March 8, 2024 • 69 mins
Venture with us to the haunting shadows of Poveglia Island, a forsaken sliver of land near Venice, as we uncover a chilling narrative that stretches from its days as a plague quarantine station to its incarnation as a mental asylum. Amid the deserted ruins, the island's eerie silence belies its tormented history, a testament to the dark tales and superstitions that bind it. Journey through the annals of Venice, exploring the grandeur of its medieval rise and the cultural zenith of the Renaissance, when art suffused every corner and power coursed through the Doge's Palace. As gondolas glide over shimmering waters, we acknowledge the city's contemporary struggles against the relentlessness of time and tide, revealing a spirit of resilience that is as much a part of Venice as its storied past.
Prepare to be captivated by the peculiarities of medieval medicine, where the line between science and the supernatural blurred, and plague doctors in bird-like masks roamed the streets. The origins of these sinister figures and the practicality behind their haunting visages come to light. Amid the gloom, the haunting history of Poveglia unfolds, from the desolation of its church and lazarettos to the barbaric practices within its asylum. The island whispers its ghostly legends, where spectral shadows and eerie tales of the bell ringer's fate intertwine with the cruel experiments of a mad doctor, all etching a macabre legacy into the very soil of this place of despair.
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Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 2 (00:19):
Venous, a city so drenched in charm and history
that it can afford to keep a fewskeletons in its closet, or, as
fate would have it, on a littleisland just a short gondola
ride away.
Let me tell you about Poveglia,a place that could very well
make the stoutest of Venetianhearts skip a beat, and not in
(00:40):
the romantic Boat Ride at Sunsetkind of way.
It's a spot so infamous localswandering through the majestic
Piazza San Marco would ratherwalk into a canal than whisper
its name.
It's not exactly Voldemort, butsaying Poveglia out loud there
could, they fear, bring a spotof bad luck.
(01:00):
A touch irrational perhaps, butthen history has a way of
embedding itself into localsuperstition, especially when
it's as colorful as Poveglia's.
Now, why the collective shudderat its mention?
Let's just say that Povegliahas a backstory that, if it were
(01:24):
a novel, would be the kind youhastily read with all the lights
on.
In the 18th century it becamethe kind of resting place where
rest might be the last thing itsinhabitants found, courtesy of
the plague.
Fast forward a few hundredyears and it's the setting of a
mental asylum where the onlything more unsettling than its
(01:44):
treatments, where the screamsechoing off its walls.
So not exactly the place for aleisurely picnic, unless you
enjoy dining with a side ofexistential dread.
For years, even the bravestfishermen gave Poveglia a wide
berth, as if fearing their netsmight catch something a bit more
spectral than fish.
(02:05):
Its notoriety grew,transforming it from a local
horror story to a legendwhispered across Europe.
Yet there's somethingirresistibly human about poking
the bear or, in this case,rowing towards the island
everyone else is rowing awayfrom, despite, or perhaps
(02:25):
because of, its macabre tails.
Some souls, driven by curiosityor maybe a penchant for the
macabre, are drawn to Poveglia,eager to strip back its shadowy
veil in search of truth or atleast a good scare.
So as we set off on thisjourney through whispers and
shadows, let's explore whatmakes Poveglia, the world's most
(02:47):
reluctant tourist attraction,so fascinatingly repulsive.
I'm Jeremy Haig, and if wallscould talk, poveglia's would
probably scream.
Throughout the ages, man hasrepeated the same earnest saying
(03:57):
more of a question, really, orperhaps even a plea.
If these walls could talk, butwhat if they do?
And always have?
Perhaps their stories, memoriesand messages are all around us.
If only we would take themoment to listen.
On this podcast, wereinvestigate legends and tales
(04:19):
of the past and allow the echoesof their lessons to live on
once again informing us,educating us and sharing new and
unique insight into the innerworkings of the paranormal and
spiritual world.
Will you dare to listen?
This is when Walls Can Talk thepodcast.
(05:10):
In the northeastern stretch ofItaly, lying as if by some
splendid accident or a stroke ofan artist's whimsy, is Venice.
This city isn't moored to themainland as others are.
No, venice is something elseentirely, a marvel sprawled
across 118 tiny islands.
These specks of land, somescarcely larger than your
(05:34):
average city park, are cobwebbedtogether by a bewildering array
of over 400 bridges.
The canals, those wateryarteries of the city weave
through it, carrying thewhispered secrets and the
boisterous history of ages past,nestled within the protective
arms of the Venetian lagoon.
Venice stretches out over amajestic 32 miles, from Gieselo
(05:59):
in the north down to Cioca inthe south.
But this lagoon isn't just abackdrop for the sort of
photographs that touristszealously guard as treasures.
Historically, it's beenVenice's guardian angel, a
natural moat against the lesssavory intentions of ancient
marauders, a sanctuary brimmingwith marine biodiversity and the
(06:22):
birthplace of salt pans thatonce were as valuable as gold.
Crafted by the hands of natureherself, the lagoon is a
masterpiece of environmentalengineering.
The tides of the Adriatic,along with the nurturing flows
of the Alpine rivers, havesculpted this lagoon into being.
It's a marvel, really, how thevery tides that shape its
(06:44):
existence also serve as Venice'sown natural sanitation crew
purging its canals with athorough rinse twice a day.
Yet with such beauty comes aninherent delicacy.
As Venice grew, its embrace withthe lagoon became more of a
complicated dance.
The 20th century, with all itsprogress and innovations, didn't
(07:09):
come without its consequences.
Channels were dug deeper,diverting the ancient flows of
water.
Fast quantities of water weresiphoned from the mainland,
toying with the delicateequilibrium established over
millennia.
Then there's the relentlesspush of the Adriatic Sea and the
ever-so-subtle shifts in thePoe River basin.
(07:30):
Gradually, almost imperceptibly, the ground beneath Venice has
been sinking.
And now Venice, that etherealcity afloat on dreams and water,
faces a tangible threat theprospect of succumbing to the
very waters that have cradled itthrough history.
The looming question now iswhether Venice, a city that's as
(07:54):
much a product of humaningenuity as it is of natural
forces, can once again adapt andendure in the face of a world
that's changing faster than everbefore, in a manner that only
(08:20):
Venice could manage.
The city began to sprout fromthe lagoon's marshy embrace
around the 7th century, as if bysome grand, silent agreement.
People started to drift in fromthe mainland, attracted perhaps
by the lack of maraudingbarbarians or the appealing
notion of living in houses thatseemed to float on water.
These new arrivals weren't justany old crowd.
(08:43):
They were the sort who lookedat a swamp and saw potential for
an urban development projectthat could make property
developers today weep with envy.
In the heart of this burgeoningwatery experiment was an area
that was not as much known asRivo Alto, which sounds like a
place where you might buy anexceptionally good espresso, but
as time and language tinkeredaway at it, rivo Alto morphed
(09:08):
into the Rialto, a name nowsynonymous with markets, bridges
and making tourists part withtheir money in exchange for
glass trinkets.
And overseeing all of this wasthe doge, not to be confused
with a meme of Ishiba Inu, but aleader whose title dripped with
as much power and dignity asone could muster, while wearing
(09:29):
a hat that looked like a goldenpastry.
Venice today is like a magnetfor the soul.
It draws in those who breatheart, those who devour history
and those who just really need agood Instagram backdrop the
Grand Canal, venice's show-offstreet, snakes its way through
the city for over two miles.
(09:50):
It's flanked by buildings thathave seen more history than most
countries, standing as silentcustodians of Venice's past
glories and, let's be honest, afair number of its follies.
As you float down the GrandCanal on a gondola, beneath
bridges that have supported thefeet of countless Venetians,
(10:11):
it's hard not to think about thesecrets that the water beneath
you has kept.
How many whispered declarationsof love, underhand political
dealings or dramatic tales ofboom and bust are etched into
the stones lining its banks?
Venice, with its maze of canalsand labyrinthian alleyways, is a
(10:31):
city that delights incontradiction.
It's a place where a fleetinglook across a teeming square
could ignite a romance worthy ofa Shakespearean drama, or where
the quiet machinations in theshadowy nooks could very well
topple dynasties.
This isn't just about theopulent displays of art or the
architectural wonders that seemto defy gravity and reason.
(10:54):
It's about the very essence ofVenice itself.
The stones underfoot, the waterthat laps against ancient
foundations, have been there towitness the comings and goings
of doges, the creative storms ofartists and the clandestine
rendezvous of figures who blendwith the night.
