me for a ride?'
'How can I say no?'
'Then come round here in half an hour.'
'Okay!'
I have to keep him on a leash, my Stin, he is useful to me , helpful and nice. He appears, dressed just right for a trip to the countryside. I have put on a suitable dress myself too, a light one with a bell skirt in a floral pattern, a wide-brimmed sun-hat, dark glasses, a canvas bag. We exchange greetings, a hint of a kiss on the cheek. We embark on the vaporetto to Piazzale Roma, he gets his car from the public car-park, and we cross the Liberty Bridge to leave Venice.
'Do you have any idea where to go?'
'Yes, I’ve a surprise planned...'
'I like surprises.'
'Ah, good! You asked me last time who were the owners of the various buildings you wanted to visit...'
'Well?'
'I checked the Property Registry, all of them are registered in the name of a company, VZ Estates Limited, registered at Companies House in London.'
'Huh! As usual, everything’s in the hands of ghost companies.'
I cannot tell him that it is the 'Vito Zane Estates Company’, which now belongs to me.
(You could call your company 'Kaka Kazz Limited' or 'Skazza Kazz Limited', but the diligent clerk at the Property Registry would ask, 'What? Cats?' And you’d tell him, under your breath, peeping and glancing around, 'SKAZZA KAZZ'. But these are pleasures you cannot afford in Italy, it would be impossible here because no official would enter such an exotic company-name for you. Over there, they’ll register anything.)
'It’s based in a tenement in Edinburgh.'
'Curious.'
My architect is too curious.
‘What’s the address?'
'Something like 10b Bogle’s Wynd.'
'Bogle’s Wynd? A bogle's a scary ghost. It's always about ghosts,' I shake my head disconsolately.
(Mind your own business, Stin, who told you to go poking into things that don’t concern you? But I have to keep him as he is.)
l'bogo
Venetian Mask
A new company was named 'Man-go pù Kazz Limited' and financed by £HSBC Bank£.
GabriellaSivilla
Governor
We head towards Dolo. It is already time for lunch, we approach the inn, it bears the arms of the family. It’s a charming restaurant, a magical place for a gourmet stop, and it is one of the properties in my distinguished inheritance, a fifteenth century villa, several times updated. Lunch is served in the former granary next to the villa, the table d'hôte menu (€60 each):
Appetizer: raw mackerel, cucumber in a geranium-scented marinade, iced oysters and green apple.
First course: fish soup in ravioli, with Japanese spider crab in its milk perfumed with lemon leaves.
Second course: artichoke, marinated egg yolk, musk mallow seeds, catnip salad.
Dessert: pure chocolate, with calamondin sorbet perfumed with sweet woodruff.
Wine: Ammiana, speciality of the Venice Lagoon.
Coffee.
We linger quietly for at least an hour, there is no hurry.
'Take me to see the lagoon, the north end, beyond the island of Burano.'
'That won’t take long from here, let's go.'
One area in particular interests me, the Valle di Ca' Zane, also bequeathed me by my poor love.
Fishing ponds occupy one-sixth of the area of the Venetian Lagoon. Embankments separate them from the open Lagoon, cutting them off from the ebb and flow of the tide, ‘vallum’ in Latin means ‘embankment’. These pools are linked with the rest of the Lagoon through special sluices, and in these reservoirs of salty, brackish water, which also include salt marshes, reed beds and artificial channels, fish-farming has been practised since time immemorial.
Among the many islands and pools of water is the jewel that everyone would like to have: the island of Santa Caterina, with its church and an estate, on which, as well as the vineyard, there are vegetable gardens and orchards, cared for lovingly by a family that produces a wine that is unique in the world. Inhabited since ancient times, it gives a wonderfully authentic impression of an isle of fishermen, with its little houses, their roofs thatched with reeds and straw.
An old fish-farmer takes us in his caorlina (an antique, flat-bottomed boat use on the Lagoon) along the shores of an island that is submerged only during periods of exceptional high water. It is a magical environment, far from the noise of mass-tourism that is now invading the islands further south, Burano and Murano.
