Labour of love to keep gondoliers afloat

In Venice, thousands of revellers will display their exquisite carnival costumes during a parade through St Mark’s Square today.

The end of the carnival will be marked in spectacular fashion on Tuesday with party-goers attending masked balls at some of Venice’s most sumptuous squares to the strains of opera and classical concerts.

However, on a quiet road in Secca Marina, one of Venice’s less glamorous quarters and seemingly a million miles from the opulence of St Mark’s Square, lies a small, nondescript workshop that makes something without which the Venice Carnival could not exist.

Lost tourists stumbling upon its tatty green wooden gate may be surprised to learn that behind it lies the future of the city’s most important icon: the gondola.

The symbol of Venetian travel, which has graced its canals for 1,000 years, is in peril. Where 50 years ago there were 600 gondolas, now numbers have dwindled to 400 and seem bound to fall further.

Four of the five master gondola makers, or squeraroli, who bear the legacy of generations of craftsmanship, are nearing retirement. Their sons, following what one master gondola maker calls the “modern disease” have decided to not follow in the family tradition, settling instead for the quick rewards and high salaries of conventional careers.

It is here that Cristian Dordit, at 26 the youngest squerarolo in Venetian history, is making his stand and in just 10 years’ time he may well be the only gondola maker left.

For Cristian, becoming a squerarolo is the culmination of an enduring passion with the elegant vessel, which began at the tender age of 13.

“I was born here and, as children, it is common to try to fashion two bits of wood together and get out on to the water with your friends,” he says, surrounded by the shells of three gondolas under construction in his chaotic workshop.

“I was just a young boy when I strayed into a squero [gondola yard] and I was immediately fascinated.”

The youngster had entered the world of master craftsman Gianfranco Vienello, one of Venice’s most reputed squeraroli, now 63.

“While my friends played football, I spent more and more of my afternoons there, savouring, watching, absorbing. I can’t explain it but everything about it spoke to me. As I watched, I began to learn and as I learned, I developed a passion for wood, for the soul of each gondola.”

Cristian lived a double life until he was old enough to leave school, spending the days studying and the evenings at the workshop. As soon as he was able, he was taken on as an apprentice.  He was soon to repay Signor Vianello’s confidence in him.

“I remember when I was 18 or so, he said he had to go away on business for a couple of weeks and told me: ‘go on then, let’s see if you can make one yourself.’ Now, I knew he was joking but at the same time, I couldn’t resist taking advantage of what was actually an extraordinary opportunity. So I went for it, telling myself that if he became angry, I could always say, well, you told me to.”

Smiling at the recollection, he adds: “I worked night and day and finished it before he came. When I showed him, he was stunned. He became angry at first, asking who on earth I thought I was, but actually, once he saw it, it was all OK. He knew he had taught me well.”

Part of that training concerned the ancient traditions of the gondola and what it means to Venice.

“People see the gondola and the gondoliers but they don’t realise that the culture, the history and traditions behind this vessel are a fundamental part of any squero,” he says.

“I learned about what the gondola represented to Venice, to our way of life, which has always been founded on water.”

The first record of a gondola in Venice is 1098, though they reached opulent extremes as the symbol of prosperity 500 years ago. Nobles were likely to spend as much on commissioning extravagant gondolas, adorned in jewels and gold, as they might on the upkeep of their luxurious palazzi.

Eventually, these excesses were curbed by a dictat from Venice’s ruler, the Doge, in 1562, which ruled that they must all be black. Now, their decoration rests in the carvings of Neptune on their hulls, or the coats of arms of Venice.

The gondola’s construction is a complicated mixture of mathematics and engineering designed to ensure that the gondolier can stand on the left and not tip over into the water. The result is that its left side is actually taller than the right by about 10in.

Each gondola is about 36ft long, weighs about 1,300lb and is made from 280 pieces in eight different types of wood, including oak, elm, walnut and mahogany.

The only iron is found in its prow. The iron, used to gain stability by counter-balancing the gondolier’s weight, contains designs representing the city of Venice. It is there that their uniformity ends though.

Without blueprints, the squero’s skill is no less than that of a master violinmaker, using his experience to create a vessel to the exact requirements of its prospective gondolier.

“It is all done by eye and judgment, which comes from experience,” says Cristian.

“Each gondola is unique, because the requirements of its gondolier are unique. Making a gondola for a gondolier who weighs 10 stone is very different to making one for a 14-stone man but these differences are hidden from the public.

“There are other factors too; it depends on what else in the way of comfort and customisation the buyer requires. For that reason, a gondola can take up to three months to make and prices range from £25,000 to as much as £80,000.”

The secret, he says, is in the curve, and the wood is bent gently by slow burning, using reeds from the lagoon.

Cristian knows he took a risk when he finally plucked up the courage to buy his boatyard outright last year.

“It wasn’t an easy decision,” he admits, “with the economy in the state that it’s in and the fact that I have a wife and two very young children to think about, but what else could I have done? I really see it as my destiny to be here.

“Now, well, things look pretty bleak. People see me as this youngster with a bright future ahead. They say I’ll make a fortune with no competition but it’s a scenario I dread.

“I work very hard; my wife will tell you I spend six days a week here, coming home late. It’s not about the money for me, it’s about the tradition, carrying on Venetian culture.

“Gondoliers will never admit this but they form a personal relationship with their gondolas, naming them secretly, kissing them goodnight before going home. It’s the same with us squeraroli. Each gondola is almost a child.

“Soon, I may well be the only person left who can pass on the skills by word of mouth, as they were taught to me. That’s if there’s anyone interested enough to learn them and really, that’s just very sad.”