The city is a siren drawing inthrongs of visitors, with
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promises of unparalleledsplendor and a richness of
culture that's hard to findelsewhere.
Yet the discerning wandererunderstands that Venice's true
allure isn't just in the feastfor the eyes that it offers.
The real enchantment of Veniceis its uncanny power to whisk
you away, not merely through thespectacle of its streets and
(11:41):
buildings, but into the depthsof its dark history.
Here, every corner temps with amystery, every shadowed alley
whispers of the past.
Venice is in a city wherehistory is confined to the pages
of forgotten tomes, dusty andhidden in dark shelves.
Here, history throbs with life,painting every canal and alley
(12:06):
with the colors of its tales,inviting those who pass by to
lose themselves in the narrativewoven into the very fabric of
this truly bewitching city.
The saga of Venice doesn't kickoff with the usual cast of regal
characters or grandarchitectural marvels.
Instead, it begins with a groupof folks motivated not by
(12:29):
visions of grandeur but by apressing desire to not be
overrun by barbarians.
Around the 5th century AD, asthe Roman Empire started to look
less like the world's mostformidable power and more like a
target practice for anybarbarian with ambition, a band
of refugees the Veneti, decidedit was time to find a safer zip
(12:52):
code.
Imagine them landing on whatwas essentially a collection of
soggy bits of land in the middleof the Venetian lagoon.
To the untrained eye, it lookedlike the sort of place you'd be
more likely to catch a coldthan start a civilization.
But, as history would have it,these were folks with a knack
for seeing real estate potentialwhere others saw only wet socks
(13:15):
.
With a spirit that could onlybe described as stubbornly
optimistic, they set aboutturning these marshy islands
into the foundations of whatwould not only become just city
but a shining beacon of tradeand affluence.
The very waters that seemed likea questionable choice for urban
development turned out to beVenice's secret sauce.
(13:38):
The city's canals weren't justpicturesque backdrops for future
postcards, but were the superhighways of the medieval world.
Pictureships heavy with thewealth of the world gliding
towards Venice, they carried notjust the tangible spices that
tickled the nose, silks thatcaressed the skin, but also the
(14:01):
intangible promise of prosperity.
At the helm of this burgeoningtrade empire were the doges, and
don't let the modest title foolyou.
These were men who wieldedpower with the subtlety of a
sledgehammer and a world wheremight didn't just mean right, it
meant wealth.
Under their watch, venicetransformed from a group of
(14:24):
waterlogged islands into a hubof opulence, a place where the
clinking of duckets was thesoundtrack to daily life and
where the city itself seemed torise mirage-like from its
unlikely beginnings to stand asa titan of commerce and culture.
Bathed in the soft glow of thesetting sun, venice is often
(14:45):
pictured with merchant ships,its winding canals acting as
bustling highways.
But look beyond that shimmeringfaçade and there's a depth to
Venice that transcends meretrade and commerce.
Venice, at its core, has alwaysbeen a canvas of human
expression.
During the Renaissance, whenmost of Europe was in the throes
(15:06):
of a cultural rebirth, venicewas not just a silent spectator,
but a vibrant epicenter.
Walk down any alley and youcould have chanced upon a
masterpiece in the making.
Imagine the maestro Titian,lost in thought, his
brushstrokes bringing to lifeanother vivid portrait.
Or Tintoretto, passionatelymolding hues and forms, his
(15:29):
canvases echoing with emotion.
And then there was Verones,with his grand scenes, ensuring
that every corner of Venicebreathed art.
Yet for all its radiance, Venicealso bore the scars of its
tumultuous history.
The very air in the 14thcentury felt heavy, not just
(15:50):
with the aroma of paints and thedistant sound of Evaldi's
strings, but with the impendingdoom of the Black Death.
It swept through Venice withmerciless fury, claiming almost
half of its people.
The city then, known for itsvibrancy, felt the hush of
mourning Even as it grappledwith such tragedy, the shadow of
(16:14):
war loomed large over them.
The Adriatic wasn't just aserene expanse, but often a
tempestuous battleground.
In its battle for dominance,venice found itself entwined in
fierce battles, sometimes as theaggressor, sometimes as the
defender.
And within its ornate halls andalong its canals, political
(16:37):
machinations thrived.
Factions whispered in darkenedcorners, each plotting, each
yearning for the seat of power.
One of the most fascinatingaspects of Venice's history is
its unique political system.
Venice was ruled by a doge whowas elected by a council of
nobles.
(16:57):
The doge had immense power, buthe was also heavily restricted
by a complex system of checksand balances.
Venice was also home to one ofthe world's first secret
services, known as the Councilof Ten, which was responsible
for maintaining law and orderand rooting out political
dissent.
Perhaps the most famous eventin Venice's history is the
(17:21):
Carnival, a two-week-longfestival that takes place every
year in the weeks leading up toLent.
The Carnival is a time ofrevelry and excess, with
masquerade balls, elaboratecostumes and street parties
taking place throughout the city.
Venice's history is also steepedin legend and mythology.
One of the most famous storiesis that of the doge's palace,
(17:46):
which is said to be haunted bythe ghosts of past doges.
Legend has it that if youlisten closely, you can still
hear the footsteps of the dogesechoing through the palace's
halls.
Another legend tells of thebridge of Psy's, which connects
the doge's palace to the city'sprison.
The bridge is said to be namedfor the prisoners who would Psy,
(18:09):
as they crossed it knowing theywould never see the outside
world again.
The canals of Venice, as we know, are a trademark of this iconic
city, and the most recognizedmode of transportation through
these canals is the gondola.
The gondola is a flat-bottomedboat which is tapered at both
(18:30):
ends with a high steel or woodenprow and stern.
The boats have no keel, makingthem perfectly suited to the
shallow waters of the canals.
The gondola is also propelledby a single oarsman, known as a
gondolier, who stands at thestern and uses a single oar to
move the boat forward.
Today, only a few hundredgondolas remain in the city, but
(18:55):
they still retain their statusas an enduring symbol of Venice.
Their elegant and sleek design,coupled with their glossy black
paintwork, makes them a covetedfeature of the city's waterways
.
For centuries, writers and poetshave romanticized the beauty of
Venice by gondola, and manytourists still flock to the city
(19:16):
to experience this unique modeof transport.
Once, gondoliers were renownedfor their ability to recite
verses from Italian poets likeAriosto and Tosso while expertly
navigating their vesselsthrough the sharp bends of the
canals.
While this tradition has mostlydisappeared, gondolas still use
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their singing skills toentertain their passengers
during their twilight ridesthrough the canals.
The tradition of the gondoliersinging, or El Canto, can be
traced back to the 19th century,when Venetians began using
their songs as a way tocelebrate their culture and
history.
With the rising cost ofmaintenance and dwindling
(20:01):
numbers of gondoliers, it ispossible that this iconic form
of transport may one daydisappear from the city's
waterways altogether.
Nevertheless, the gondola willalways hold a special place in
the hearts of Venetians andvisitors alike, as a timeless
symbol of the romantic andcaptivating city of Venice.
(20:21):
The city stands out not just asa place of incomparable beauty
and wealth, but as a hub ofinnovation, especially in the
face of adversity.
The story of how Venice dealtwith the bubonic plague is not
just a tale of disease and death.
It's a tale of human ingenuity,desperation and, quite frankly,
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a series of measures that mightmake modern health officials
raise an eyebrow or two.
Venice's ascent to become aluxurious crossroads of the
medieval world was no accident.
Its strategic position on theAdriatic Sea made it a go-to
place for trade between the eastand west.
Goods from as far as China andIndia made their way to Europe
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through Venice's bustlingmarkets.
Spices that could make a blandstew worthy of a king's table,
silks that shimmered in thesunlight and gold that could
tempt even the most ascetic monkwere common sights in its
markets.
It was the medieval equivalentof a high-end shopping mall
where the world came to trade,negotiate and, occasionally,
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plot intrigue.
However, with great wealth camegreat challenges.
The very ships that carriedspices, silks and stories from
distant lands also brought withthem an unwelcome passenger the
bubonic plague, this deadlydisease caused by the bacterium
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your syniopestis and oftentransmitted by fleas hitching a
ride on rats, found in thecrowded and bustling city of
Venice a perfect breeding ground.
The plague did not discriminate.
It cut through the population,leaving despair in its wake.