It's evening now, our return journey brings me back to my temporary shelter inside the Teatro La Fenice. Tomorrow is another day …
Appetizer: raw mackerel, cucumber in a geranium-scented marinade, iced oysters and green apple.
First course: fish soup in ravioli, with Japanese spider crab in its milk perfumed with lemon leaves.
Second course: artichoke, marinated egg yolk, musk mallow seeds, catnip salad.
Dessert: pure chocolate, with calamondin sorbet perfumed with sweet woodruff.
Wine: Ammiana, speciality of the Venice Lagoon.
Coffee.
We linger quietly for at least an hour, there is no hurry.
'Take me to see the lagoon, the north end, beyond the island of Burano.'
'That won’t take long from here, let's go.'
One area in particular interests me, the Valle di Ca' Zane, also bequeathed me by my poor love.
Fishing ponds occupy one-sixth of the area of the Venetian Lagoon. Embankments separate them from the open Lagoon, cutting them off from the ebb and flow of the tide, ‘vallum’ in Latin means ‘embankment’. These pools are linked with the rest of the Lagoon through special sluices, and in these reservoirs of salty, brackish water, which also include salt marshes, reed beds and artificial channels, fish-farming has been practised since time immemorial.
Among the many islands and pools of water is the jewel that everyone would like to have: the island of Santa Caterina, with its church and an estate, on which, as well as the vineyard, there are vegetable gardens and orchards, cared for lovingly by a family that produces a wine that is unique in the world. Inhabited since ancient times, it gives a wonderfully authentic impression of an isle of fishermen, with its little houses, their roofs thatched with reeds and straw.
An old fish-farmer takes us in his caorlina (an antique, flat-bottomed boat use on the Lagoon) along the shores of an island that is submerged only during periods of exceptional high water. It is a magical environment, far from the noise of mass-tourism that is now invading the islands further south, Burano and Murano.
It's evening now, our return journey brings me back to my temporary shelter inside the Teatro La Fenice. Tomorrow is another day …
GabriellaSivilla
Governor
And Skazza Kazz is the name of Italian restaurants in Edinburgh and Glasgow, started by an enterprising woman from Bari
Really? Fascinating!!! Is there any reference on the net about it?
pepev
Guard
https://www.pugliareporter.com/2018...a-la-gabanelli-divertita-gli-dedica-un-video/Really? Fascinating!!! Is there any reference on the net about it?
GabriellaSivilla
Governor
THE GRACEFUL ANIMAL
Monday, April 16th
I go down to the basement where the dance studios are. An oriental melody with a frenetic rhythm catches my attention, coming from the salle des étoiles, the one the ballet stars of use for their exercises. It is Borodin’s suite from Prince Igor, the Polovtsian Dances.
Moving aside the heavy curtain, I see a dancer dancing on the stage: pliés, développés, grand fouettés en tournant, dégagés, but also steps en pointe, small, medium and large leaps, turns on the ground and in the air, sequences of jumps, swing, landing on and off axis: the whole repertoire of possible movements, but also some impossible ones! It seems that for him there is no law of gravity. From the shadows I observe him without being seen. Madame Chloé has arrived during the night, with the new Romeo she has found in the Steppes of Central Asia! Who is he? I have never seen him in any photograp but he is certainly a true dancer, a breathtaking physique, musculature sculpted in the most precious marble. But a sculpture that moves, and looks like a panther. I stand watching enraptured; and shall I dance with this wild cat? I tremble at the thought.
'Do you like him?' Madame Chloé has surprised me again, she hugs me tightly from behind, kissing me on the neck.
'Madame ...'
'He's called Ruslan, Ruslan Sobolev, the best you can find on the market today! I struggled a lot to convince him, he’s a very special character.'
'He was dancing with the Royal Ballet in London?'
'Yes, just him. We spent a lot of time getting to know each other, sometimes dancing, sometimes simply walking, talking, going out for dinner together. I was interested in finding a way to discover the real Ruslan behind the confusing stereotypes that whirl around him - a party animal, a bad boy, a demon of the dance. Now he’s here, he will be yours - if you know how to tame him!’
'If he doesn’t destroy me first...'
