12 January 2024
A city you’ve known by heart for years suddenly reveals itself as different and unexpected when you cross it by canoe.
So I slide into the narrow cockpit of the kayak, thinking about the tough life of Formula 1 drivers, and wait for the long-awaited “go.” The anticipation is the same as in other endurance challenges—running marathons, cycling, or cross-country skiing: a mix of impatience and anxiety about the unknown within ourselves whenever we take on something demanding and new. And there’s also a bit of concern about the looming grey cloud, although on other sides the sky opens up to bright sunshine, which gives hope.
Finally, we are free to go. The river is wide, and the mass of sleek, colorful boats begins to spread out.
Bassanello—so far everything is clear and seemingly easy, even if the narrow passage you must enter to continue into the main branch (Ponte dei Cavai) has dark walls that, as the current carries you forward, seem to close in like the jaws of a vice. But it lasts only a moment, and you are already out, surrounded by greenery along Via Goito. The city has not yet fully embraced this new event, and only a few people on the sidewalks—several meters above—pause, curious, to watch the paddling marathoners pass by. Curiosity, however, is not lacking in the pair of geese that live here. Used to seeing canoeists and rowers, but never more than two or three at a time, they have never seen such a fleet and disappear, slightly annoyed, into the riverside grass.
Further on, toward the Specola, there are swans. They too retreat, but in a more… stern manner. Finally, on the beautiful iron bridge before the city landmark—also symbolically represented on the participants’ shirts—a lively group of spectators applauds and cheers on the more relaxed paddlers. Because there are also those who move at full speed. But for most, the joy lies in gliding peacefully on the water, looking at the city from below.
The canals follow their own paths, avoiding buildings and squares, cutting through the city as they please and slipping under bridges, so you soon find yourself disoriented: where are we? what bridge is this? Ah, there it is—the tram is passing, and there’s Corso Garibaldi!
We have already completed the portage, necessary for the short rapid after the Specola. The Giardini dell’Arena flow by, facing the still-developing emptiness of Piazzale Boschetti, and the Piovego, with its rippling surface, appears as a green boulevard completely free of cars and engines—a silent and ecological boulevard. An experience absolutely worth trying.
Sunday peace is broken by a few jokes among the participants, among whom—unbelievably—there is also a dog. Her name is Asia, a German Shepherd belonging to an enthusiast who came all the way from Val Sesia. She sits calmly on a small platform her owner built behind him, on the tail of the kayak. She looks right, then left, rests her muzzle on the wood wet with splashes, perhaps waiting for her own well-earned participation medal.
Now comes the surprise: a strong headwind, rippling the water and slowing the boat—just as the first fatigue appears and the sign comes into view: “10 km to go”! Things change, however: after the incinerator, the route turns sharply, and the wind will help, coming from behind.
For the first time in my life, the chimney of Camin is a pleasant sight—it marks the long-awaited turning point. From there, the pace picks up, exchanging (positive) impressions with others who have come from afar for this marathon on our inland waters.
At Voltabarozzo there is a refreshment stop with fruit and drinks, much needed at this stage. But the finish line is now close, and having the medal placed around your neck at the end is a feeling that makes all the effort worthwhile—even if, for a few days, you won’t be able to lift a pencil “with the strength of your arms.”
by Giovanni Piva, Il Gazzettino di Padova