The response of the VenetianRepublic to this calamity was in
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many ways ahead of its time.
Recognizing the threat that theplague posed, not just to the
health of its citizens but tothe economic vitality of the
city, venice introduced one ofthe world's first quarantine
measures.
The term quarantine itselfcomes from the Italian Quaranta
(22:33):
Giorni, meaning 40 days.
This was the period ships wererequired to anchor offshore
before their crews could setfoot in the city, in hopes that
any disease on board wouldreveal itself in that time.
In theory, a splendid idea.
In practice, a period ofanxious waiting where the fate
(22:54):
of a ship's crew and potentiallythe city itself hung in the
balance.
Venice also established theworld's first lazaretos
Quarantine stations on nearbyislands where individuals
suspected of carrying the plaguewould be isolated.
These were not luxuryaccommodations by any stretch of
(23:15):
the imagination.
They were places of limbopurgatory where people waited to
either recover or succumb tothe disease.
The conditions were harsh, butthe alternative letting the
plague run rampant through thecity was unthinkable.
It's a remarkable expression ofVenice's resilience that it
(23:37):
managed to emerge from theplague years not weakened but
stronger, with systems in placethat would influence public
health policies for centuries tocome.
The city's leaders understoodsomething fundamental about
managing a crisis the importanceof decisive action even in the
face of uncertainty.
Their efforts to control thespread of the plague using the
(24:00):
tools and knowledge they had atthe time were nothing short of
revolutionary.
The plague chronicles of Venice, then, are more than just a
historical footnote in itshistory.
They're a story of a city atthe crossroads of the world
grappling with the crisis thatthreatened its very existence.
Venice's response to the plaguea combination of quarantine
(24:23):
measures, public healthinitiatives and, let's be honest
, a little bit of luckdemonstrated a level of
sophistication in public healthpolicy that was truly
unparalleled at the time, andwhile the methods may seem
rudimentary by today's standards, they laid the groundwork for
modern epidemiology andinfection control measures.
(25:00):
If there's one thing that can besaid about medieval medicine
without fear of contradiction,it's that it's not for the faint
of heart nor, quite frankly,for the overly attached to being
alive.
As we delve into the world ofquote advanced medicine
practices from the era, we findourselves in a realm where the
boundary between the esteemedphysician and the local witch
(25:21):
doctor was as indistinct as afoggy night on the Scottish
Highlands.
Let's start with the basics theFour Humors Not a comedy troupe
, but the foundation of medievalmedical theory, which posited
that the human body was governedby four fluids Blood, phlegm,
black bile and yellow bile.
(25:42):
The balance of these humors wasbelieved to influence one's
health, temperament and evenpersonality.
Feeling a little melancholic,too much black bile, a little
bit sanguine, you've got bloodto spare.
The solution to most ailmentstherefore involved balancing
(26:03):
these humors, often throughmethods that today would be
considered less treatment andmore torture.
Bloodletting was the medievaldoctor's go-to move, a sort of
medical panacea that couldsupposedly cure everything from
headaches to heartbreak.
The logic was simple Too muchblood caused problems, so
(26:23):
removing some would surely help.
This was done with a phlegm, aspecialized bloodletting knife,
or with the help of leeches, thelatter of which could at least
claim to be practicing medicinewithout a license.
Then there were the remedies,concoctions that would make your
average flu shot seem aspleasant as a stroll through a
(26:44):
rose garden.
One popular prescription forvarious ailments involved
powdered emerald, which wasabout as effective as you'd
imagine.
Grinding up a precious stoneand ingesting it would be.
Another, for those particularlytough cases of the plague, was
a poultice made from chopped upsnakes.
Of course, no overview ofmedieval medicine would be
(27:07):
complete without acknowledgingthe role of prayer and a healthy
dose of luck, because when yourdoctor is just as likely to
prescribe a frog attached toyour chin as he is to recommend
rest and hydration, you're goingto need all the help you can
get.
In the end, medieval medicinewas a curious blend of
observation, superstition andoutright guesswork.
(27:29):
Its practitioners walked a fineline between innovator and
charlatan, often within the sametreatment plan.
While we might chuckle at theabsurdities of their methods,
it's a humbling reminder of howfar we've come and a cautionary
tale of the dangers of medicaladvice from anyone wearing more
rings than a jeweler.
(27:51):
As Venice grappled with the gripof the Black Death, this
peculiar character, the plaguedoctor, became something of a
dark celebrity.
They were the medicalequivalent of arriving at a
party and immediately knowingwho the DJ was.
Except in this instance, theparty was a pandemic and the DJ
was dressed for a funeral in abird costume.
(28:12):
The plague doctor's attire,though macabre and scary even,
was a masterpiece of earlyhealth and safety gear, which
some may not know.
The beaked mask resembling abird ready for a masquerade ball
was not just for show.
It was an early attempt at agas mask filled to the brim with
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every aromatic herb and spiceone could pilfer from the
kitchen without the cooknoticing.
Lavender, mint, cloves andanything else that smelled
potent enough to knock a grownman to his knees were stuffed
into that beak.
The theory was simple andfrankly effective.
Bad air out, good air in, or atthe very least, air that
(28:57):
smelled like a heavily seasonedroast.
But let's spare a thought forthe man beneath the mask,
despite resembling theembodiment of death itself.
On a casual stroll throughVenice, the plague doctor was
more often than not a lastresort, a sign that things had
taken a dire turn.
Their appearance at yourdoorstep was akin to reading a
(29:21):
review of a restaurant thatbegan with well.
The ambulance arrived promptlyand yet, despite their
foreboding exterior, thesedoctors were on the front lines,
dancing a dangerous tango withdeath at every turn.
The heavy robes and wax-coatedfabric were their only shields
against the invisible killerthat ravaged the city.
(29:41):
These garments, while offeringsome protection, also made a
day's work, akin to wearing asauna suit and a heat wave.
The life of a plague doctor wasfraught with peril.
Their daily rounds brought themface to face with the very
essence of human fragilitytending to the sick, the dying
(30:02):
and the dead with equal partscompassion and clinical
detachment.
It's no surprise that manysuccumbed to the very affliction
they sought to combat.
Yet their commitment to theirgrim task, armed with little
more than a stick for examiningpatients without getting too
close, and to prayer, was atestament to the resilience of
(30:22):
their spirit.
In hindsight, the plaguedoctors of Venice, with their
bird-like masks in ominousattire, were less harbingers of
doom and more unsung heroes of acity under siege by an unseen
enemy.
In the grand scheme of things,povalia's selection as a
quarantine zone could easily bemistaken for a decision made
(30:45):
through a process asscientifically rigorous as
drawing straws.
This tiny island, barely ahiccup in the Venetian lagoon,
became, for all intents andpurposes, the Ellis Island of
the diseased, the unwell and thedownright unlucky.
One can almost picture thescene A group of Venetian
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senators gathered in a dimly litroom, a map of the lagoon
spread out before them.
The air is tense, probably bothwith tension and the smell of
wet togas because you know,venice can be damp and someone,
perhaps the most senior or maybejust the one who lost a bet, is
blindfolded and handed a dart.
Wherever this lands, hedeclares with the gravity only a
(31:30):
blindfolded man with a dart canmuster, shall be our quarantine
island.
The dart flies, the room holdsits breath and history is made
as the point sticks firmly intothe tiny patch of land known as
Povalia, or so we mightwhimsically imagine.
In reality, the choice ofPovalia as a quarantine zone was
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likely driven by a combinationof its convenient isolation and
perhaps a desire to use a placethat wouldn't be so sorely
missed by the elite.
Let's pick an island we don'tuse for parties.
A senator might have suggestedthumbing through a list of
properties.
Povalia fit the bill perfectlyclose enough to monitor, but not
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so close that the plague couldeasily hop, skip and jump its
way back to the mainland.
Thus Povalia was drafted intoservice, not as a bustling hub
of commerce or a tranquilretreat for weary Venetians, but
as a holding pen for the plagueridden.
It was an unfortunate drafting,indeed, turning the island into
(32:34):
a place of sorrow and,inevitably, a hotspot for ghost
stories and tales of woe.
The decision, made in thepragmatic spirit of Venetian
governance, underscored thecity's ruthless efficiency, yet
it also highlighted thedesperate measures societies
will resort to in times of direneed.
The irony of Povalia's new roleas the quarantine island wasn't
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lost on the residents of Venice.
