Swimming with Sharks in Venice

October 11, 2007

I’ve been encouraged never to place this story upon paper. Until now, I never have. A story of two travelers attempting back flips into the canals of Venice - waterways that to this day serve as an Italian latrine - is a tale I might tell often if I was but a witness, however when you are one of the characters having been submerged, the story becomes far more personal. Perhaps it’s not as bad as I’ve been told.

We arrived in Venice having built up the idea of hucking from building tops into the Venetian canals into something that was nearly inevitable. Ever since having that same idea and proceeding to follow through with it on one late night (or early morning if you prefer) in Montpellier, France, we had fantasized about the city that seemed to float upon the water. To us Venice meant unlimited jumping capabilities, and we constantly talked about this opportunity as we rode the trains through Rome and Sicily. However, when we arrived in the city without cars and smelled the very unpleasant odor rising from the murky canals, we quickly reached a consensus that there was no way we were going in that water.

It’s funny how no way can be forgotten after consuming significant quantities of alcohol. A fifth of liquor and a six pack of beer was sufficient and after we checked into the cheapest accommodation we could find and quickly drained our beverages, we were ready for a night on the town.

Huckleberry and I, Huck being my partner in trouble on this European odyssey, began our travels in Amsterdam, and before arriving in Venice we had crossed within the borders of Germany, Belgium, France, Spain, and Portugal. We searched for and found much adventure within the old western empires but those are stories for another time as I do not want to lose you with my rambling…

After leaving our Venetian lodgings we approached a dance club we had trekked past earlier in the day.
“No girls, no entry,” the two thick necked bouncers had said. The booze had already completed its ride through my bloodstream and into my brain, but I still had the good sense not to try and slug my way into the club (unlike another similar incident in Canada where I lacked that good sense). Instead, after our lengthy negotiations failed to gain us entry, we tried another tactic. We traded hats and coats and tried again. I’m not sure what we were thinking at the time, and I’d like to think we were not too serious about our tactic because in retrospect it was not a very intelligent plan. I doubt the bouncers even noticed our change. We were still the only two 6 foot Americans trying to gain entrance to the club. Some things you can blame on alcohol.

At this point we probably could have recruited some girls and made our way into the discotheque, but instead we had another great idea. Why not convince tourists to pay us money for doing back flips into the canals of Venice. It was the first time I was paid as an athlete.

Huckleberry and I acquired our fascination for aerial acrobatics on our hometown cliffs in Washington state’s rural dry side. We tried back flips, front flips, spins, and dives, and we incorporated them together and tried flips with spins and dives. We did not have the coordinated form of the professionals, but like Huck’s godfather once told him on a snowboarding trip; “You aint the best snowboarders here, but you got the biggest balls…” We were not the best cliff jumping, back flipping Americans from cow country Washington, but we had balls…

So… our decision to disregard the fore mentioned consensus on not entering the Venetian water was influenced by several factors: the water did not smell nearly as bad in this area of the floating city, we were nearly out of money and thought we could at least get a meal out of the endeavor, and perhaps most importantly; we were now heavily intoxicated. With these factors as motivation we set out to find some clients who might pay to watch us jump. This was a difficult endeavor as our lack of the local language made gesturing our most effective means of communication. We stood upon a bridge that crossed a major canal, our chosen launching point, and used our hands to illustrate flipping through the air from the 25 foot crossing.

Most people looked at us like we were crazy and hurried away. One even suggested that we would soon contract leprosy, but eventually we found ourselves a client. The client was a local, and he agreed to pay us five Euros for our athletic service. Huck prepared himself. He stood upon the rail, positioned his feet, took several deep breaths, waved goodbye, and launched backwards into the Italian night. After completing a rotation and thus a back flip, we heard a splash and some rapid swimming. The client was very excited and upon paying Huckleberry, he set out to find us another customer. It was not long before I too was standing upon the rail preparing for my jump, and seconds after that I was upside down, airborne from an old marble bridge within the remnants of the medieval trading empire of the Venetians.

The next morning, after some severe washing to rid my pores of the Venetian water, we set out for the Swiss Alps and the next adventure on our European odyssey. On the train to Switzerland I discovered an English newsletter that I found of some interest. It read:
“Only a few of the most modern hotels have developed a sanitation system. The rest of Venice relies upon the thousand year old practice of allowing the tide to sweep the sewage out of the canals and into the Adriatic Sea… “

Well, I was not surprised, for the water sure did taste bad…

About the author : Colin Lanigan grew up in the rural mountains of North Central Washington and has since traveled to over 20 countries in his constant search for adventure. Colin has funded his travels by working as a commercial fisherman, treeplanter, grafter, waiter, etc., and is currently a wildland firefighter with the Carson Hotshots.

www.myspace.com/colinlanigan

The TSM Fall Travel Writing Contest has been organised in association with On The Beach Holidays