Sobolev, соболь, means ‘sable’, the black marten of the Russian forests. In Eastern Europe, where dance is most popular, two types of performers stand out: gleaming and august as if with imperial heritage - and those moved by a destructive and rebellious Dostoievskian daemon, a fire that has flowed in the veins of heroes like Nijinsky and Nureyev. Ruslan is the new god of this pantheon... The music ends, applause interrupts his performance, he turns his eyes towards the back of the room from where he has been spied by inquiring eyes, he waits for us to emerge from the shadows.
As he approaches I immediately notice some details: a map of tattoos engraved in his musculature, his chest is furrowed by suggestive signs of scars. Yet what attracts more are his eyes, exotic, bewitched, mysterious, in the face of an eternal boy, a rebel without reason. At the Royal Ballet they nicknamed him ‘the graceful animal’, for his movement like a leaping lion when he rises into the air.
I am already bewitched by his charm, in front of him you feel naked, not only in your body, but right inside your soul, his gaze penetrates from his pupils down into the depths of your being. You cannot hide, nor lower your eyes, nor challenge that gaze - if you look down you have already lost, if you maintain your eye-contact with him, you cannot stop him from digging into your soul. If I want him I will have to resist him, and it will not be easy...
Madame Chloé performs the introductions, he shakes my hand as if he were taking hold of a sword, while I'm already lost in his eyes, I am not even conscious that Madame has invited us to the theatre cafeteria for a break, I'm moving like an automaton. His voice is kind, with that strange oriental tone, but his English is correct, he has lived in London for a few years. I have not mastered this language well, and that allows me to be silent or to respond with monosyllables - which, in this situation, can give me an advantage.
Regardless of form, he advances triumphantly, bursting bare-chested into the cafeteria, offering himself boldly to the eyes of a crowd of young dancers who have been awaiting him anxiously, they have heard of his arrival, he’s already making a massacre of small hearts.
At our table in a private room, he tells us of his life, a fabulous, nomadic life. I look at him, for the first time close up, my gaze is lost in his, in his very mobile eyes, in the sharp curve of his jaw, in his oriental cheekbones, in the shape of his full-lipped mouth. I cannot but observe the interlacing arabesques that run across the curves of every muscle in his body. This is a true male, not a freak puffed up in the gym, or worse with hormones.
A sentence from his speech awakens me from hypnosis caused by complicated tattoos:
‘... the reason why I dance are those few seconds in which my body glides through the air ...’
We shall be two who fly!
The dancers who are crowding the corridor in front of the hall bow their heads as I toss mine defiantly - now you understand who I am! You’re just the slavegirls of Zenobia, I'm Juliet!
We lock ourselves in the rehearsal room for hours and hours, while he teaches me the ballet, step by step, with a furious determination, as if he has already danced it a thousand times. Exhausted, I have to resort to the tender care of our masseuse.
Monday, April 16th
I go down to the basement where the dance studios are. An oriental melody with a frenetic rhythm catches my attention, coming from the salle des étoiles, the one the ballet stars of use for their exercises. It is Borodin’s suite from Prince Igor, the Polovtsian Dances.
Moving aside the heavy curtain, I see a dancer dancing on the stage: pliés, développés, grand fouettés en tournant, dégagés, but also steps en pointe, small, medium and large leaps, turns on the ground and in the air, sequences of jumps, swing, landing on and off axis: the whole repertoire of possible movements, but also some impossible ones! It seems that for him there is no law of gravity. From the shadows I observe him without being seen. Madame Chloé has arrived during the night, with the new Romeo she has found in the Steppes of Central Asia! Who is he? I have never seen him in any photograp but he is certainly a true dancer, a breathtaking physique, musculature sculpted in the most precious marble. But a sculpture that moves, and looks like a panther. I stand watching enraptured; and shall I dance with this wild cat? I tremble at the thought.
'Do you like him?' Madame Chloé has surprised me again, she hugs me tightly from behind, kissing me on the neck.
'Madame ...'
'He's called Ruslan, Ruslan Sobolev, the best you can find on the market today! I struggled a lot to convince him, he’s a very special character.'
'He was dancing with the Royal Ballet in London?'