An island that had once onlybeen the backdrop for picnics
and youthful escapades was now asymbol of the city's fragility
in the face of nature's wrath.
It became a place whisperedabout in the marketplaces and
across dinner tables, an ominousreminder of what awaited those
who fell victim to the plague.
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But what is Povalia?
Nestled somewhere in the wateryembrace of the Venetian lagoon,
like a secret kept even fromthe map, lies Povalia, an island
that, if it could talk, wouldprobably say you might want to
sit down for this.
Povalia, with a name thatsounds like a sneeze and a
(33:42):
history that reads like a gothicnovel, sits quietly between the
bustling streets of Venice andthe sandy shores of the Lido.
It's an island so intriguinglyoff limits that it practically
winks at you from behind a notrespassing sign.
This small island has seen morehistory and horror than seems
entirely fair for any patch ofland not actively seeking it out
(34:04):
.
And this is Povalia, an islandthat, were it a person, would
have enough stories to keep apub full of listeners enthralled
and perhaps slightly terrifieduntil closing time.
Our story begins innocuouslyenough in the year 421, a time
when quote barbarian invasionswere of legitimate concern and
(34:28):
not just the theme of anunusually ambitious college
party.
The residents of Pajuwa andEsti, seeking refuge from such
invasions, found solace inPovalia, turning it into a
thriving community that couldrival any today.
Fast forward a few centuries,to 1378, and we find Povalia
(34:49):
caught in the crossfire of theWar of Shioca, the last of the
Genoa-Venice mashups, theresidents were moved to Gwadeka,
presumably because someonedecided that what the island
really needed was a bit of peaceand quiet, and quiet it
remained for centuries.
In fact, in a plot twist thatno one saw coming, especially
(35:10):
not the Kamudulis monks, theDoge in 1527, thought it might
be a jolly good idea to offerthe island to them.
The monks, possibly after aquick scouting trip, declined,
opting instead for places withfewer barbarian invasions in
their history.
The island then underwent atransformation that would make
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even the most ambitious propertydeveloper blush.
In 1645, venice, in a move thatscreamed were not paranoid,
you're paranoid, built fiveoctagonal forts to keep an eye
on the lagoons' comings andgoings, and Povalia got its very
own octagon, because nothingsays stay away, quite like an
eight-sided military fort.
(35:52):
By 1776, poveglia found a newrole under the magistrato
Alessantia, acting as Venice'sbouncer, vetting goods and
people for plagues and otherparty-crashers.
In 1793, following aparticularly nasty visit from
the plague on two unsuspectingships, poveglia was repurposed
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as a lazaretto, a sort ofpurgatory for the slightly
sniffly and decidedly sick.
It's said that over 160,000souls met their maker here,
their remains making up asignificant portion of the
island's topsoil.
Gardening on Poveglia, oneimagines, is definitely not for
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the faint of heart.
Napoleon ever the opportunistsaw fit to bulldoze the church
of San Vitale in 1805 to makeway for more practical if less
holy pursuits.
The lazaretto closed shop in1814, but not before leaving
behind a legacy of loss and asoil composition of 80% human
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ash that would givearchaeologists nightmares.
The plot, as they say, thickens.
By 1922, the island morphed yetagain, this time into what was
officially billed as a home forthe elderly.
Unofficially, however, itbecame an asylum, a final
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destination for those deemed toounorthodox or inconvenient by
society's standards.
Poveglia wasn't just an island.
It was a statement to thefragility of human sanity and
the lengths to which peoplewould go to isolate what they
didn't understand.
In sum, poveglia's historyreads like a guide on how not to
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run an island From refuge tomilitary fort, from plague pit
to asylum.
It's a place where history'sdarker chapters were written,
rewritten and then buried in thefoundations.
Officially, visiting Poveglia isa no-go, a rule that adds just
the right spice of forbiddenallure to the place.
(38:07):
Yet tales of covert visits bywriters and photographers abound
, painting a picture of anisland that's less sun-soaked
paradise and more seen from ahorror movie.
And then there are the ghosthunters, who have all but
crowned Poveglia as either themost haunted island or the most
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haunted place in the world.
Because why settle for secondplace in the spectral Olympics?
Poveglia is not your typicalisland getaway, obviously.
It's a place where historywhispers from the crumbling
walls of the buildings thatremain, where every shadow might
be hiding a ghost or perhaps avery startled seagull, and where
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the line between the past andpresent seems just a bit
blurrier than elsewhere.
If the buildings of Povegliacould talk, they might first
clear their throatsuncomfortably before launching
into a tale that would make eventhe most stoic of us reach for
a comforting glass of tea.
These structures, each with astory etched into its very
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bricks and mortar, are witnessesstill standing of the island's
tumultuous history, a historythat veers sharply from noble
aspirations to chapters ofdespair.
There are some really goodYouTube videos, by the way, of
urban ex-explorers that havefound ways to bribe fishermen
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into bringing them to the island.
The fishermen will drop themoff for 10 seconds and then take
off, because if the policecatch you around the island,
you're immediately arrested.
Then you just pray to God thatthe person you paid will
actually come back and pick youup.
But in some of those videosthey actually get inside the
bell tower, the hospital, theasylum, and they find the
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kitchens and the kitchenmaterials.
If you want to really, reallyget a good picture of this, I
would almost even pause it nowand go to YouTube and find
videos of Poveglia, because it'sso worth it, it's so
fascinating.
Sorry, I got distracted becauseI was just remembering those
(40:20):
videos.
And it's worth it Do it.
Let's start with the island'schurch, or I suppose, what's
left of it.
Originally a beacon of hope anda place of worship, this
structure with its once-soringbell tower now peaks above the
trees like a skeletal fingerpointing accusingly at the sky.
The architects of this holyplace surely never imagined
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their creation would one dayoversee not the salvation of
souls but their desolation.
The church, with its gothicarches that might have once
framed stained glass windowstelling vibrant biblical tales,
now frames only the void.
Nearby, the Lazaretto buildings, erected with a noble intention
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of quarantining and treatingthe ill, have their own stories
of despair.
These structures, designed forhealing, became the final abode
for thousands who never left.
It's a cruel irony that thevery places meant to offer
respite from the plague becameits silent accomplices.
The architecture here isutilitarian, the starkness of
(41:28):
its design reflecting the grimreality of its purpose.
Long quarters that once echoedwith the footsteps of the sick
and their caretakers now listenonly to the whispers of the wind
.
Then there's the asylum, alater addition to the island's
architectural ensemble.
If the Lazaretto buildingsspeak of a tragic past, the
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asylum screams of misguidedintentions and misunderstood
souls.
The building, possibly oncegrand and imposing, with its
sturdy facade and barred windows, was meant to be a sanctuary
too.
Instead, it became a prison forthose deemed too different, too
difficult or too inconvenient.
(42:12):
The architects of thisestablishment, with their plans
for spacious rooms andtherapeutic spaces, likely never
envisioned the shadows thatwould come to dwell within them.
Today, povelia's buildings standin various states of decay, the
island's history and humansuffering bringing them down
(42:33):
with them.
Nature is slowly reclaimingwhat was once hers, with vines
embracing crumbling walls andwildflowers peeking through
cracked pavement.
The bell tower, stripped of itsbell, stands, mute the
Lazaretto and asylum.
Their interiors, gutted by time, host only memories.
(42:56):
The entire layout of the island, with its buildings scattered
across it like forgotten toys,tells a story of decline From a
place of refuge to a place ofexile, from a community to a
quarantine.
To walk through Povelia now isto walk through a gallery of
(43:17):
ghosts, where each building isan exhibit and every breeze
carries echoes of the past.
Yet in the ruins there is ahaunting beauty.
In the heart of Povelia, therestands or rather leans slightly,
a bell tower that has certainlyseen better days.
This tower, once a proud beaconcalling the faithful to prayer,
(43:41):
has become something of areluctant celebrity in the
annals of eerie landmarks.
Its history is as layered as awell-made lasagna, albeit one
that might leave you feeling abit queasy afterward.
Originally, this bell towerserved as the island's auditory
centerpiece, its peals echoingacross the lagoon, a comforting
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reminder of community and faith.
In those days, the bell's tollwas a sound of sanctuary, a call
to gather, celebrate, rejoiceand perhaps sometimes mourn, but
always together.
It was a symbol of hope, evenif far away from the mainland.
However, as Povelia's destinytwisted under the weight of
(44:22):
plague, war and madness, thebell tower underwent a
transformation from a beacon ofhope to, let's say, a less than
welcome herald.
