Misplaced Nostalgia

Photo: Ileana Johnson May 2016

Lately I’ve been nostalgic about my birth country, about Europe, wondering what would be like to live there again. Perhaps my nostalgia is surfacing because I am fast approaching old age and the ball of yarn called life is getting smaller and smaller.

Maybe I have misplaced nostalgia because my adopted country is in such turmoil and nothing seems to redress what people are complaining about. Life goes on, the sun comes up every day, the routine we take for granted continues, children must be fed and taken to school, people go to work, football season started again, and the masses are not restless as long as the welfare checks come in on time and the dependency faucet flows, tummies are full, the gas tank is topped, and illusory abundance looms like a Potemkin village.

I know, I can never go back home again because home is no longer there, but I still want to from time to time. Life has moved on and, I found out quite painfully, I am now a stranger in my own land. The something I was looking for, what the French term, “je ne sais quoi,” is no longer there. Many relatives I grew up with are now residing in the cemetery, others are as old as I am, with elderly people problems, bad socialized medicine and care, and some simply don’t care if I exist. But then most people’s relatives, far removed or close ones, could not care less if others lived or died. We are but a blip on the screen of life.

Four trips to my hometown and I have not yet been allowed to erect a marble cross on my Dad’s grave. His burial plot is marked by a simple wooden cross painted antique blue, with lettering long erased by the inclement weather and the sun. It’s not that I cannot afford to pay for a better cross, unlike years ago when I was financially broke, living on minimum wage.

I have gone as far as ordering a marble cross, paying for it, and hiring a priest to bless its installation. The most painful part was choosing what words to put on the cross that best represented my Dad’s life. I decided on his name, his birthdate, his death, and the phrase, “The best father who gave me life and let me fly far away because he loved me.” But that did not really tell the story of his life, the sacrifice he made at such an early age, he was 61 years young.

As the self-appointed remaining patriarch, Dad’s only living younger brother objected to Dad’s cross. Each time there was a different reason. He wanted a bribe because I was a “rich” American ripe for fleecing.  He said no during another trip because it would disturb my grandparents’ grave nearby, somehow the extra marble weight would be toxic and disturb their eternity slumber. On the third visit, he said, it would offend his wife who was buried in the same family plot even though she was family by marriage. And, the most unreasonable objection was that I did not help his pregnant daughter find a job in America and did not give her a place to live, rent free, in my house. Had she heard of anchor babies, she could have become a life-long ward of the government like everybody else born in a poor country who manages to cross the border illegally in the last months of pregnancy.

So I decided to erect a memorial here, in this country, where my Dad never had a chance to visit because his life was cut short by the very people who were supposed to give him a visa but refused.

It was futile to explain to his brother that we have 94 million Americans out of work, blue collar jobs are scarce, and I don’t personally employ anybody, I am just a retired teacher. To him, and to the rest of the world, America is still the land of plenty, of filthy-rich people; money grows on trees if you fertilize them with enough B.S., and welfare flows like milk and honey. 

There is a reason why illegals and refugees are brought here, we are told, they do jobs Americans don’t want to do and take whatever wages, without complaining. As our president said, “Americans are lazy.” Then these hard-working illegals send their paychecks to Mexico or to their countries of origin, while they live on welfare. America is a great country! Did anyone ask him, how it became the envy of the world if Americans were so lazy?

On the other hand, he may be right, I did see lazy locals in the morning on my way to work, sitting on their porches, laughing and enjoying themselves, drinking beer, while I was looking at my watch nervously to make sure I would be on time for my 8 a.m. classes.

Illegal immigrants who are often unskilled, illiterate, and on welfare, fare better medically than our own veterans do. They even get translators in hospitals for free and gender reassignment surgery. What a deal! At the same time, educated legal immigrants who want the opportunity to better themselves professionally in the United States are rejected when applying for visas because they happen to be the wrong nationality, religion, skin color, or we ran out of H1B visas. Why bring in immigrants who can contribute to the greatness of this country when we can bring the dregs of third world society to take our country down to size?

Progressives have been telling us that it’s high time to redistribute our wealth to the rest of the world, we’ve been well off for far too long, we owe the rest of the world their turn. If our children and grandchildren will live much worse than we, their parents, so be it, it is social justice to impoverish ourselves while supporting large families from countries that hate our guts and wish our destruction.  

As the most successful country in the world, we are no longer desirable. Hillary Clinton told the world half of Americans are a “basket of deplorables.” Academia keeps telling us, we are evil, primitive cultures are noble and good, and we should learn from them by serving their needs, by allowing them to rule over us with help from United Nations tin pot dictators.

The other half of Americans blindly look up to Democrats because they think they are wise; they’ve been telling us for a long time that we should emulate Cuba and Venezuela’s failed socialist/communist regimes or Europe’s failed multiculturalism.

Europeans seem so bucolic from afar, so much greener over the fence, healthy, and content riding their bicycles everywhere. Who wants to burn $10/gallon gas and choke Mother Nature to death when they can travel in style by trains that run on electricity generated by windmills?

