The sinking city of taps

During the annual Fèsta de a Sènsa (Feast of the Ascension) in Venice–which began in the year 1000–the Doge used to throw a consecrated ring into the Adriatic, symbolising the city’s marriage to the sea. As he did so he would utter the Latin: desponsamus te, mare, in signum veri perpetuique domini (We wed thee, sea, as a sign of true and everlasting domination). Venetians had cause to be humble. Though they established fairly effective management of the tides early in the city’s history, regular flooding reminded them who really wore the trousers.

The ceremony still takes place every May, though since 1965 the Doge’s role has been taken by the elected mayor, and the whole festival has a less religious, more performative feel to it. Perhaps this is because after 1966, when terrible flooding caused canal waters to rise by nearly two metres, leading to huge international relief efforts, the city seemed to have a handle on Mother Nature’s whims. Or that, during the same time, Venice has become less a city and more a theme park—a place to visit, not live.

Thousands of Venetians leave the city every year, and its population has declined from 175,000 in the 1940s to just over 50,000 today. Its first inhabitants picked this seemingly inhospitable location because it afforded them protection from marauding Germanic tribes sacking what remained of the Roman Empire. Today’s residents fear domination by that modern horde: tourists. Two years ago, those that remained voted overwhelmingly to ban from the lagoon cruise ships which launch thousands of faces onto the fragile archipelago every day. But even those most vehemently opposed to Venice’s touristification know they cannot break what is now a Faustian pact.

You must travel to the periphery of the main island to encounter much more than endless shops selling tatt or bars and restaurants catering almost exclusively to tourists. I visited the city for the first time two weeks ago and couldn’t help but notice the unusual number of one particular type of shop in those areas that still retain a semblance of normal Venetian life: bathroom stores.

Every one of these has a window or two proudly displaying row upon row of taps. Advertising space on the city’s water bus network isn’t exactly abundant, but of the few posters there are, many proclaim the latest shiny discounted faucet. Could it be that in a city where residents don’t have the power to prevent large-scale flooding—or indeed the incessant flow of people in and out—the ability to turn a stream on and off assumes added poignancy?

Just when tourism seemed to have become Venice’s primary existential threat, the water has returned with a vengeance. The mayor is poised to declare a state of emergency after flooding has reached its highest levels since 1966 and two have died. Luigi Brugnaro has beseeched the Italian government to send help, while at the same time attributing the second-worst acqua alta since records began to the impact of climate change.

Part of Venice’s mystique derives from its fragility, and the beauty of its buildings and artwork is magnified by their ephemerality. This has always been a place where the beguiling, and transitory, fruits of human civilisation face up against nature’s brute force. As Alexander Herzen put it, “To build a city where it is impossible to build a city is madness in itself, but to build there one of the most elegant and grandest of cities is the madness of genius.”

Despite the ongoing construction of the massive MOSE flood defences, the 79,300-ton flaps hinged on the seabed that have so far dragged over five billion Euros into the lagoon, Venetian authorities cannot prevent the worldwide eustasy wrought by climate change. Away from Giudecca and Canareggio, bathroom stores in London, Los Angeles and Lima are filled with taps, showers, toilets and baths with names like Venice and San Marco. These have been chosen because they denote ancient beauty and design, but also man’s mastery of water. Humanity’s mistreatment of the environment now has potentially apocalyptic consequences, not just for Venice but the whole world. No wonder the sea’s petitioning for a divorce.