Instead of calling villagers togather, it began marking the
passage of souls from this worldto the next.
Its toll no longer signifiedthe beginning of a service, but
(44:44):
the end of a life.
The job of the bell ringer inthis transformed landscape was,
to put it mildly, a peculiar one.
Imagine being a chap whosedaily to-do list included, quite
literally, sounding the alarmfor the dearly departed.
This bell ringer, a local whosename has been lost to history,
(45:06):
perhaps mercifully so, had whatonly could be described as the
most unsettling job.
In Venice, each toll of thebell was a heavy-hearted
announcement of another lifeclaimed by plague or disease.
If Venice was a city of masks,our bell ringer was behind an
auditory one, his identitycloaked by the very tolls he
(45:27):
sounded.
Legend has it that this bellringer, after years of his
morose duty, began to claim thathe could hear the voices of the
departed in the tolling of thebell, that each peal was
accompanied by whisperedfarewells or anguished cries.
Whether these claims were theresult of an overactive
(45:48):
imagination or truly somethingmore spectral, we can't say, but
it adds a certain chill to thealready goose, bump-inducing job
description.
Today, of course, the bell towerstands silent.
Its bell long since removed,perhaps in mercy to the island's
restless spirits.
Or perhaps even ghosts need alittle bit of peace and quiet
(46:12):
now and then.
The story goes that the islandwasn't quite ready to relinquish
all of its inhabitants to thepeaceful slumber of the
afterlife.
Instead, it seems, theypreferred to linger much to this
may of the asylum's20th-century residence.
Imagine being a patient at thisplace, where the line between
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the horrors of the mind andthose of the world was as thin
as the veil between life anddeath.
These poor souls reportedseeing shadows flit through
their rooms, shadows that didn'tquite fit with the living world
and certainly didn't belong toany friendly visitor.
Night brought no respite, onlythe wails and moanings of
suffering spirits echoingthrough the halls.
(46:55):
One can hardly blame thedoctors for being skeptical.
After all, diagnosingghost-induced insomnia isn't
probably covered in medicalschool.
Yet the true horror of Povegliawasn't its haunted nights but
the daylight horrors inflictedby a doctor whose name has also
been lost to history.
(47:16):
And fucking good riddance.
This man with ideas as twistedas the wrought iron gates of the
asylum, believed lobotomieswere the key to curing mental
illness.
His tools of choice werehammers, chisels and drills,
applied with a barbarity thatwould make even a medieval
torture wins.
(47:37):
Anesthesia was apparently forthe weak, and sanitation a mere
suggestion.
One shutters to think of thepain and terror his patients
endured under the guise oftreatment.
The legend doesn't end with hisgruesome practices, however.
The ghost of those wronged,tired of their ethereal
(47:58):
existence being disturbed bysuch barbarity, are said to have
driven this mad doctor tomadness himself.
The tale takes a leap, quiteliterally, as the doctor,
tormented beyond his limits,either jumps or is propelled
from the iconic clock tower.
But fate, it seems, had a grimsense of irony and the fall
(48:22):
didn't claim his life.
Instead, a strange, mysteriousfog, perhaps the very breath of
the vengeful dead finished thejob and he was never seen again.
And here's where the tale twiststhe knife of tragedy and terror
.
One final time, on certainnights, when the lagoon is as
(48:45):
still as death itself, the bellof Poveglia tolls.
The toll's not from the tower,for the bell is long gone, but
from somewhere deep within theisland's sorrowful soul.
So if you ever find yourselfdrifting through the Venetian
lagoon at night and you bettertake me with you, if you do and
(49:06):
hear the distant sound of a bell, spare a thought for the lost
souls of Poveglia, all 160,000of them, whose cremated ashes
still, to this day, make upabout 80% of the island's soil,
for in their tale lies achilling lesson Sometimes the
true horrors aren't those of thespirit world, but the cruelties
(49:30):
we inflict upon each other inthis one.
Since its closure in 1969, theisland has stood silent, save
for the whispers of the wind andthe occasional intrepid or
foolhardy soul daring enough toexplore its decrepit ruins.
It's hardly surprising, then,that Poveglia has become
(49:51):
something of a mecca for thoseintrigued by the supernatural.
The island's potent blend ofhistory, horror and mystery
makes it truly irresistible.
In 2009, the crew of GhostAdventures cast their spotlight
on the shadowed isle, dedicatingan episode to its exploration.
Their adventures, broadcast toeager audiences around the world
(50:15):
, added a modern chapter toPoveglia's ghostly lore.
But it's not just professionalghost hunters who find
themselves drawn to the island'seerie embrace.
In 2016, a tale that sounds asthough it leapt straight from
the pages of a gothic novelunfolded when a group of
Americans from Colorado hey,colorado found themselves in
(50:38):
need of rescue.
Then, traying onto Povegliaunder the cloak of night, they
soon discovered that some placeswere their legends, not as mere
cloaks, but as armor Found byfirefighters in the state of
shock.
Their panic painted a vividpicture of an encounter not with
the physical remnants of theisland's past, but with its
(50:59):
spectral inhabitants.
The island, it seems, is alivewith sounds that have no earthly
business in a place longabandoned by the living.
Voices, screams and lamentsdrift on the night air, a
symphony for which there is noaudience, save for the
occasional unwelcome visitor.
(51:20):
Researchers braving theisland's unwelcoming aura have
recorded odd electromagneticfields enveloping the entire
perimeter, a phenomenon all themore chilling for the island's
complete lack of electricity.
What is it about Poveglia thatholds such a grip on the
imagination.
Perhaps it's the allure of theunknown, as always, or maybe the
(51:44):
thrill of confronting our fearshead on.
Or possibly it's the simplehuman desire to connect with the
past, however dark that pastmight be.
Whatever the reason, povegliaremains a place where the
boundary between legend andreality is as thin as the mist
that often surrounds its shores.
(52:05):
In today's world, where theboundaries of exploration are
constantly being pushed to theedges of the map and beyond,
there exists a curious paradoxin the form of Poveglia, an
island that, officially, you'renot supposed to visit.
It's a bit like being told notto push a big red button.
The prohibition only adds toits allure.
(52:28):
Venice, with all its splendor,openly shares its riches, yet
it's this off-limit speck in thelagoon that captures the
imagination of the intrepid andthe inquisitive.
The rules are clear Without anod from the municipality,
setting foot on Poveglia is anabsolute no-go, with the threat
of criminal charges looming overwould-be adventurers.
(52:50):
Yet, as is the way withforbidden fruit, the island
draws tourists like moths to aflame or, perhaps more aptly,
like ghost hunters to anabandoned asylum.
They come in private boats orwater taxis, slipping through
the legal net for a chance towalk among the whispers of the
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past.
It's a secret pilgrimage, a nodto the human penchant for
seeking out the mysteries thatlie just beyond our reach.
The tales of Poveglia are many,woven into the fabric of local
lore and whispered down throughgenerations.
Yet no official ledger, ofcourse, exists.
It's a narrative built onshadows and sightings, on
(53:33):
feelings and fears.
Those who have dared to breachits shores, driven by curiosity
or bravado, find themselvesenveloped in an atmosphere thick
with the kind of spine-tinglingeeriness that no amount of
sunshine can dispel.
Poveglia, with its crumbledfacades and overgrown pathways,
(53:53):
seems to exist in a perpetualtwilight, not just of the day
but of the soul.
The island, often dubbed theisland of no return, lives up to
its name, not because visitorscan't leave though one imagines
a few might hesitate to turntheir backs on its unseen
inhabitants, but because theimpressions it leaves are
(54:16):
indelible.
Poveglia's history is pepperedwith tales that blur the line
between the chill of historicalfact and the warmth of local
folklore.
Among these, the spectralsightings and fisherman's tales
stand out not just for theirability to unsettle but for
their sheer persistence in thecollective memory of those
familiar with the island's past.
(54:37):
It's as if Poveglia itselfrefuses to let go of its stories
.
One such tale that has beenpassed down through generations
involves a particularlyaudacious phantom known among
the local fishing community forits penchant for mischief.
It's said that this ghost,perhaps a former resident with a
fondness for the sea, or maybea wayward spirit with a sense of
(55:00):
humor, takes a certain delightin startling fishermen.
The story goes that on nightswhen the moon casts a silvery
glow over the lagoon, making thewaters around Poveglia eerily
beautiful, this spectral figureemerges from the depths.