The problem I see is that even my native country is turning into a basket case of European Union totalitarianism by technocrats. According to the SüdDeutsche Zeitung, France and Germany are preparing to synchronize plans for a joint European army. http://www.sueddeutsche.de/politik/vor-gipfeltreffen-deutschland-und-frankreich-wollen-verteidigungspolitik-der-eu-reformieren-1.3155310

Male Muslim refugees of military age are flooding everywhere, even beautiful Venice and Milan. One such refugee, screaming Allahu Akbar and making death threats to passengers for two hours, was deported from the U.K. to Venice. Why Venice, the historical jewel of the Adriatic, the open air museum of our western civilization? Italians have spent billions trying to prevent the sinking of its archeological treasures. Why bring the enemy inside? http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-3783356/Terror-EasyJet-flight-migrant-deported-Venice-screams-Allahu-Akbar-29-times-death-coming-17-times-die-nine-times-shocking-two-hour-frenzy.html

I was wondering why so many Muslims were taking photos of Catholic churches around Venice and Milan on a recent trip. I saw women in burkas taking photos of churches from gondolas in Venice; I am sure it was for touristy reasons. After France24 reported on the failed attempt by an entire cell of Muslim women to blow up Notre Dame Cathedral, I understood, it’s a dry run for the open season on western civilization. http://10thousandcouples.com/2016/09/france-opens-probe-into-notre-dame-cathedral-car-bomb/

Communism was bad enough, but I don’t know what to expect in a huge banana republic like ours and I certainly don’t like European Union’s bureaucratic socialism run from its the facto capital Brussels.

I had misplaced nostalgia to revisit living in the country of my birth or some other place in Europe. I get frustrated because this country I’ve adopted is fast becoming a banana republic and few seem to care. Change is inevitable and expected; positive change is good but forced progressive transformation is another story.

 

My 30 Minute Radio Talk with Silvio Canto Jr. on Obamacare

http://www.blogtalkradio.com/cantotalk/2016/09/13/the-latest-about-obama-care-with-dr-ileana-johnson-author

Common Sense Progressive and "Out of America"

"In countries where people are free, people are not 'equal.' In countries where everyone is 'equal,' people are not free."             - Rightbias.com

The young black man described himself as a “common sense progressive.” I would have never noticed his profile in the social media, had it not been for his unreasonable defense of another rich and successful black man, a football player, who chose to ignore our National Anthem under the absurd race-baiting excuse that he was taking a stance against imagined racial and police oppression in America.

To call this young man delusional and indoctrinated into progressivism by his expensive public school education in America is an understatement. Since he has never lived in any stifling communist paradise he yearns for, this young man is in no position to understand that common sense was in short supply or non-existent in communist countries. Associating “common sense” and “progressivism” is oxymoronic or delusional at best.

I asked him how he arrived at such silly description of an ideology that killed my father and 100 million other people who lived and toiled under communism as subsistence drones who were truly oppressed. His inadequate explanation was that we came from “different worlds and different experiences.”

It was counterproductive to explain to this confused young man that United States is the best and the most tolerant place in the world to live. The identical talking points about modern oppression, which are repeated ad nauseam by famous and infamous talking heads, are manufactured by the profitable race baiting industry that conveniently ignores and turns a blind eye to the real oppression occurring around the world.

Ensnared by the racial division rhetoric constantly coming from this administration and the media, this young man believes that the Black Lives Matter movement is a lofty endeavor and not a paid organization supported by left wing groups to promote violence and social unrest. To this young man, the much maligned police and the military are the enemy and the oppressor, not the Thin Blue Line between anarchists and the rule of law.

He probably studied revisionist history in his classes and skipped the part about the Soviet Union’s KGB, German Democratic Republic’s Stasi, and Hitler’s Gestapo, examples of real oppression against religious groups, ethnic groups, and innocents who held divergent opinions.

I was confused when black people started calling themselves African-Americans. Most of them were many generations removed from their African ancestors and have never been to Africa, yet the fascination and the draw to identify with people from a continent away who happen to share their skin color is powerful. And what about white people from South Africa who immigrated here? Are they allowed to call themselves African Americans?

The rest of us call ourselves Americans and it would be nice if someday everyone would be identified or self-identify as just Americans. But the division lobby is very powerful, how else can they control the narrative and power if they don’t keep voters, citizens, and students divided along racial and ethnic lines?

I suppose we cannot understand who we are if we cannot understand how we were created and where we came from, what shaped us into who we are today. It is important to know and understand what made each of us unique.

I can attest to the feelings of confusion even when we are actually born in a far-away place and go back decades later to revisit our roots and where we grew up, only to find ourselves strangers in our own lands because, while we were pining for our lost youth and roots, the place of our birth had changed and people had moved on, we could no longer recognize what we remembered. But identifying with a place you had never set foot on, whose culture, customs, and language you did not understand, is quite puzzling.

Recently I read about the journey of a successful black man, Keith B. Richburg, who actually went to Africa to find his African roots, to see where his ancestors were sold and bought from four centuries ago.

Shelby Steele, writing in praise of Richburg’s book, Out of America, A Black Man Confronts Africa, said:

“Black America has always imagined Africa like the adopted child imagines the birthparent. The dream is that Africa holds a truth for us. Keith Richburg marches through that dream and finds that he was an American all along.”

Richburg went to Africa as a journalist in 1991-1994 and reported on “the famine and anarchy in Somalia, genocide in Rwanda, the Liberian ‘wackiest, ruthless, and uncivil war,’ and the failing state of Zaire.” (p. 134)

He wanted to identify with Africa but instead, as Newsweek wrote, he bitterly repudiated Afrocentrism.  “As a black American returning to the land of his ancestors, he filters all he sees through the prism of his racial identity. Instead of empathy he feels only a deepening sense of estrangement.”

Richburg wrote, “I was thankful to have been born in America, where even for a black man, a descendant of slaves, anything and everything was possible.”

Returning to Africa in 2006, Richburg found Somalia “as depressing as when I first visited there in 1991.” When he reported on Zimbabwe in his book, it “had growth rates, high literacy, and the ability to feed itself.” But the 2006 Zimbabwe was an abysmal place. Mugabe had destroyed the middle class, ruining the formerly prosperous African country, causing half of its 12 million citizens to be dependent on international food aid. Inflation was running at “200 million percent,” epidemics flared up, and there was no water, sanitation, health care, and schools, the basics offered by a properly functioning society.

