These days it’s impossible to visit Venice and not feel like a tourist. I’ve lived in Italy for seven years now and have visited Venice many times, both before and after the move. When I was there last month, I found myself caught in wave after wave of tour groups following guides holding aloft flags or colorful umbrellas. Buried in the throngs, I seem to revert to a confused, meandering tourist, overwhelmed by the masses, distracted by languages from every corner of the globe, and overcome by the glorious architecture. Even after a dozen visits to Venice, it never gets boring.
In September, I traveled to Venice to take in the Art Biennale — a vast cornucopia of artworks from 88 countries. It’s held in the vast, walled compound of buildings, waters, and grounds that comprise the Arsenale, which is where the ancient Venetian navy was built and protected.
Each Biennale has a theme, captured in a concise phrase. The theme of this year’s international art exhibition — now in its 60th year — is Stranieri Ovunque, which means Foreigners Everywhere. An entirely fitting and perhaps ironic recognition that Venice is now swamped with tourists.
“Overtourism” is a serious concern here. Over the last two decades, two-thirds of the resident population has been displaced to suburbs such as Mestre on the mainland, as landlords discovered they could rent units as nightly Airbnbs for three times the rental rate for long-term leases. The historical center of Venice — the island that most visitors identify as Venice — has been drained of resident population. It now contains only 50,000 residents, though the greater Comune di Venezia area has about 250,000 — and the city was visited by almost six million tourists in 2023, according to statistical data provider Statista.
As residents vacated, they were soon followed by family-owned shops and services, galleries, and artisans’ workshops. Many of those spaces remain vacant, giving a ghost-town ambiance to some previously lively districts. The city has become essentially Disneyland for adults, with high prices for everything to match. No fools, Venetian businesses are milking the economic cow. A plate of pasta that might cost Є9-10 elsewhere in Italy is Є20-25 here.
The two-year-long COVID-19 pandemic gave Venice a respite from the onslaught of visitors. But beginning this summer, the pent-up demand exploded in full force. The government tried to dampen demand from day trippers who don’t really inject that much into the local economy. They banned the gargantuan cruise ships that overpowered the Giudecca Canal and dumped tens of thousands of day trippers onto the narrow lanes, piazzas, and esplanades. On a 2018 visit to Venice, I observed 10 massive ships in the port. This time there were none; they must now dock at other ports on the mainland.
The new daily visitation fee of Є5 did not decrease the numbers, as was hoped for. In fact, administering that new revenue ended up costing more than was collected. The City intends to double the daily fee next year. With any luck, that money will go toward repairing some of the deteriorated infrastructure. The City is also discussing a limit on Airbnbs. which is too little, too late, unless it’s made retroactive.
It’s not difficult to see the appeal of Venice, with the jaw-dropping beauty of the serpentine Grand Canal, the sounds of water lapping against elegant palazzos, and the hollow thumping sound of gondolas lined up along the esplanades as they rock into each other from the chop. Each time I return, I’m instantly spellbound by the unique grinding roar of the vaporetti ferries as they maneuver towards floating docks. Venice is a magical city, for sure.
The months of September and October used to be ideal for visiting. The weather is pleasant, and the usual crush of crowds tended to subside in the early autumn. The place was even quiet at times, reflecting its nickname, La Serenissima. But now, not so much. The boisterous crowds on the lane below the hotel room did not diminish until well after midnight. Oddly, I heard dozens of languages, but only rarely Italian.
Signs of the impending seasonal acqua alta – high water – were already evident. Lagoon water was washing over the bulkheads and onto adjacent stone pavements. Stacks of elevated wooden walkways were everywhere, awaiting deployment. Stores had little makeshift dams ready to install in their doorways. With recent rains, mosquitos were out in full force.
But now on to the Venice Biennale. The exhibition, which runs until November 24, is magnificent. Compared with the last exhibition in 2022, this one seems more content-driven, with layers of social commentary about numerous global issues ranging from climate change to wars, to discrimination against transgender people.
The Venetian Arsenal, or Arsenale di Venezia, itself is a splendid setting for the Biennale which has been held every two years since 1895. The Arsenale, which has been the site for the Biennale since 1980, has its own storied history as a walled compound containing former shipyards and armories, waterways and lakes. During the glory days of ancient Venice, the merchant ships and warships of the Republic were constructed inside the walls in a long assembly-line-like configuration. The stout stone walls, columns, and soaring sloped ceiling make grand gallery spaces, especially for big pieces. Human spectators are sometimes dwarfed.
And if artful social commentary were not enough, a glance outside the windows reveals that this is still an active naval base with gray warships in drydocks and coast guard vessels that have been patrolling the waters off Italy in the current migrant crisis.
As with all art, pieces can convey different meanings to different people. What I saw in one sculpture as a commentary on human trafficking was actually intended to commemorate people killed in the Pulse nightclub shooting in Florida in 2016.
The Biennale goes to great effort to find emerging artists in nations underrepresented in the western art world. There are a number of stunning works by artists from African countries – some of them currently in strife – using everyday materials scrounged from refuse and used materials. A domed house made of old plastic gas cans was exquisite, the spouts serving as hooks for clothing, utensils, jewelry, and ritual items.
I passed through a long series of overlapping dark-blue fabric panels hung from a high ceiling. Between the panels were piles of flamboyant clothing in the same blue color. The title of the piece – “Did you miss your cue?” – gained meaning when I emerged from the last pair of panels to discover that I was suddenly on a stage facing a live audience in theatre seats awaiting a song or soliloquy. Alas, I had nothing and sheepishly slunk off the stage.
One pavilion exhibited an array of video monitors of a performance piece in which two characters desperately attempt to care for and revive a struggling infant swaddled in rags. The camera eventually reveals that the precious object cradled in arms is made of mud and sticks. It is slowly dissolving even as it is being cared for.
The artist might have meant something else entirely, but I saw it as a fitting metaphor for Venice, a city trying to save itself from degradation, whether by inundations of water or tourists. It could well be a losing battle.