Fishermen focused on their netsin the promise of a bountiful
catch often find themselves theunwitting audience to this
(55:22):
ghost's performance.
With a sudden whoosh of coldair and a mischievous cackle
that seems to dance across thewaves, the ghost swoops down,
sending the fish scattering inpanic.
Nets, once heavy with thenight's work, come up
startlingly empty.
The fishermen, with heartsracing in their catches lost,
(55:43):
are left with nothing but achilling story to share with
those brave enough to listen.
There are stories of shadowsthat move against the logic of
light, of whispers carried onthe wind that speak in tongues
long forgotten, and of suddendrops in temperature that leave
visitors shivering, their breathfogging in the air.
These sightings are as much apart of the island's history, as
(56:06):
the buildings that standdecaying under the Venetian sun,
and these fishermen serve as amodern-day bard for Poveglia.
Sharing their tales, theyensure that the island's haunted
history remains alive, passedfrom one generation to the next
a legacy of fear, fascinationand a certain respect for the
(56:27):
mysteries that lie just beyondour understanding.
In a move that seemed to suggestItaly was rummaging through its
attic looking for things tosell, the state decided in 2014
to auction off a 99-year leaseon Poveglia, the island that
history forgot to cheer up.
The idea was to keep theownership, but let someone else
(56:49):
turn its rather desolatehospital into the sort of luxury
hotel where guests might pay asmall fortune to sleep in rooms
that once housed plague victims.
You know for that authentichaunted holiday experience
Hunter Luigi Brognaro, anItalian businessman with a
vision and a wallet ready totransform this island of despair
(57:09):
into a haven of high-threadcount sheets and complimentary
bathrobes.
Brognaro, with a bid of 513,000euros, had dreams of pouring 20
million euros into making theisland's hospital a place where
you'd actually want to stay,like voluntarily.
However, his grand plans hit asnag when it turned out, his
(57:31):
project didn't quite tick allthe boxes the Italian state had
in mind.
There were whispers, too, thatperhaps his bid was a tad on the
low side, which, in the worldof auctioning haunted islands,
is apparently a big no-no.
In a plot twist worthy of aVenetian opera, brognaro, having
initially resisted thecancellation of his lease,
(57:52):
became the mayor of Venice andpromptly decided he had other
fish to fry, leaving Poveglia toits ghosts and overgrown weeds.
Not to be outdone, a privategroup named Poveglia Pertuti
which sounds like a call to armsfor ghost enthusiasts and
luxury hotel developers alikefloated the idea, in 2015, of
(58:14):
turning the island intosomething out of a tourism
brochure.
They envisioned a public park,a marina for all your yachting
needs, a restaurant, presumablywith a menu featuring less
haunted dishes, a hostel and astudy center, because nothing
says relaxing getaway, quitelike the phrase study center.
Despite their ambitions and abudget supposedly in the 25-30
(58:38):
million euro range, povegliaremained stubbornly vacant as of
2024.
As for the island's real estate, it hosts a collection of
buildings that would make anyfixer upper show host blanche.
There's a cavena or a boat shedfor the uninitiated, a church
that's seen better days, ahospital, an asylum because
(59:00):
obviously there's an asylum abell tower that's lost its bell,
but not its charm and variousbuildings that once served as
housing or offices for thedecidedly brazed staff.
The bell tower, a relic fromthe 12th century, is perhaps the
most striking feature, standingtall as a lighthouse and a
reminder of the church of SanBattale, which met its untimely
(59:22):
demise in 1806.
A sign still points the way toRapparto Psychiatrina or
psychiatric department, a trulyhaunting reminder of the
island's past, as documented byransom rigs in his photo essay.
And while rumors of a prison onPavilion persist, evidence
(59:42):
remains as elusive as the ghoststhemselves.
A bridge ties the main islandto its slightly smaller, greener
cousin, a place given over tonature and possibly picnicking
spirits.
Nearby, the octagonal fortstill sits on its own little
patch of land, unconnected andaloof, wearing its earthen
(01:00:04):
rampart and brick facade withthe dignity of a structure
that's seen at all.
If Povellia Island were to penits memoirs, whole chapters
would need to be dedicated toits rather morbid garden
features the plague pits.
These were not the sort of pitsone might fall into during a
spirited game of capture theflag, but rather the final
(01:00:26):
resting place for an astonishingnumber of souls.
National Geographic, with thesomber authority of a magazine
that's seen its fair share ofglobal tragedies suggests a
staggering 100,000 people mettheir end on the island.
Atlas Obscura ever, thepurveyor of the world's hidden
wonders and horrors, ups theante with an estimate of 160,000
(01:00:50):
.
Evacurate Povellia's soil isless dirt and more well human
ash.
But maybe it's time to step backnow and admire this macabre
mosaic we've pieced together theisland with its history.
(01:01:14):
Each layer more unsettling thanthe last is not just a chapter
in Venice's storied past.
It's a whole volume dedicatedto the darker side of human
endeavor.
From its initial role as areluctant refuge from marauding
barbarians to its final act as adecrepit asylum, povellia
weaves a tapestry of tragedy sorich it would make the most
(01:01:36):
stoic historian reach for acomforting glass of wine.
And yet, amidst the tales ofwoe and whispers of the departed
, there lies a peculiar strandof human optimism A belief that
perhaps, with a bit of elbowgrease and a healthy disregard
for ghostly tenants, one couldturn a place of despair into a
charming bed and breakfast.
Imagine the brochure Cozy up inour historically haunted asylum
(01:02:01):
, where the only thing you'lllose is your ability to sleep
soundly.
The segment on home renovationshows that we'll likely never
see and for good reasonPovellia's ambiance, thick with
the echoes of its past residence, doesn't lend itself to quaint
BNB aesthetic.
It should be serving as areminder that some places rich
(01:02:22):
in history and sorrow are bestleft untouched, their stories
preserved rather than repurposed.
But of course, we can't dwelltoo long in the shadows of
Povellia without acknowledgingthat it's but one star in a
galaxy of haunted locales.
As we cast our gaze wider, itbecomes clear that Povellia's
(01:02:43):
A-list status in the realm ofspectral hotspots is both well
earned and yet somewhat limiting.
Across the globe there existcountless boutique hauntings, if
you will, each with its ownunique flavor of fright, from
the ancient castles of Europeechoing with the footsteps of
long dead lords and ladies, tothe forgotten asylums of America
(01:03:05):
, whose decaying halls are ripewith tales of despair.
The world is a veritablesmorgasbord of spooky.
These locations that we covertogether, each with their own
legion of loyal ghost huntersand thrill seekers, prove to us
that the fascination with theparanormal is a universal trait.
It's a comforting thought in away that, across cultures and
(01:03:28):
continents, we share acollective curiosity for the
unknown, a willingness toexplore the shadows in search of
stories that remind us of thethin veil between this world and
the next.
In the end, povellia, with itsplague pits haunted asylum in
bell tower that tolls for no one, is a potent symbol of this
(01:03:49):
fascination.
And as always, I like to ask whydoes any of this matter?
In a world brimming withinformation, where the present
often demands all of ourattention, why look back at the
shadows cast by an abandonedisland's haunted past?
The answer perhaps lies in thevery essence of what it means to
(01:04:13):
be human.
Our History, with its triumphsand tragedies, shape us.
It molds our societies,influences our beliefs and
colors our perceptions of theworld.
By exploring stories likePovellias, we're given a chance
to reflect on our own place inthe continuum of history, to
(01:04:36):
ponder the legacy that we'llleave behind for those who will
one day whisper our names.
History, humanity and thehauntings that bridge the two
are inextricably linked, each athread in the story of who we
are and the words of the late,great Carl Sagan we make our
(01:04:57):
world significant by the courageof our questions and by the
depths of our answers.
Povellia, with its layers ofquestions and whispers of
answers, invites us to be socourageous, to delve deep and to
find significance in thestories we uncover.
Speaker 1 (01:05:43):
Povellia, with its layers of questions and whispers
of answers, invites us to be socourageous to delve deep and to
(01:06:15):
find significance in thestories we uncover.
Speaker 2 (01:06:26):
This has been another episode of when Walls Can Talk,
the podcast.
I'm your host, jeremy Haig.
You know the drill.
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episodes.
If you're listening right now onyour phone, I dare you to
screenshot it, put it on yourInstagram stories and tag me so
I can thank you personally forbeing a supporter of the show
(01:07:09):
and being a part of our growth.