Having watched the “… dead float down a river in Tanzania,” having come close to being killed in Somalia and ignored by American soldiers driving by who could have saved him from a dangerous situation when he waved his press credentials and passport, scared in the realization that they only saw a man who looked like a potential Somali murderer, Richburg thanks God today that he is an American. As a black man in Somalia, he “was constantly at risk.” (pp. 84-85)

Richburg watched his journalist friends die at the hands of warlords in Somalia, victims of the very population they tried to help when they brought the plight of Somalis on camera, for the world to see. Hopes were quickly dashed, he said, that “Africa might become the testing ground for the New World Order.”

South Africa’s “racial groupthink” helped him realize that everyone was defined and categorized according to the color of their skin. Although growing up as a “black kid in a white country,” he avoided being defined by the color of his skin and believed Martin Luther King’s vision of a man being defined by the content of his character. Richburg avoided the label “black reporter,” he preferred “good reporter.” Yet he found out that various African dictators suggested that, “as a black reporter, I was supposed to report more favorably on them.” (p. 195)

He wrote in foreword that, seeing “a black man, the son of a Kenyan exchange student and a white woman from Kansas, as president of the United States and the most powerful person in the world, I feel that, whatever the cynics said, the faith I put in this country has been more than vindicated.”

Out of America ends on an upbeat note. People may think of Richburg as an Africa hater, racist, or even a “self-hating man who has forgotten his African roots.” Can we forget something we never really knew in the first place? He is grateful to have been born a black man in America. … “Everything I am today – my culture and attitudes, my sensibilities, loves, and desires – derives from that one simple and irrefutable truth.” At the end of the day, we are not hyphenated, we are all Americans.  The people of Baton Rouge have shown the world a united American front of brotherhood, courage, and dignity.

 

San Marco’s Basilica and its Surroundings

San Marco Basilica Photo: Ileana Johnson 2016

Since the eleventh century, San Marco’s Basilica has been known as Chiesa d’Oro, the Church of Gold. The former chapel of the Doge, the basilica has been the city’s cathedral since 1807 when it became the Patriarchy of Venice. The rich Italian-Byzantine style, the gold mosaics, the statues, the opulent gold chalices, crosses encrusted with precious gems, items of heavy gold displayed in the altar and in the church treasury, and its symbolism of Venetian power and wealth, gave it the nickname of Chiesa d’Oro.

Connected to the Doge’s Palace, the first St. Mark Church was ordered by the Doge in 828 and completed four years later. It is alleged that Venetian merchants stole the relics of Mark the Evangelist from Alexandria and brought them to Venice.

San Marco Basilica and Doge's Palace are connected

Photo: Ileana Johnson 2016

 

San Marco basilica was accidentally set on fire in 976 during a rebellion to depose the Doge Pietro IV Candiano who was much hated by the locals.  Venetians locked him inside his ducal palace and set it on fire. The fire spread quickly to the basilica. The Doge and his young son were killed and their bodies were taken to the slaughterhouse. Sane minds prevailed and the bodies were recovered and buried with honors in the church of Sant’Ilario. His wife survived the attack and, the next Doge left her a small inheritance, while her other son fled to Saxony where he conspired against the new Doge who was so generous to his mom.

Typical Venetian square connecting the "calle"

Photo: Ileana Johnson 2016

 

It took two years to rebuild the basilica after this fire.  Historians report different consecration dates, 1084-85, 1093, 1102, and 1117. The building is an interesting mix of Italian and Byzantine elements, with added Gothic elements to blend in with the redesigned Doge’s Palace. Pala d’Oro was ordered from Constantinople and installed on the high altar in 1105. A year later, the church and its mosaics were damaged again by a fire.

Eastern inspired cupolas

Photo: Wikipedia

 

Doge Vitale Faliero rediscovered in 1094 the body of Saint Mark in a pillar. For a while, the church was the private chapel of the Doge, but then it became the Venetian Republic official church where ceremonies of state were held such as the installation and burials of Doges. The patriarch of Venice had a seat in the basilica opposite the Doge.

Photo: Ileana Johnson 2016

The balcony above the basilica’s portal displays the horses of San Marco since 1254. Thought to be horses pulling an imperial quadriga (chariot), the horses date to classical antiquity. Some believed that they once adorned Trajan’s Arch. The horses decorated the Hippodrome of Constantinople. Doge Enrico Dandolo sent them to Venice in 1204 as part of the loot from the Fourth Crusade.  Napoleon took them to Paris in 1797 but they were returned to Venice in 1815. The restored bronze originals are kept in Museo Marciano inside the Basilica, while the façade is decorated with bronze replicas.

Byron wrote, “Below St. Mark’s still glow his steeds of brass, their gilded collars glittering in the sun.” Today the brass replicas are corroded into a dull green by the Venetian climate and the proximity to the salty lagoon.

A porphyry statue of the Four Tetrarchs was looted from Constantinople in 1204, during the fourth crusade, and was brought to Venice and set into the south-west corner of the basilica. Diocletian had imposed a four co-emperor rule called a Tetrarchy. One of the tetrarchs has a missing foot which was found in the 1960s in Istanbul near the Bodrum Mosque, still located there today.

The interior is shaped like a Greek cross, with each arm divided into three naves with a “dome of its own as well as the main dome above the crossing.” The domes are oriental in shape and one is bigger than the other three.  The smell of incense and burned candle wax is overpowering. To guard against fires, most churches have designated a special place for lighting and burning candles, in small receptacles filled with sand.

