It was a hot and humid day, the type where the clammy air sticks to you and weighs at your temples. I strolled through an alley barely wider than my shoulders, blinked as I entered the Venetian sunlight and turned right. I was looking for the Bridge of Fists, so I headed north-west from the charming apartment I had found on the southern end of Dorsoduro.

There is a certain stillness in Venice that is hard to describe. It starts with the realisation that the water is constantly moving. There is a soft slinky murmur as the water hitting the shoreline increases its tempo when a boat passes by. You focus on that sound and reflect on how lovely it is to be near the sea. And then there’s the moment you realise something is missing.

We don’t realise how much we expect to see and hear cars roaming around us until they’re no longer there. You do notice the difference in the countryside but this is different. Tall, creaky buildings surround you wherever you look. Wide passages that pass for roads take you to your destination. But there are no cars. Apart from the humming of insects, and the repetitive chugging of a boat’s outboard motor, Venice is a quiet place to live in.

I navigated my way along canals and narrow walkways between fading paint and the silky green water that seductively shimmied in the sunlight. I didn’t have far to go but I took the lazy route there along the Rio de San Trovaso. As I walked, chunks of Catholic heritage peeked out at me – a church here, a saint in a shady niche there. Like most of the Mediterranean, Venice is influenced by the Roman Catholic Church. The loyalty that each parish inculcates in its parishioners is something I find bemusing. To this day, people will gather around “their” church and patron saint and claim “theirs” is better than the next church and saint. It’s all part of the same religion. But “theirs” is better. In Venice, this is immortalised in the Bridge of Fists.

This is on the other side of Venice than the Spinster’s Church.

I paused as the bridge I was looking for came into view. It has ten slight steps on either end and gracefully arches over the Rio de San Barnaba. The arch provides some, but not much, headroom for the small boats that traverse this section of the Venetian network. At this time of day, half of it was bathed in sunlight, the other half connecting to a shaded Fondamenta where the sensible people walked to and from their daily life.

In days of old, between September and Christmas, gangs of people would assemble at either side of this bridge. On one side, the parishioners and supporters of St Peter from the Church of San Pietro di Castello, who call themselves Castellani. On the other, parishioners and supporters of St Nicholas from the Church of San Nicolò calling themselves the Nicolotti¹.

The two tribes – about 300-strong on either side – would jeer and shout at each other across the canal. They must have been a spectacle to see: the beret wearing, red-scarved Castellani on one side and the dark-clothed Nicolotti on the other. Apparently, even the women were identifiable by their manner of dress. Castellani women would wear flowers on their lapels; Nicolotti women would too but on the other side of their body¹.

The main event would then start – a fist fight between the two². They would put their starters on specific points on the bridge and fight until they could push as many of the opposing team into the water as possible. The points where the opposing teams would start are now carefully marked by four footprints in marble on the surface of the bridge². They’re easy to miss if you’re caught up with the great Venetian architecture and are not looking down.

The fist fights were stopped in 1705 after someone thought it would be a good idea to take knives to a fist fight. The penalty for organising or taking part in a fist fight was set at 5 years slave labour on a galley, or 7 years in prison¹.

The canal is much quieter now. To my left, there are more sounds of life and activity. I headed that way, to see what’s going on, to approach the Grand Canal and to wander the streets of Venice accompanied by the gentle gurgling of the water by my side.

Do you know of any signs of past tribal fights? Share it in the comments below!

References

1. I Monumenti dei distreti; Ufficio del Turismo; (Retrieved on 2019-06-24) (Article in Italian) [↩][↩][↩]
2. Ponte dei Pugni; Venice, The Future; (Retrieved 2018-03-17) [↩][↩]

Remember: links were correct at time of publication.