If you can help me reach morelisteners and grow this show,
the best way to do that is toeither text this or share it to
a friend or family member oranyone you know who's your
fellow paranormal weirdo or justtake a moment if you'll leave
us a review on Spotify or ApplePodcast.
Wherever you listen, it reallyaffects the growth and just
allows our podcast to reach newpeople, and I don't want to take
(01:07:32):
too much more of your timeexcept to say thank you, and I
hope you enjoyed today's tale.
Next week we're traveling toHaunted Romania, deep into the
forests of Transylvania.
If you're ready to visit theHoi Ba Chu Forest, pack a bag
and bring your hiking shoes.
Haunted Romania.
(01:08:14):
Haunted Romania, hauntedRomania, haunted Romania.
Venous, a city so drenched in charm and history
that it can afford to keep a fewskeletons in its closet, or, as
fate would have it, on a littleisland just a short gondola
ride away.
Let me tell you about Poveglia,a place that could very well
make the stoutest of Venetianhearts skip a beat, and not in
(00:40):
the romantic Boat Ride at Sunsetkind of way.
It's a spot so infamous localswandering through the majestic
Piazza San Marco would ratherwalk into a canal than whisper
its name.
It's not exactly Voldemort, butsaying Poveglia out loud there
could, they fear, bring a spotof bad luck.
(01:00):
A touch irrational perhaps, butthen history has a way of
embedding itself into localsuperstition, especially when
it's as colorful as Poveglia's.
Now, why the collective shudderat its mention?
Let's just say that Povegliahas a backstory that, if it were
(01:24):
a novel, would be the kind youhastily read with all the lights
on.
In the 18th century it becamethe kind of resting place where
rest might be the last thing itsinhabitants found, courtesy of
the plague.
Fast forward a few hundredyears and it's the setting of a
mental asylum where the onlything more unsettling than its
(01:44):
treatments, where the screamsechoing off its walls.
So not exactly the place for aleisurely picnic, unless you
enjoy dining with a side ofexistential dread.
For years, even the bravestfishermen gave Poveglia a wide
berth, as if fearing their netsmight catch something a bit more
spectral than fish.
(02:05):
Its notoriety grew,transforming it from a local
horror story to a legendwhispered across Europe.
Yet there's somethingirresistibly human about poking
the bear or, in this case,rowing towards the island
everyone else is rowing awayfrom, despite, or perhaps
(02:25):
because of, its macabre tails.
Some souls, driven by curiosityor maybe a penchant for the
macabre, are drawn to Poveglia,eager to strip back its shadowy
veil in search of truth or atleast a good scare.
So as we set off on thisjourney through whispers and
shadows, let's explore whatmakes Poveglia, the world's most
(02:47):
reluctant tourist attraction,so fascinatingly repulsive.
I'm Jeremy Haig, and if wallscould talk, poveglia's would
probably scream.
Throughout the ages, man hasrepeated the same earnest saying
(03:57):
more of a question, really, orperhaps even a plea.
If these walls could talk, butwhat if they do?
And always have?
Perhaps their stories, memoriesand messages are all around us.
If only we would take themoment to listen.
On this podcast, wereinvestigate legends and tales
(04:19):
of the past and allow the echoesof their lessons to live on
once again informing us,educating us and sharing new and
unique insight into the innerworkings of the paranormal and
spiritual world.
Will you dare to listen?
This is when Walls Can Talk thepodcast.
(05:10):
In the northeastern stretch ofItaly, lying as if by some
splendid accident or a stroke ofan artist's whimsy, is Venice.
This city isn't moored to themainland as others are.
No, venice is something elseentirely, a marvel sprawled
across 118 tiny islands.
These specks of land, somescarcely larger than your
(05:34):
average city park, are cobwebbedtogether by a bewildering array
of over 400 bridges.
The canals, those wateryarteries of the city weave
through it, carrying thewhispered secrets and the
boisterous history of ages past,nestled within the protective
arms of the Venetian lagoon.
Venice stretches out over amajestic 32 miles, from Gieselo
(05:59):
in the north down to Cioca inthe south.
But this lagoon isn't just abackdrop for the sort of
photographs that touristszealously guard as treasures.
Historically, it's beenVenice's guardian angel, a
natural moat against the lesssavory intentions of ancient
marauders, a sanctuary brimmingwith marine biodiversity and the
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birthplace of salt pans thatonce were as valuable as gold.
Crafted by the hands of natureherself, the lagoon is a
masterpiece of environmentalengineering.
The tides of the Adriatic,along with the nurturing flows
of the Alpine rivers, havesculpted this lagoon into being.
It's a marvel, really, how thevery tides that shape its
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existence also serve as Venice'sown natural sanitation crew
purging its canals with athorough rinse twice a day.
Yet with such beauty comes aninherent delicacy.
As Venice grew, its embrace withthe lagoon became more of a
complicated dance.
The 20th century, with all itsprogress and innovations, didn't
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come without its consequences.
Channels were dug deeper,diverting the ancient flows of
water.
Fast quantities of water weresiphoned from the mainland,
toying with the delicateequilibrium established over
millennia.
Then there's the relentlesspush of the Adriatic Sea and the
ever-so-subtle shifts in thePoe River basin.
(07:30):
Gradually, almost imperceptibly, the ground beneath Venice has
been sinking.
And now Venice, that etherealcity afloat on dreams and water,
faces a tangible threat theprospect of succumbing to the
very waters that have cradled itthrough history.
The looming question now iswhether Venice, a city that's as
(07:54):
much a product of humaningenuity as it is of natural
forces, can once again adapt andendure in the face of a world
that's changing faster than everbefore, in a manner that only
(08:20):
Venice could manage.
The city began to sprout fromthe lagoon's marshy embrace
around the 7th century, as if bysome grand, silent agreement.
People started to drift in fromthe mainland, attracted perhaps
by the lack of maraudingbarbarians or the appealing
notion of living in houses thatseemed to float on water.
These new arrivals weren't justany old crowd.
(08:43):
They were the sort who lookedat a swamp and saw potential for
an urban development projectthat could make property
developers today weep with envy.
In the heart of this burgeoningwatery experiment was an area
that was not as much known asRivo Alto, which sounds like a
place where you might buy anexceptionally good espresso, but
as time and language tinkeredaway at it, rivo Alto morphed
(09:08):
into the Rialto, a name nowsynonymous with markets, bridges
and making tourists part withtheir money in exchange for
glass trinkets.
And overseeing all of this wasthe doge, not to be confused
with a meme of Ishiba Inu, but aleader whose title dripped with
as much power and dignity asone could muster, while wearing
(09:29):
a hat that looked like a goldenpastry.
Venice today is like a magnetfor the soul.
It draws in those who breatheart, those who devour history
and those who just really need agood Instagram backdrop the
Grand Canal, venice's show-offstreet, snakes its way through
the city for over two miles.
(09:50):
It's flanked by buildings thathave seen more history than most
countries, standing as silentcustodians of Venice's past
glories and, let's be honest, afair number of its follies.
As you float down the GrandCanal on a gondola, beneath
bridges that have supported thefeet of countless Venetians,
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it's hard not to think about thesecrets that the water beneath
you has kept.
How many whispered declarationsof love, underhand political
dealings or dramatic tales ofboom and bust are etched into
the stones lining its banks?
Venice, with its maze of canalsand labyrinthian alleyways, is a
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city that delights incontradiction.
It's a place where a fleetinglook across a teeming square
could ignite a romance worthy ofa Shakespearean drama, or where
the quiet machinations in theshadowy nooks could very well
topple dynasties.
This isn't just about theopulent displays of art or the
architectural wonders that seemto defy gravity and reason.
(10:54):
It's about the very essence ofVenice itself.
The stones underfoot, the waterthat laps against ancient
foundations, have been there towitness the comings and goings
of doges, the creative storms ofartists and the clandestine
rendezvous of figures who blendwith the night.
The city is a siren drawing inthrongs of visitors, with
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promises of unparalleledsplendor and a richness of
culture that's hard to findelsewhere.
Yet the discerning wandererunderstands that Venice's true
allure isn't just in the feastfor the eyes that it offers.
The real enchantment of Veniceis its uncanny power to whisk
you away, not merely through thespectacle of its streets and
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buildings, but into the depthsof its dark history.
Here, every corner temps with amystery, every shadowed alley
whispers of the past.