San Marco gable and the winged lion

Photo: Wikipedia

The 12^th century marble floor that has undergone many restorations is tessellated in geometric patterns and animal designs. Because the area is prone to flooding, the floor is undulating, uneven, and treacherous to walk on.  I tried to photograph the gold-mosaicked interior, but any photography was highly discouraged and forbidden.

The eastern inspired domes

Photo: Ileana Johnson 2004

The atrium or narthex “prepares the visitors’ eyes for the atmosphere of the gilded interior which is quite fascinating and overwhelming in its opulence with all the New Testament decorations of the interior and the Old Testament stories on the ceiling.

Doge's Palace interior courtyard

Photo: Ileana Johnson 2004

The right transept contains the platform where the newly elected Doge appeared, St. Clément’s chapel, the Holy Host altar, the pillar where San Marco’s relics were rediscovered in 1094, as depicted in the mosaics of the right aisle where the entrance to the San Marco’s treasure is.

The left transept holds the platform for Scripture readings, St. Peter’s Chapel on the right aisle, and the Madonna Nicopeia, a Byzantine icon.  St. Isidor’s chapel and Mascoli chapel are located on the northern side.

The presbytery is located in the eastern arm with a crypt beneath. Behind the presbytery are located the sacristy and a 15^th century church consecrated to St. Theodore, the first patron saint of Venice. Eight red marble columns are crowned with a high Crucifix and statues. The high altar contains San Marco’s relics.  The famous Pala d’Oro, a 10^th century masterpiece of Byzantine goldsmiths craftsmanship contains 1,300 pearls, 300 sapphires, 300 emeralds, and 400 garnets, all original, highly polished, and unfaceted gems. The gem studded panels are encased in a gilded frame which is also encrusted with emeralds, rubies, sapphires, and gleaming translucent enamels bound by gold filigree. The gem embellishment was done in 1209 and 1345 by Venetians and Sienese.

The treasury contains gold, silver, enamel, stone carvings, rock crystals, and other objects looted from Constantinople after the Fourth Crusade.  A few objects were collected from Northern Europe. Some art objects were melted down by Napoleon for coining at the end of the Venetian Republic and jewels were sold.  By 1816, an inventory ordered by the Austrians revealed that 141objects were left.

A sixth century throne carved in alabaster, Sedia di San Marco (St. Mark’s seat), was moved from the high altar to the Treasury in 1534. San Marco must have been a slightly built man as the throne could only fit a very small-framed bishop.

The interior is so richly decorated with gold mosaics, it would take a long time to really admire and understand such splendor and all the scenes from the Old Testament depicted in the narthex (atrium) alone, or the mosaics in the atrium Genesis Dome, or the Pentecost Dome, the Ascension Dome, the Baptistery, and the Zen Chapel. The lower walls illustrate the saints, the middle walls the Apostles, and the domes are dedicated to Christ, the Creator of everything.  Unfortunately, strict guides hurry visitors like me who wish to linger behind, to admire, to breathe in history, and perhaps to take that solitaire and forbidden photo of such majesty.

Photo: Ileana Johnson 2016

 

Venice and particularly San Marco’s Square is not just subjected to flooding  from the lagoon and rain which floods the foundation and ground floor of all buildings, its palazzos, churches, and cathedrals are attacked by pollution, sulphur dioxide and the salty mist of the lagoon air which corrosively destroys the marble reliefs on facades unless they are periodically cleaned.

Water corrosion visible on all buildings

Photo: Ileana Johnson 2016

 

But nothing is as destructive to Venice as the flooding called aqua alta which submerges the piazza, the lowest lying area of the lagoon for a good part of the year.  The Venetians are used to the walking tables around the square which help them navigate the temporary lake without wading waist deep in the green lagoon water.

San Marco Square

Photo: Ileana Johnson 2016

 

The waterfront (Molo) was the former inner harbor where ships unloaded their cargo on the quays. Today, gondolas are tied in front of the Molo and occasional cruise ships are towed slowly in front of San Marco’s Square, temporarily blocking the lagoon completely with their massive and towering modernity.

Opening to the lagoon by Doge's Palace

Photo: Ileana Johnson 2016

Facing the island of San Giorgio is the mint (La Zecca). Silver and gold ducats were minted in Venice from 1284. The zecchino was accepted as currency until the fall of the Venetian Republic. In 1870 the mint became part of Biblioteca Marciana with a reading room in the former courtyard.

The sea entrance from the lagoon

Photo: Ileana Johnson

The sea entrance to Venice is marked by the Columns of San Marco and San Teodoro, named after the city’s two patron saints. St. Mark replaced St. Theodore in 828 A.D. The columns are made of granite brought from Levant and were erected in 1172. St. Theodore’s statue is a modern replica (the original is located in the Doge’s Palace); the Lion of St. Mark is the original. The winged beast has agate eyes and is said to be either a Middle Eastern hybrid or a Chinese chimera.

The lion was brought back from Paris where Napoleon had taken it, was restored, and then placed on its pedestal with a Bible under his paw. The writer Jan Morris is quoted as saying that “a beast from the pagan east [was] converted from a savage basilisk to a saint’s companion.”

The engineer was allowed to have gambling tables between the two columns, a prime business spot at the time. Public executions were also held between the two columns giving rise to the superstition that it is bad luck to walk between the two columns.

Photo: Ileana Johnson 2016

 

The water is an indescribable shade of green, difficult to imitate on canvas. During Carnevale di Venezia, which ends with the Christian celebration of Lent, the canals and the lagoon become festooned with extravagantly decorated gondolas and pedestrians dress in the most elaborate costumes and masks of an era gone by, traveling back in time.