'Yes, just him. We spent a lot of time getting to know each other, sometimes dancing, sometimes simply walking, talking, going out for dinner together. I was interested in finding a way to discover the real Ruslan behind the confusing stereotypes that whirl around him - a party animal, a bad boy, a demon of the dance. Now he’s here, he will be yours - if you know how to tame him!’
'If he doesn’t destroy me first...'
Sobolev, соболь, means ‘sable’, the black marten of the Russian forests. In Eastern Europe, where dance is most popular, two types of performers stand out: gleaming and august as if with imperial heritage - and those moved by a destructive and rebellious Dostoievskian daemon, a fire that has flowed in the veins of heroes like Nijinsky and Nureyev. Ruslan is the new god of this pantheon... The music ends, applause interrupts his performance, he turns his eyes towards the back of the room from where he has been spied by inquiring eyes, he waits for us to emerge from the shadows.
As he approaches I immediately notice some details: a map of tattoos engraved in his musculature, his chest is furrowed by suggestive signs of scars. Yet what attracts more are his eyes, exotic, bewitched, mysterious, in the face of an eternal boy, a rebel without reason. At the Royal Ballet they nicknamed him ‘the graceful animal’, for his movement like a leaping lion when he rises into the air.
I am already bewitched by his charm, in front of him you feel naked, not only in your body, but right inside your soul, his gaze penetrates from his pupils down into the depths of your being. You cannot hide, nor lower your eyes, nor challenge that gaze - if you look down you have already lost, if you maintain your eye-contact with him, you cannot stop him from digging into your soul. If I want him I will have to resist him, and it will not be easy...
Madame Chloé performs the introductions, he shakes my hand as if he were taking hold of a sword, while I'm already lost in his eyes, I am not even conscious that Madame has invited us to the theatre cafeteria for a break, I'm moving like an automaton. His voice is kind, with that strange oriental tone, but his English is correct, he has lived in London for a few years. I have not mastered this language well, and that allows me to be silent or to respond with monosyllables - which, in this situation, can give me an advantage.
Regardless of form, he advances triumphantly, bursting bare-chested into the cafeteria, offering himself boldly to the eyes of a crowd of young dancers who have been awaiting him anxiously, they have heard of his arrival, he’s already making a massacre of small hearts.
At our table in a private room, he tells us of his life, a fabulous, nomadic life. I look at him, for the first time close up, my gaze is lost in his, in his very mobile eyes, in the sharp curve of his jaw, in his oriental cheekbones, in the shape of his full-lipped mouth. I cannot but observe the interlacing arabesques that run across the curves of every muscle in his body. This is a true male, not a freak puffed up in the gym, or worse with hormones.
A sentence from his speech awakens me from hypnosis caused by complicated tattoos:
‘... the reason why I dance are those few seconds in which my body glides through the air ...’
We shall be two who fly!
The dancers who are crowding the corridor in front of the hall bow their heads as I toss mine defiantly - now you understand who I am! You’re just the slavegirls of Zenobia, I'm Juliet!
We lock ourselves in the rehearsal room for hours and hours, while he teaches me the ballet, step by step, with a furious determination, as if he has already danced it a thousand times. Exhausted, I have to resort to the tender care of our masseuse.
AnimaSinistra
Governor
Spectacular!
GabriellaSivilla
Governor
Tour de force.
This past week has been terrible for me, but Madame Chloé is satisfied with the work we have been doing. At the Teatro del Ridotto Vecchio the atmosphere is dream-like, time flies and the hour is already late. Ruslan encourages me with his determination, he knows every note of music and every movement comes naturally to him. I am forced to follow him, but it is an extraordinary pleasure, I am growing artistically every minute I dance with him. Only during the lunch-break do we allow ourselves a little rest and the opportunity to talk about ourselves, our pasts and our hopes for our artistic futures.
About one thing, however, I am reticent: my new financial fortune. I would not want money and greed to let drop my mask, or rather to wear them as masks to get him into my clutches - but I'm certainly no fool. Possessing such a great fortune sometimes unsettles me, feelings of guilt arise seeing the suffering and poverty that surround me. I debated inwardly, pulled by conflicting impulses, seeking a kind of equilibrium that is not always easy to reach. I have not yet decided to give myself to my Romeo, I must first understand some dark aspects of his life, I do not like stories that are come down to 'one kiss and off we go', even if he is paying court to me assiduously, aided by the role he is playing in the ballet.
