I had been caressing the idea for some time, I only wondered what the best time could be to get away from the usual routes for a few hours, in my frequent wandering in Venice. And so I decide to go to Sant'Erasmo on a Friday morning, in late May. The almost summer day is splendid. I have not looked for information, I want it to be a discovery. In my imagination I imagine expanses of artichokes all arranged in a row. Instead I find a world apart where time has stopped. From Fondamente Nove, after Murano and Vignole, it is the next island. There are three vaporetto landing points: I get off at the Chiesa stop, the second between Capannone and Punta Vela. Very few people, there are no tourists today, the beauty of choosing an ordinary day. An open and sunny square, just beyond there is a minimarket, even a bank counter. I am surprised to see some cars, some Ape vans moving easily from the meadows to the streets, and bicycles corroded by the salt.

Without a map I don't know the measures, but I would like to walk it all: meet its people and see this strip of countryside surrounded by the sea. I only carry a small bottle of water and a packet of Pavesini with me. Every time during my trips I hope to find a bakery or a greengrocer along the way: but here, taken by enthusiasm, I do not notice that the town clears up immediately, and there are no other shops. I am inspired by the first white road , where the vegetable gardens begin. The land is sandy and the different plots are almost always without fences. Everything appears luxuriant and beautiful to me, even where some sign of neglect and abandonment is evident. A greengrocer with a bucket under his arm is picking peas, I approach and stop to talk. His name is Bruno, he has been retired for a few years. I admire his crops, you really notice in him a great passion to which he can now devote himself full time. Rightly proud, he points out the variety of products, even corn for his hens. It is not convenient economically, but wants to be sure of what he eats, no herbicides or other poisons. Intrigued, I ask for artichokes that I have not yet seen. "Those - he explains - are on the other side of the island where the soil is different, less sand and more clay. They grow better there, they do not get sick. However, the last winter was very cold and the production was affected by the frosts , the harvest this year is poor. "

It was not always the farmer, Signor Bruno. He tells me about when he worked glass in the furnace, in Murano. Entered before turning 11 and remained there until the age of 65, basically a lifetime. And still they call it every now and then, when they need some particular piece for the famous chandeliers. Many people here were tied to nearby Murano for work. Many furnaces have closed, or have moved to the Venetian hinterland. There is a crisis, as everywhere: the quality product is struggling to stay on the market. I would like to stay still to hear it. I ask if I can take a picture of him. No problem he says, when he worked the glass everyone photographed it, so he traveled the world without ever leaving. He shows me where to go, it's a private road but anyone can pass.

I walk to the embankment, the border between gardens and the lagoon. The smell of brackish joins the honeysuckle in full bloom on the hedges. The road becomes a path, tall grass and butterflies. Sun in the clouds, sky that sometimes becomes threatening. I would not like the rain to surprise me, there is no shelter in the surroundings. Curve at low tide, with rubber boots up to mid-thigh, a woman is looking for clams. Rinse the contents of a large container several times. He notices me and slowly approaches the shore, smiling. With pride he shows me today's harvest. This time it went well, together with the vegetables from the garden it will be an excellent meal. Meanwhile, he mentions other speeches, which he would like to say and not to say: his unemployment, the unhealthy home, the need for restoration and the bureaucratic hindrances, the effects of Mose on the marine environment. There is a great attachment to one's land, the desire not to go away despite the countless difficulties. I guess that's the case for all the seven hundred inhabitants of Sant’Erasmo. We say goodbye with a handshake and her blue eyes show a sense of gratitude, perhaps for the few minutes and the words we shared.

The path is now more wild. A gap between the shrubs shows me the coast, with a few steps I go down on the sand mixed with shells and vegetable residues, every now and then a pillow of flowering herbs. Free beach with the first signs of the beginning of the season, two children playing chasing each other, a woman lying in the sun, a volleyball net as if waiting: you can breathe a wonderful tranquility. I go up the path where further on I see what is probably the only restaurant on the island. But today I go on without thinking about lunch, I observe, and that's enough for me. Finally here are the famous artichokes, those left at the end of the collection period, scattered everywhere and not always in perfect order as I had imagined them. Some are well cared for, others abandoned to weeds but the whole is suggestive, there are even yellow broom bushes and the bell towers of Venice on the horizon. Along the way I am amazed by a luxuriant vineyard, with the light green color of the leaves I presume to be white grapes. I knew that wine is also produced here, it is the result of the recovery of an ancient tradition and must be a special product. As I walk alone I am back to the starting point, the church square. Maybe I traveled half an island, what do I do now? Too early to leave, I miss visiting the other side.