Photo: Ileana Johnson 2016

 

To celebrate Serenissima Repubblica’s victory in 1162 against the Patriarch of Aquileia, Venetians gathered and danced in San Marco’s Square. This annual festival became official during the Renaissance.  In 1797 Carnevale was outlawed and the wearing of masks was forbidden. It was reintroduced in the 19^th century at private parties as an occasion to party and to display the mask wearer’s creativity. The Italian government brought masks back in 1979 to boost the tourist industry. A prize is awarded each year for the most beautiful mask, some of which cost in the thousands of euros and take up to a year to complete. The mascherari were so important in society that they had their own guild.

The different mask designs include:

-          bauta, covering the entire face and with a long nose;

-          Colombina, covering only half of the upper face, heavily decorated with crystals, feathers, gold and silver; Colombina was the maid;

-          medico delle peste, the most bizarre looking of the mask, often white, originally used as a way to protect the wearer  from the plague;

-          servetta muta (moretta), the mute servant, a black velvet strapless mask worn by patrician women; the mask was held in place by a button bitten by the wearer;

-          volto (face) or larva (ghost) is a modern stark white interpretation, gilded and decorated, covering the entire face, and worn with a tricorn and a cloak;

-          Pantalone, a half-mask dating back from the commedia dell’arte era, represents the sad and intelligent old man with a large nose like a crow’s beak and with slanted eyes;

-          Arlecchino, is a black half-mask made of wood or leather with an ape-like nose and a bump on the forehead which represents the devil’s horn; this harlequin, was a peasant, servant, or slave to Pantalone;

-          Zanni, a half-mask in leather, with low forehead, bulging eyebrows, and a long and curved nose at the end, signifying the wearer low life state in life and stupidity.

Winged lion on Doge's Palace

Photo: Ileana Johnson 2016

 

Areas in Venice are divided into sestieri (areas). The one easiest to get lost in is Mercerie, with its maze-like alleys, a most fascinating shopping quarter that used to have an unusual McDonald’s in a narrow and dark alley. One of the most prestigious addresses in Venice is Campo Santo Stefano. The Piazzetta dei Leoncini is a tiny square next to the Basilica and is named after the marble lions used by generations of children as riding horses.

Napoleon gave the notion of nepotism a new meaning when his nephew, who wanted to have a beautiful view from his palace in the Procuratie Nuovo (the new procurators’ offices) in San Marco’s Square, supposedly created the Giardini Ex Reali (Royal Gardens) along the waterfront.

Passageway between tiny "calle"

Photo: Ileana Johnson 2016

 

Every alley in Venice is called calle, marked by a yellow sign with pointing arrows in various directions, another way to get lost or run around in circles. However, if you ask me, it is a way to discover new places that otherwise I might have missed. If you ask my husband, a precise reader of maps, it is irritating.  

Window on a "calle"

Photo: Ileana Johnson

On Calle Vallaresso, there is the famous watering hole sought by celebrities and wannabes alike, Harry’s Bar. It mixes the Bellini, a drink made with crushed pureed peach and sparkling prosecco. Founded by Giuseppe Cipriani in 1931 and still run by the family, Harry’s Bar also invented carpaccio, a dish made of finely sliced raw beef fillet spritzed with oil and lemon, and named after the famous 15^th century painter Carpaccio whose favorite color was a steak-like red.

The Frezzeria is the shopping area where cheaper masks and glass pretending to be of Murano provenance are sold. After all, most tourists cannot tell the difference.  At the end of Frezzeria is Campo San Moise, the most exclusive but less attractive shopping area. The Church of San Moise with its baroque façade dominates the square. On Calle delle Veste is the famous opera house La Fenice which mysteriously burned to the ground in 1996. It was rebuilt and reopened in 2004 with La Traviata. During construction, high Venetian society had to suffer the indignity of going to the Tronchetto (ferry) industrial zone where the opera company was located for the duration. On one of my trips, cast members were giving out flyers with the times and dates of the next performance. I went inside La Fenice and was given a very brief peek by a staff member who happened to be in the foyer.

TO BE CONTINUED

 

 

 

 

 

Wind Turbines, Rusting Giants of the Environmental Watermelon Religion

I saw the once verdant wheat fields of Eastern Europe covered with ugly wind turbines, slowly spinning their huge blades into the wind. A few funnel dust swirls were blowing the topsoil into the air. They did not appear to be connected to any storage station that would distribute the electrical power generated. I searched and found out that they were really not connected to any network, were not generating usable electricity, they were all for show to placate the “green growth” European bureaucrats who gave them money to install the eye sores instead of growing crops.

Turbines kill birds on a large scale around the world and disturb humans and wildlife.  According to Save the Eagles International, “contrary to what we are told, wind farms will cause the extinction of many bird and bat species” because birds are naturally attracted to tall structures.

While millions of birds and bats are dying needlessly, wind turbines and solar panels are still installed around the world despite the fact that they produce inconsistent energy that cannot possibly replace the consistent and cheap energy produced by coal. The world’s economy needs fossil fuels, nuclear energy, and hydro-power that provide a constant source of electricity, not the small scale partial or intermittent Aeolian or solar energy.

In the green state of Vermont, a 28-turbine mega-wind project is being vehemently opposed by some board members and citizens in the towns of Windham and Grafton, concerned that the power station would affect property values and the environment.

Iberdrola, the Spanish public multinational utility company based in Bilbao, Spain, proposed the project. Subsidiaries include Scottish Power, Iberdrola USA, and Elektro Brazil, with the largest shareholder in 2013, Qatar Investment Holding.