Tonight, Saturday, we finally have a little freedom. The last performance of Puccini’s 'Madame Butterfly' is playing at the Teatro la Fenice, but I do not want to immerse myself in the audience, enduring their looks, nor even to keep my Romeo on the leash, he is too well known and too handsome to go unnoticed. So we shall walk along the streets that pass near the Grand Canal, he does not know Venice and I want to show him those features that are hidden from the tourists. So we enter the maze of bridges and squares, streets and canals that intertwine like a tangle of threads between Piazza San Marco and the Rialto, stopping on the top of the bridges to catch glimpses that are almost invisible, except where they are illuminated by the weak glow of streetlights .
Hand in hand, observing the reflections in the dark water, the plasterwork consumed by time and salt, the corroded marble with its ancient decorations, it seems as if the music of the ballet has become a soundtrack to our wanderings, and even our pace becomes rhythmic, turning into dance steps, chassés, échappés, réunions, embraces, caresses, kisses...
We reach near to the Rialto Bridge, I pretend to run away, he catches me, grabs me, as if he wants to kidnap me, I cling to the shaft of a lamp-post so I cannot to be dragged away; then he lifts my skirt, hoping I will abandon my grip, but I cling to my handhold, pretending to resist, and he girdles my hips from behind, clasping, the embrace seems like an act of love being consummated here on the bank of the Grand Canal!
The pilot of a passing vaporetto, aware of the scene, sounds the siren rhythmically, hinting at obscene movement. I flee away laughing, chased by my lover. But I don’t want to be late, I need to rest - I know I’m disappointing my Romeo, but it is not yet time for Juliet to grant her love. So, let's go back to the theatre, the show has just finished, along the way we meet the audience returning to their hotels, I take refuge in my room on the third floor, he is staying nearby in a luxury hotel.
This past week has been terrible for me, but Madame Chloé is satisfied with the work we have been doing. At the Teatro del Ridotto Vecchio the atmosphere is dream-like, time flies and the hour is already late. Ruslan encourages me with his determination, he knows every note of music and every movement comes naturally to him. I am forced to follow him, but it is an extraordinary pleasure, I am growing artistically every minute I dance with him. Only during the lunch-break do we allow ourselves a little rest and the opportunity to talk about ourselves, our pasts and our hopes for our artistic futures.
About one thing, however, I am reticent: my new financial fortune. I would not want money and greed to let drop my mask, or rather to wear them as masks to get him into my clutches - but I'm certainly no fool. Possessing such a great fortune sometimes unsettles me, feelings of guilt arise seeing the suffering and poverty that surround me. I debated inwardly, pulled by conflicting impulses, seeking a kind of equilibrium that is not always easy to reach. I have not yet decided to give myself to my Romeo, I must first understand some dark aspects of his life, I do not like stories that are come down to 'one kiss and off we go', even if he is paying court to me assiduously, aided by the role he is playing in the ballet.
Tonight, Saturday, we finally have a little freedom. The last performance of Puccini’s 'Madame Butterfly' is playing at the Teatro la Fenice, but I do not want to immerse myself in the audience, enduring their looks, nor even to keep my Romeo on the leash, he is too well known and too handsome to go unnoticed. So we shall walk along the streets that pass near the Grand Canal, he does not know Venice and I want to show him those features that are hidden from the tourists. So we enter the maze of bridges and squares, streets and canals that intertwine like a tangle of threads between Piazza San Marco and the Rialto, stopping on the top of the bridges to catch glimpses that are almost invisible, except where they are illuminated by the weak glow of streetlights .
Hand in hand, observing the reflections in the dark water, the plasterwork consumed by time and salt, the corroded marble with its ancient decorations, it seems as if the music of the ballet has become a soundtrack to our wanderings, and even our pace becomes rhythmic, turning into dance steps, chassés, échappés, réunions, embraces, caresses, kisses...
