The boatmen of Venice

The boat-delivery men of Venice are sun-burnt, unshaven, tattooed, badly dressed and be-bellied. They’re short-legged, too, no doubt the result of countless generations of natural selection – long legs are of no use on water; as a body part they are an afterthought.

They are permanently wrapped in clouds of cheap tobacco smoke. Like birds, they communicate by graceless yells and whistles from boat to boat.

Yet, on the water there is nothing more graceful than they. They maneuver their long boats with speed and ease which is a joy to behold. On the Grand Canal they move quickly, making sharp turns, turning round 180 degrees in one smooth motion, or coming to a full stop or reversing on the dime to exploit an opening between the gondola and the waterbus without once making a rude wave or ever bumping or even touching anything. Often, they nonchalantly steer using their bodies – the handle of the rudder stuck in their butts – while they use their hands to adjust the cargo or – pick their noses or gesture at passing boats. The other day I saw a boatman steer between a waterbus and a waterbus station – both shifting and bobbing on the waves – while standing upright on the boat’s edge, using his foot to throw gears and a long piece of rope attached to the rudder to steer – and keep himself in balance.

The piece de resistance is pulling in ashore, into a narrow berth next to a landing, nose to the wall. They do this with a broad turn – a 90 degree arc – taken at speed and throw the engine in reverse an instant before it crashes the wall, pull back a tad, bring the boat to a full stop, then use their hand to move the boat sideways – the last two inches – to make contact with the pier. One has the feeling they could do this blindfolded.

The pay is lousy, but then – they don’t do it for the money. The pleasure of performing challenging physical tasks with ease and grace, a show of consummate skill and accomplishment, gives equal pleasure to those who watch them and those who perform. I should not wonder if they were prepared to do this for free.

In fact, they do do this for free, their pay covering only the cost of shifting the goods in and out of the boats, while the bit on the water – no bosses, no wives, no supervision, no prohibition – is pure pleasure, 8 hours of freedom every working day of their lives.