Frank Seawright, Windham Selectboard Chairman, remarked that more than 200 houses in Windham are located within a mile and a half from the proposed turbines and the rest are also close, including his own home, 3,000 feet from the proposed site.

Lacking confidence that the developers and the Public Service Board will protect the locals in accordance to S.260, Seawright said:

“The people who complain about the noise are dismissed by wind developers as just a bunch of trouble makers. That’s probably one of the worst things they can do is to just blame the victim.”

Act 174 (S.260), act relating to improving the siting of energy projects in Vermont passed and was signed into law in June 2016. http://legislature.vermont.gov/bill/status/2016/S.260

The Selectboard sent a letter to Iberdrola citing their well-founded concern for water quality, wildlife, and human health.

“We are unwilling to subject any of our town’s property owners to the unknown short- and long-term effects of exposure to turbine noise, vibration, infrasound, and shadow flicker.” http://watchdog..org/269280/mega-wind-project-faces-steep-opposition-in-vermont/

According to the Watchdog, the Selectboard members were concerned that the turbines would not produce consistent power, delivering on the average 60 percent of the time, and would destroy property values with no compensation for homeowners.

National Wind Watch tells a different story about the efficacy of wind turbine performance.

“Wind turbines generate electrical energy when they are not shut down for maintenance, repair, or tours and the wind is between about 8 and 55 mph. Below a wind speed of around 30 mph, however, the amount of energy generated is very small. Wind turbines produce at or above their average rate around 40% of the time. Conversely, they produce little or no power around 60% of the time.” https://www.wind-watch.org/faq-output.php

The annual financial benefit from Iberdrola would be $715,000 for Windham and $285,000 for Grafton. The most interesting objection was the “utilities lack of need for purchasing additional wind power” – they don’t need the electricity.  Additional concerns were Iberdrola’s $27 million fine from Spain’s National Markets and Competition Commission and the higher cost of wind-generated electricity.

Watchdog quoted Seawright, who was frustrated with the Vermont government, “hell bent on getting these things:” [wind turbines]

“I have always voted for Democrats, (but) now I’m more concerned about the Democrats than the Republicans. The Democrats here seem to be exploiting the countryside.”

As long as there are government subsidies for wind and solar power projects to be exploited, despite the many failures and bankruptcies when billions of taxpayer dollars have been wasted, politics make strange bedfellows with “investors” and “developers.”

In 2001 a 400-acre site became a wind farm in Somerset Township, Pennsylvania. It was touted to produce 25,000 megawatt hours of electricity a year, enough to provide power to 2,500 families with “lower-cost, more environmentally friendly way to produce electricity.” This happened at a time when 52 percent of electricity in the U.S. was generated by coal-fired plants and for Pennsylvania, “the fourth largest coal-producing state, the figure is about 60 percent.”

Money came from sustainable energy funds and developers received federal energy tax credits. As John Hanger of Citizens for Pennsylvania’s Future said, “This is a terrific Earth Day present for the people of Pennsylvania. PECO customers will be the first in the commonwealth to directly help the planet through their local electricity choices.” http://old.post-gazette.com/businessnews/20010424wind6.asp

If these wind farms could have helped the citizens’ pockets, it would have been terrific. For starters, they had to pay higher electricity rates and some lost their coal-mining jobs as a result of mines closing around the country due to onerous EPA regulations. The other damaging side effects were felt later.

Photo: Ileana Johnson 2016

 

When I stopped in Somerset a few days ago, the turbine blades did not seem to move at all. An educational display was still posted outside the turnpike service plaza, with all the potential savings for the Earth from harnessing wind power. No mention of the huge costs associated with such a pie in the sky watermelon dream.

When the wind turbines break down, catch fire, rust out, or their blades disintegrate, they are abandoned by the thousands, ugly giants dotting the pristine landscape. They are seldom removed because the job would be too expensive. None of them have produced, by the time they were taken out of service, the amount of energy that was used to manufacture the giant turbine in the first place. And, the part that environmentalist do not like to talk about, is that all the steel, spare parts, transportation, assembly, maintenance, and slow wind down times were provided by fossil fuel-generated power.

As the American Elephants said, wind turbines are “the towering symbols of a fading religion” and… “Without government subsidy, they are unaffordable. With governments facing financial troubles, the subsidies are unaffordable. It was a nice dream, a very expensive dream, but it didn’t work.”

I might add that it was a dream born by the environmental watermelon religion, green on the outside, red on the inside.

 

Venice and Lido Island

Photo: Wikipedia Vladimir Shelialin
Giudecca Island seen from the Campanile

The 100-mile road to Venice took three hours in bumper to bumper traffic due to sheer volume on such a narrow two-lane highway 309, with cars joining the endless line of traffic, returning home from the weekend fishing trip or beach picnic to their villages that dotted the landscape. I felt like we were in rush hour in northern Virginia. Everything was closed, with no possibility to go to any bathroom along the way, not even nature’s secluded woods.

We arrived at dusk at the tronchetto (the ferry) which we boarded for the island of Lido where our hotel was located. I had been under mistaken notion that we were staying in Lido di Jesolo, a summer resort that is actually on mainland, not an island in the middle of the archipelago. I had stayed in Lido di Jesolo on previous trips and I was not impressed with the hotels but the beach was beautiful even during cold spring break explorations. I took a few students to the beach on such a cold mid-March afternoon and we dipped our feet in the cold waters of the Gulf of Venice.