We reach near to the Rialto Bridge, I pretend to run away, he catches me, grabs me, as if he wants to kidnap me, I cling to the shaft of a lamp-post so I cannot to be dragged away; then he lifts my skirt, hoping I will abandon my grip, but I cling to my handhold, pretending to resist, and he girdles my hips from behind, clasping, the embrace seems like an act of love being consummated here on the bank of the Grand Canal!
The pilot of a passing vaporetto, aware of the scene, sounds the siren rhythmically, hinting at obscene movement. I flee away laughing, chased by my lover. But I don’t want to be late, I need to rest - I know I’m disappointing my Romeo, but it is not yet time for Juliet to grant her love. So, let's go back to the theatre, the show has just finished, along the way we meet the audience returning to their hotels, I take refuge in my room on the third floor, he is staying nearby in a luxury hotel.
messaline
Crucified Amazon
Farouche ? ( shy ?)
l'bogo
Venetian Mask
Careful...... shy ?...
GabriellaSivilla
Governor
Sunday, rest-day.
I walk in Piazza San Marco in his company, I watch a curious traffic policeman who is talking to a group of Chinese tourists – am I seeing things? Where are we? In Venice or in Beijing?
He's Chinese! A Chinese Urban Police Officer!
We stop at the most famous café in the square, the one frequented by the celebrated Casanova, we sit at a table just outside, where the shade of the arcades creates an oasis of coolness.
While we wait for the waiter to arrive, I flip through a local newspaper on a chair. Display title on the front page:
PUBLIC SEX IN VENICE RIALTO
Passionate lovers end up on the Net!
A film made by tourists on a vaporetto has gone viral on social media in the last few hours; a couple of young lovers were immortalised while enjoying sexual intercourse in the heart of Venice, on the bank of the Grand Canal. The video has divided opinion on the internet, some suspect it may be a fake. Has it become the fashion?
"Enough is enough, this is going too far!” But tourists encourage it: "Come on, boy!"
After the two young people caught in flagrant poses on Friday night, yesterday evening two more passionate lovers were immortalised at the pier. Says the Commissioner: "We shall punish them severely"
"I am 60 years old, and I despair, there is no future for this city. So long as businesses run by foreigners sell beer and alcohol to such people, such scenes will be the order of the day!"
There seems to be no end to the choice of red light videos in the shadow of Rialto. After the two young people on Friday night in shameless poses behind the Camerlenghi palace, with lots of English-language incitement to the boy, who even had the cheek to wave to the "audience", yesterday evening a passenger on the vaporetto immortalised yet another open-air embrace.
"I was on a public boat, and it wasn’t late, just 11.30 pm,” he says, “everyone saw what was happening, and the siren was also used to stop them. They’ve just got to clamp down on alcohol!"
The video, spotted by the CMP (Citizen’s Defence Committee) is on a par with the one immortalised the night before, and it immediately made the rounds of the social networks. Is there a scarlet thread connecting all this bravado? From diving off bridges to naked lovers on the jetty on the Grand Canal, up to the erotic outdoor performances of the last couple of days?
"These scenes are disturbing,” says the Councillor in charge of security, “although the way the world’s going, no-one is surprised any more by anything. We shall check the videos, and if we identify the individuals we shall sanction them heavily. It’s regrettable that these people have no sense of modesty or respect for others - there is a limit to everything ."
A photograph, very blurred, there we are! But no, we did not have sex, it was just a game! I hide the newspaper under the table-cloth. Too many people around, someone has recognized my Romeo, they’re approaching with a paper and a pen, would like to have an autograph... So we cannot even taste our coffee, we decide to get away after he has refused to sign any autographs, telling whoever is asking that he is not the person they are looking for, and for those who do not believe that and insist, he might as well give them a meaningless scribble.
I walk in Piazza San Marco in his company, I watch a curious traffic policeman who is talking to a group of Chinese tourists – am I seeing things? Where are we? In Venice or in Beijing?
He's Chinese! A Chinese Urban Police Officer!
We stop at the most famous café in the square, the one frequented by the celebrated Casanova, we sit at a table just outside, where the shade of the arcades creates an oasis of coolness.