The clouds are all gone. The sun is really hot now, it dazzles the few houses with intense light and reflects on the lagoon. In addition to not having brought even a sandwich or fruit with me, I realize that a hat would also have been useful. The buildings are increasingly distant, the cultivated land gives way to an area where there is no living soul. I go down a dusty, straight road that never ends, on my right tamarisk trees in bloom, on the left high tangles of brambles. From afar I get the echo of voices on a beach, who knows which one, I can't understand the geography of this lost place. A call from the phone brings my mind back to reality. The family thinks of me. "How are you? Where are you, all right? "..." Yes, all right, there is nothing here but it is wonderful! "...

Walk and walk, like in fairy tales. Where the hedges end, I find the asphalt, which strangely cheers me up: that dusty road really seemed aimless. HONEY SALE says a sign, the open gate invites me to enter and in front of me there is a fantastic scenery, a garden-garden hosts a quantity of colorful hives and immediately I find myself crossing an immense swarm of insects that seem to have gone mad. The owner, barefoot among vegetables and flowers, with a loud voice in the deafening buzz, reassures me by explaining that it is a swarm looking for a new home, just wait for the queen to find a place to stop and all the bees will follow her . Meanwhile, I listen curiously to his stories, the days in that little paradise far from the frenzy of tourists. We are sitting at a table observing the swarm that slowly gathers on a cherry tree. The man speaks willingly and offers me wine. He apologizes for not keeping him cool, apparently he wasn't expecting guests today. I would like to refuse, I am not used to drinking like this on an empty stomach ... but for company I take half a glass, it seems to me a sign of good welcome on his part. I ask what wine it is, I feel it quite alcoholic but fragrant, and I am so thirsty that it comes into circulation within a few minutes giving me a light dizziness. Between a chat and another, I dilute the effect by sipping the little water left in my bottle. Half an hour goes by quickly, it feels good here, the sun peeps through the foliage of the pergola. I would like to buy honey but last year's stocks are over and it is too early for the new one. It would have been nice to bring a souvenir home ... I'm happy with a few photos on the fly, the hives, the swarm, the entrance to the house so different, how different life is in this place.

I take the road again but I don't know where the finish is, maybe I've already passed it, I have a vague feeling of déjà vu. Tiredness is felt, the legs are now moving on by inertia and there is no one who can ask for information. I start to worry: I have decided, the next one who passes will stop him. If it ever passes ... A red dot appears like a mirage in the distance ... vrrrrrrrrrrrrr ... it is an Ape-car with a man and a woman on board. To attract attention, act your arms and vehicle upwards, slowing down. "I have to go back to Venice, how long is the boat landing?" The man replies that the first vaporetto stop is more than a kilometer away and offers me a ride if I adapt to going up behind it. A bigger fortune could not have happened to me at the moment! Sitting at the worst of the tools, with the wind on me I hold tight in the curves that seem to take flight, laughing to myself for the little adventure. Minutes of pure happiness. We have already arrived, I go down over the side and I thank the surprise they gave me. The lady cheerfully adds ... "I bet you didn't expect to take a ride in a Ferrari !!! ..."

There are some people waiting patiently at the stop, I think locals. An elder finds any excuse to exchange two words. I gladly take advantage of it, often the talks of the elderly turn out to be interesting. He is 86 years old, well worn, simple and well-groomed, and the conversation is pleasant. As soon as he feels I'm from Treviso his eyes light up and he starts telling me the story of his life. Born in S.Erasmo, as a child he became seriously ill risking the worst. On the island, at that time much more inhabited than now, there was the midwife but not a doctor, and it was necessary to call one from the outside who stopped several days to treat the child. Once healed, to "change the air" on the advice of the doctor, he was hosted in Roncade, where he had relatives. In the countryside the school years passed, the childhood between uncles and cousins. No reference to situations of war, poverty or other miseries, only a slight nostalgia. And it is beautiful, in memory, its link with the mainland.

Daniela Grassato - Treviso, 11 October 2017 #qzone
Photo Daniela Grassato