As we were purchasing our ferry tickets, the windshield wipers came on, spraying the agent in the booth who, understandably, was not very happy about it and let us know in vociferous Italian fashion. We had no idea how to turn them off in the rented BMW that did not come with an operator’s manual, and were struggling to do so to the exasperation of the angry Italian who kept cursing at us.

We finally turned it off and bought three-day passes for us and one ferry crossing for the car, for a total of 101 euros, not bad considering that, from then on, we could board any water bus to the many islands around Venice, as many times as we wanted. Such a general ticket must have been a blessing for the locals who often traveled to faraway islands in order to get their groceries and necessities. I struck up a conversation with an elderly Italian lady who was carrying two large grocery bags of food and toilet paper. She told me that life was hard but she would not have any other way.

It was very cold over the water in late April and I could not stop shaking even with a flimsy cashmere sweater. I took pictures in the dark of a couple of cruise ship blazing with lights like a Christmas tree. I was surprised how dark the night line of Venice was. Piazza San Marco and the Campanile were totally dark.  Ambient light was coming from the ferries and from the numerous cruise ships, but not from street lights. Venice was pretty much in muted darkness.

Before we boarded the ferry, everyone lined up in seven or so lanes, very un-Italian like. Traffic was directed by a tronchetto employee. But when we got off, nobody was directing traffic and it was a free for all – all the three lanes of cars on the ferry became a race of who had more guts to push ahead of the person next to them without causing a crash, ending in the water below.

After a 30 minute ferry ride, we made it to the Panorama hotel, facing Piazza San Marco across the bay. Dave had to park in the courtyard, a very narrow, cobble-stoned driveway, surrounded by iron fencing and a gate.  Parking in reverse next to the only other car there required skill and daring. The tall receptionist, Marco, was jovial and pleasant, speaking English well, which he insisted we use because he wanted to practice his American English. He was so tall, he could climb a flight of stairs with two large steps. The room was passable, a three-star hotel pretending to be a four-star hotel. We slept well in spite of everything, that’s how tired we were.

Motoscafi from Lido di Jesolo to San Marco

Photo: Ileana Johnson 2005

This was my 22^nd visit to the Serenissima and yet there were still places left to be explored. Serenissima Repubblica di Venezia existed as a state from the late 7^th century A.D. until 1797, with a long history of war and conquest, a powerful economic and trading power.

The cupolas of San Marco's

Photo: Ileana Johnson 2005

 

We woke up to pitch blackness thanks to the wooden shutters opening into a narrow vine-covered terrace. The tiny shower barely accommodated Dave’s wide shoulders and did not drain well, typical Italian plumbing problem. They press and starch anything made of cloth but they don’t use bleach in the bathroom.

Breakfast was in a well-appointed and cozy restaurant with sweet and smiling staff who was glad that I spoke Italian. However, we had to suffer the indignity of listening to four loud Brits bashing the United States, totally overlooking their own problem in the U.K., the takeover of their beloved Londonistan.

All we had to do was cross the street to take a water bus to San Marco’s Square. Around 11 a.m., it was already a zoo everywhere and the lines to the historical sites were extremely long, the Campanile, Palazzo Ducale, the San Marco Basilica, the Bridge of Sighs, the Correr Museum, and the medieval prison. It did not matter to us since we had seen them all numerous times.

San Marco Square under water 2007
Photo: Wikipedia

The large San Marco’s Square is covered with flocks of fat pigeons and generous tourists who love to feed them to the horror of others who are being pooped on. Outdoor restaurants and shops line the square, and souvenir vendors hawking feeding corn, Venetian masks, funny Carnevale hats, fake Murano glass trinkets, Venice t-shirts, calendars, and, the newest addition for the narcissistic tourists who want to make sure the world knows they are there, selfie-sticks. Behind the Clock’s arcades there is even a Murano glass factory which we visited several times.

Piazza San Marco, “the drawing room of Europe,” is dominated by the façade of San Marco’s Basilica. The beautiful arches with marble decorations and Romanesque carvings around the main doorway pale in comparison to the four horses which face the whole piazza as symbols of Venetian power. In 1379, Genoa said that “there could be no peace between the two cities until the horses had been bridled.” The horses were “bridled” by Napoleon after he conquered Venice 400 years later and had them shipped to Paris.

Clock Tower
Photo: Wikipedia

The 1499 Clock Tower to the left of the basilica arches over the Merceria street which eventually leads to Ponte Rialto through narrow and dark streets dotted with tiny but expensive leather shops, jewelry shops, gelatterias, pizzerias, cafes, stationery shops, silks scarves and ties boutiques. To the right of the Clock Tower is the church of San Basso, now closed.

Two bronze figures, a young and an old, allegedly shepherds (wearing sheepskins), representing the passage of time, adorn the top of the clock.  They are known as the “Moors” because of the dark patina of the bronze. The two figures strike the hours on a bell which was cast by Simeone in 1497. The bronze figures are huge – the intention was that they could be seen from far away in the lagoon.

Below is a winged lion of Venice with an open book in front of a blue background with gold stars. When the city surrendered to Napoleon in 1797, the statue of Doge Agostino Barbarigo (1486-1501), who was kneeling before the lion, was removed by the French because it was a symbol of the old regime. Conquerors around the world have removed statues and destroyed historical artifacts in the process of asserting their rule.

Below the winged lion of Venice there is a semi-circular gallery with statues of the Virgin and Child seated, cast in gilt beaten copper. The blue panels on either side show the hour in Roman numerals on the left and minutes, in five-minute intervals, in Arabic numerals on the right.