While we wait for the waiter to arrive, I flip through a local newspaper on a chair. Display title on the front page:
PUBLIC SEX IN VENICE RIALTO
Passionate lovers end up on the Net!
A film made by tourists on a vaporetto has gone viral on social media in the last few hours; a couple of young lovers were immortalised while enjoying sexual intercourse in the heart of Venice, on the bank of the Grand Canal. The video has divided opinion on the internet, some suspect it may be a fake. Has it become the fashion?
"Enough is enough, this is going too far!” But tourists encourage it: "Come on, boy!"
After the two young people caught in flagrant poses on Friday night, yesterday evening two more passionate lovers were immortalised at the pier. Says the Commissioner: "We shall punish them severely"
"I am 60 years old, and I despair, there is no future for this city. So long as businesses run by foreigners sell beer and alcohol to such people, such scenes will be the order of the day!"
There seems to be no end to the choice of red light videos in the shadow of Rialto. After the two young people on Friday night in shameless poses behind the Camerlenghi palace, with lots of English-language incitement to the boy, who even had the cheek to wave to the "audience", yesterday evening a passenger on the vaporetto immortalised yet another open-air embrace.
"I was on a public boat, and it wasn’t late, just 11.30 pm,” he says, “everyone saw what was happening, and the siren was also used to stop them. They’ve just got to clamp down on alcohol!"
The video, spotted by the CMP (Citizen’s Defence Committee) is on a par with the one immortalised the night before, and it immediately made the rounds of the social networks. Is there a scarlet thread connecting all this bravado? From diving off bridges to naked lovers on the jetty on the Grand Canal, up to the erotic outdoor performances of the last couple of days?
"These scenes are disturbing,” says the Councillor in charge of security, “although the way the world’s going, no-one is surprised any more by anything. We shall check the videos, and if we identify the individuals we shall sanction them heavily. It’s regrettable that these people have no sense of modesty or respect for others - there is a limit to everything ."
A photograph, very blurred, there we are! But no, we did not have sex, it was just a game! I hide the newspaper under the table-cloth. Too many people around, someone has recognized my Romeo, they’re approaching with a paper and a pen, would like to have an autograph... So we cannot even taste our coffee, we decide to get away after he has refused to sign any autographs, telling whoever is asking that he is not the person they are looking for, and for those who do not believe that and insist, he might as well give them a meaningless scribble.
GabriellaSivilla
Governor
We proceed towards the entrance of the Basilica of San Marco, followed by a procession of beggars waiting for autographs or just curious, lured, not knowing why, by the crowd that is milling around us.
'What a lot of lions in this city ...'
'Venice is full of lions, we need a real one now to make these pests run away. You could roar to scare them!'
'Go there ...'
'No! Don’t go through there, between the columns of the Lion of San Marco and the Todaro, it brings bad luck, and we’ll need a lot of good luck for our dance. The Venetians are superstitious, they never pass between the two columns - executions were carried out there, that’s why Venetians still avoid going through there, they say it does not bode well for them ...
There should have been a third column here, but it fell into the sea while it was being unloaded, it seems it’s under the mud right there in front of the quays where the gondolas are moored, some say it could still be found there, whole.
'And who is that one, with the spear and the dragon, Saint George?'
he asks me, pointing to the statue on the column next to the one with the lion.
'That one’s the statue of Todaro.'
'What? To dare?’
'No! To-da-ro.'
'Tudor?'
'No! Saint Teodoro.'
'Te adoro - I love you! Oh yes!’
Whenever will these foreigners learn our language?
I brush my forehead with the back of my hand, in a gesture of one trying to remove the discomfort of migraine ...
'Let's get away, let's go to the Giardini della Biennale - but let's take a gondola, then we’ll avoid having them following us.'
At the landing-stage the gondoliers are always waiting for tourists, especially pairs of lovers.
'To the Biennale ... and don’t start singing “O Sole Mio”, we're not Americans.'
The gondolier gives a bitter grin, he won’t get a tip for his off-key notes, but with his oar, moves the gondola off the quay.
'What a lot of lions in this city ...'
'Venice is full of lions, we need a real one now to make these pests run away. You could roar to scare them!'
'Go there ...'
'No! Don’t go through there, between the columns of the Lion of San Marco and the Todaro, it brings bad luck, and we’ll need a lot of good luck for our dance. The Venetians are superstitious, they never pass between the two columns - executions were carried out there, that’s why Venetians still avoid going through there, they say it does not bode well for them ...
There should have been a third column here, but it fell into the sea while it was being unloaded, it seems it’s under the mud right there in front of the quays where the gondolas are moored, some say it could still be found there, whole.
'And who is that one, with the spear and the dragon, Saint George?'
he asks me, pointing to the statue on the column next to the one with the lion.
'That one’s the statue of Todaro.'
'What? To dare?’
'No! To-da-ro.'
'Tudor?'
'No! Saint Teodoro.'
'Te adoro - I love you! Oh yes!’
Whenever will these foreigners learn our language?
I brush my forehead with the back of my hand, in a gesture of one trying to remove the discomfort of migraine ...
'Let's get away, let's go to the Giardini della Biennale - but let's take a gondola, then we’ll avoid having them following us.'
At the landing-stage the gondoliers are always waiting for tourists, especially pairs of lovers.
'To the Biennale ... and don’t start singing “O Sole Mio”, we're not Americans.'
The gondolier gives a bitter grin, he won’t get a tip for his off-key notes, but with his oar, moves the gondola off the quay.
l'bogo
Venetian Mask
Vandalism in Venice: smeared the "Leoncino" (little lion) of San Marco.
The statue, built in 1722, has been scarred with red paint. The authors would be four, two men and two women.
One of the two lions of Venice, placed in the homonymous square next to the Basilica of San Marco, was smeared with a red paint by unknown.
The discovery was made by some residents, who warned the local police of vandalism, which occurred at 3.58 according to what emerges from video surveillance. The two statues are positioned at the top of the rise of the square where there is a real well, and represent crouching lions. They are one of the main attractions of the square, often 'ridden' by tourists and especially by children. They were made by Giovanni Bonazza in 1722, in red Cottanello marble.
To be smeared was the statue placed on the left of the square. The paint - perhaps spray - appears on the two eyes and on the neck of the 'little lion'. With the same red paint the vandals also damaged the pavement and some steps of a small bridge, outlining the design of a child holding two balloons with the inscription "You are killing me".
"There are good chances to identify those responsible, since we are in possession of images of the four, two males and two females, in the act of smearing," said the commander of the local Venice Police. After viewing the images taken by the cameras of Piazza Sana Marco, the local police are acquiring those of private individuals in the area. "For now, although it is difficult to provide an identikit, it is possible to state that these are young people, probably artists or social center activists, and the hypothesis is that this is a futuristic provocation".
https://media.kataweb.it/repubblica...rrtv-650-290918_venezia_leoncino_imbratta.mp4
The statue, built in 1722, has been scarred with red paint. The authors would be four, two men and two women.
One of the two lions of Venice, placed in the homonymous square next to the Basilica of San Marco, was smeared with a red paint by unknown.
The discovery was made by some residents, who warned the local police of vandalism, which occurred at 3.58 according to what emerges from video surveillance. The two statues are positioned at the top of the rise of the square where there is a real well, and represent crouching lions. They are one of the main attractions of the square, often 'ridden' by tourists and especially by children. They were made by Giovanni Bonazza in 1722, in red Cottanello marble.
To be smeared was the statue placed on the left of the square. The paint - perhaps spray - appears on the two eyes and on the neck of the 'little lion'. With the same red paint the vandals also damaged the pavement and some steps of a small bridge, outlining the design of a child holding two balloons with the inscription "You are killing me".
"There are good chances to identify those responsible, since we are in possession of images of the four, two males and two females, in the act of smearing," said the commander of the local Venice Police. After viewing the images taken by the cameras of Piazza Sana Marco, the local police are acquiring those of private individuals in the area. "For now, although it is difficult to provide an identikit, it is possible to state that these are young people, probably artists or social center activists, and the hypothesis is that this is a futuristic provocation".
https://media.kataweb.it/repubblica...rrtv-650-290918_venezia_leoncino_imbratta.mp4