“Twice a year, at Epiphany (6 January) and on Ascension Day (the Thursday 40 days after Easter) the three Magi, led by an angel with a trumpet, emerge from one of the doorways normally taken up by these numbers and pass in procession round the gallery, bowing to the Virgin and child, before disappearing through the other door.” (Archives)

The huge clock face in blue and gold below is engraved with 24 hours in Roman numerals. A golden pointer with the sun moves around the circle. Beneath the sun pointer, within the marble circle, there are signs of the zodiac in gold, originals dating from the 1490s. In the middle of the clock face are the sun and the moon which revolves to show its phases, surrounded by fixed stars. The entire background is blue enamel.

San Marco Basilica and the pigeons

Photo: Wikipedia

 

On the north side of San Marco’s basilica is Piazzetta dei Leoncini, named after the two marble lions. The Palazzo Patriarcale, the residence of the Patriarch of Venice, is a neo-classical building on the east side, connected to the Basilica.

Early 16^th century former homes and offices of the Procurators of St. Mark, high officers of the state during the days of the Venetian Republic, are located above the arcades lining the Piazza. Restaurants and shops are located on the ground level of these buildings such as the famous Café Quadri, patronized by Austrians during their rule in the 19^th century, while Venetians favored Café Florian on the opposite side of the Piazza.

At the end of the Piazza is a wing which was built by Napoleon in 1810 and is known as the Napoleonic Wing. There is a ceremonial staircase behind the shops which was meant to lead to the royal palace but it is now the entrance to the Correr Museum with its library, the imperial rooms, the Canova collection, the Correr Library, and the photographic archives.

Café Florian, with its rich red velvet benches and very pricey espresso for expensive and famous tastes, located below the new procurators building, was opened in 1720 by Floriano Francesconi for Venetian patrons who hated the Austrians who were hanging out at Café Quadri, which was opened in 1775 in the old procurators building.

Campanile

Photo: Wikipedia

 

Standing freely in the Piazza, the Campanile (bell tower) of St. Marco’s Basilica, has been repaired repeatedly since 1514 and rebuilt in 1912 after it collapsed in 1902. An elevator can take visitors to the top, offering a fantastic 360 degree view of the Venetian lagoon.

Next to the Campanile is Loggetta del Sansovino built in 1537-46 as a lobby for patricians waiting to go into meetings of the Great Council in the Doge’s Palace across the street and by guards when the Great Council was in session.

The Doge’s Palace (the ducal palace) with the Doge’s apartments, courtyard, the old prison (Piombi), the new prison, and the Bridge of Sighs (1614) are located on the same side as San Marco’s Basilica. Between the Doge’s Palace and Loggetta del Sansovino are three flagpoles with bronze bases in high relief decorated by Alessandro Leopardi in 1505.

Ponte dei Sospiri (The Bridge of Sighs)

Photo: Ileana Johnson 2004

 

The Bridge of Sighs, built in 1614, was a corridor linking the Doge’s Palace to the house of the New Prisons. As the condemned crossed from the Court in the Doge’s Palace to the New Prisons, he took one last look at the Venetian lagoon and Giudecca Island, at freedom, and sighed.

The ground floor of the southern wing was occupied by prison spaces built before the 12^th century. More cells were added during the 13^th and 14^th centuries. Around 1540 the eastern wing was built with dark, damp, and isolated cells called Pozzi (wells).  In 1591 more cells were built in the upper eastern wing, under the lead roof, thus called Piombi. One of the more famous inmates was Giacomo Casanova.

He describes in his biography how he escaped through the roof, re-entered the palace, and exited through the Porta della Carta. There is a carving of Casanova’s portrait and a date on one of the prison’s window sills; it is not clear if he carved it himself or if it was done much later.

Life in these cells was very dark, cold, and damp. Water and food was provided by the citizens of Venice whose benevolence kept them alive.  Old buckets are testimony to the sanitation methods in these granite prison cells. Contents were dumped into the lagoon waters.

Palazzo dei Dogi (Doge's Palace)

Photo: Ileana Johnson 2005

 

One interesting room in the Doge’s Palace was the Compass Room where justice was served. A large wooden compass in a corner is overseen by the statue of Justice, hiding the entrance to the offices of the Three Heads of the Council of Ten and the State Inquisitors. It was an antechamber where those called in front of the magistrates waited patiently the disposition of their fate. The beautiful ceilings were painted by Veronese and the fireplace was designed by Sansovino. Beyond this room, there are two ways to exit, either pass the Armory and the New Prisons on the other side of the Bridge of Sighs, or go down the Censors’ Staircase to pass into the Council of Justice rooms on the first floor.

Doge's Palace Interior Courtyard

Photo: Ileana Johnson 2005

 

The magnificent Chamber of the Great Council represents the power of the Venetian Republic. It is the largest room in the Doge’s Palace and one of the largest rooms in Europe (53 m long and 25 m wide). The most important political body in the Venetian Republic, the Council was made up of male members of Venetian patrician families, at least 25 years old, regardless of merit, wealth, or personal status. A fire destroyed this room in 1577 and was restored in 1579-80 by artists such as Veronese, Jacopo, and Tintoretto.

The walls display Venetian history, tumultuous relationships with Popes and the Holy Roman Empire. The ceiling displays the Virtues and Venetian history. Portraits of the first 76 Doges are painted below the ceiling in a frieze. The rest of the Doges’ portraits are found in the Scrutinio Room. Each Doge is depicted holding a scroll which tells about his reign’s most important achievements. One Doge, Marin Faliero, who attempted a coup d’état in 1355, is pictured by a black cloth, a traitor to the Venetian Republic. The largest canvass painting in the world, il Paradiso, the work of Tintoretto and his shop, adorns the wall behind the Doge’s throne.

TO BE CONTINUED