Venice is in a city wherehistory is confined to the pages
of forgotten tomes, dusty andhidden in dark shelves.
Here, history throbs with life,painting every canal and alley
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with the colors of its tales,inviting those who pass by to
lose themselves in the narrativewoven into the very fabric of
this truly bewitching city.
The saga of Venice doesn't kickoff with the usual cast of regal
characters or grandarchitectural marvels.
Instead, it begins with a groupof folks motivated not by
(12:29):
visions of grandeur but by apressing desire to not be
overrun by barbarians.
Around the 5th century AD, asthe Roman Empire started to look
less like the world's mostformidable power and more like a
target practice for anybarbarian with ambition, a band
of refugees the Veneti, decidedit was time to find a safer zip
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code.
Imagine them landing on whatwas essentially a collection of
soggy bits of land in the middleof the Venetian lagoon.
To the untrained eye, it lookedlike the sort of place you'd be
more likely to catch a coldthan start a civilization.
But, as history would have it,these were folks with a knack
for seeing real estate potentialwhere others saw only wet socks
(13:15):
.
With a spirit that could onlybe described as stubbornly
optimistic, they set aboutturning these marshy islands
into the foundations of whatwould not only become just city
but a shining beacon of tradeand affluence.
The very waters that seemed likea questionable choice for urban
development turned out to beVenice's secret sauce.
(13:38):
The city's canals weren't justpicturesque backdrops for future
postcards, but were the superhighways of the medieval world.
Pictureships heavy with thewealth of the world gliding
towards Venice, they carried notjust the tangible spices that
tickled the nose, silks thatcaressed the skin, but also the
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intangible promise of prosperity.
At the helm of this burgeoningtrade empire were the doges, and
don't let the modest title foolyou.
These were men who wieldedpower with the subtlety of a
sledgehammer and a world wheremight didn't just mean right, it
meant wealth.
Under their watch, venicetransformed from a group of
(14:24):
waterlogged islands into a hubof opulence, a place where the
clinking of duckets was thesoundtrack to daily life and
where the city itself seemed torise mirage-like from its
unlikely beginnings to stand asa titan of commerce and culture.
Bathed in the soft glow of thesetting sun, venice is often
(14:45):
pictured with merchant ships,its winding canals acting as
bustling highways.
But look beyond that shimmeringfaçade and there's a depth to
Venice that transcends meretrade and commerce.
Venice, at its core, has alwaysbeen a canvas of human
expression.
During the Renaissance, whenmost of Europe was in the throes
(15:06):
of a cultural rebirth, venicewas not just a silent spectator,
but a vibrant epicenter.
Walk down any alley and youcould have chanced upon a
masterpiece in the making.
Imagine the maestro Titian,lost in thought, his
brushstrokes bringing to lifeanother vivid portrait.
Or Tintoretto, passionatelymolding hues and forms, his
(15:29):
canvases echoing with emotion.
And then there was Verones,with his grand scenes, ensuring
that every corner of Venicebreathed art.
Yet for all its radiance, Venicealso bore the scars of its
tumultuous history.
The very air in the 14thcentury felt heavy, not just
(15:50):
with the aroma of paints and thedistant sound of Evaldi's
strings, but with the impendingdoom of the Black Death.
It swept through Venice withmerciless fury, claiming almost
half of its people.
The city then, known for itsvibrancy, felt the hush of
mourning Even as it grappledwith such tragedy, the shadow of
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war loomed large over them.
The Adriatic wasn't just aserene expanse, but often a
tempestuous battleground.
In its battle for dominance,venice found itself entwined in
fierce battles, sometimes as theaggressor, sometimes as the
defender.
And within its ornate halls andalong its canals, political
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machinations thrived.
Factions whispered in darkenedcorners, each plotting, each
yearning for the seat of power.
One of the most fascinatingaspects of Venice's history is
its unique political system.
Venice was ruled by a doge whowas elected by a council of
nobles.
(16:57):
The doge had immense power, buthe was also heavily restricted
by a complex system of checksand balances.
Venice was also home to one ofthe world's first secret
services, known as the Councilof Ten, which was responsible
for maintaining law and orderand rooting out political
dissent.
Perhaps the most famous eventin Venice's history is the
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Carnival, a two-week-longfestival that takes place every
year in the weeks leading up toLent.
The Carnival is a time ofrevelry and excess, with
masquerade balls, elaboratecostumes and street parties
taking place throughout the city.
Venice's history is also steepedin legend and mythology.
One of the most famous storiesis that of the doge's palace,
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which is said to be haunted bythe ghosts of past doges.
Legend has it that if youlisten closely, you can still
hear the footsteps of the dogesechoing through the palace's
halls.
Another legend tells of thebridge of Psy's, which connects
the doge's palace to the city'sprison.
The bridge is said to be namedfor the prisoners who would Psy,
(18:09):
as they crossed it knowing theywould never see the outside
world again.
The canals of Venice, as we know, are a trademark of this iconic
city, and the most recognizedmode of transportation through
these canals is the gondola.
The gondola is a flat-bottomedboat which is tapered at both
(18:30):
ends with a high steel or woodenprow and stern.
The boats have no keel, makingthem perfectly suited to the
shallow waters of the canals.
The gondola is also propelledby a single oarsman, known as a
gondolier, who stands at thestern and uses a single oar to
move the boat forward.
Today, only a few hundredgondolas remain in the city, but
(18:55):
they still retain their statusas an enduring symbol of Venice.
Their elegant and sleek design,coupled with their glossy black
paintwork, makes them a covetedfeature of the city's waterways
.
For centuries, writers and poetshave romanticized the beauty of
Venice by gondola, and manytourists still flock to the city
(19:16):
to experience this unique modeof transport.
Once, gondoliers were renownedfor their ability to recite
verses from Italian poets likeAriosto and Tosso while expertly
navigating their vesselsthrough the sharp bends of the
canals.
While this tradition has mostlydisappeared, gondolas still use
(19:38):
their singing skills toentertain their passengers
during their twilight ridesthrough the canals.
The tradition of the gondoliersinging, or El Canto, can be
traced back to the 19th century,when Venetians began using
their songs as a way tocelebrate their culture and
history.
With the rising cost ofmaintenance and dwindling
(20:01):
numbers of gondoliers, it ispossible that this iconic form
of transport may one daydisappear from the city's
waterways altogether.
Nevertheless, the gondola willalways hold a special place in
the hearts of Venetians andvisitors alike, as a timeless
symbol of the romantic andcaptivating city of Venice.
(20:21):
The city stands out not just asa place of incomparable beauty
and wealth, but as a hub ofinnovation, especially in the
face of adversity.
The story of how Venice dealtwith the bubonic plague is not
just a tale of disease and death.
It's a tale of human ingenuity,desperation and, quite frankly,
(20:44):
a series of measures that mightmake modern health officials
raise an eyebrow or two.
Venice's ascent to become aluxurious crossroads of the
medieval world was no accident.
Its strategic position on theAdriatic Sea made it a go-to
place for trade between the eastand west.
Goods from as far as China andIndia made their way to Europe
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through Venice's bustlingmarkets.
Spices that could make a blandstew worthy of a king's table,
silks that shimmered in thesunlight and gold that could
tempt even the most ascetic monkwere common sights in its
markets.
It was the medieval equivalentof a high-end shopping mall
where the world came to trade,negotiate and, occasionally,
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plot intrigue.
However, with great wealth camegreat challenges.
The very ships that carriedspices, silks and stories from
distant lands also brought withthem an unwelcome passenger the
bubonic plague, this deadlydisease caused by the bacterium
(21:51):
your syniopestis and oftentransmitted by fleas hitching a
ride on rats, found in thecrowded and bustling city of
Venice a perfect breeding ground.
The plague did not discriminate.
It cut through the population,leaving despair in its wake.
The response of the VenetianRepublic to this calamity was in
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many ways ahead of its time.
Recognizing the threat that theplague posed, not just to the
health of its citizens but tothe economic vitality of the
city, venice introduced one ofthe world's first quarantine
measures.
The term quarantine itselfcomes from the Italian Quaranta
(22:33):
Giorni, meaning 40 days.
This was the period ships wererequired to anchor offshore
before their crews could setfoot in the city, in hopes that
any disease on board wouldreveal itself in that time.
In theory, a splendid idea.
In practice, a period ofanxious waiting where the fate
(22:54):
of a ship's crew and potentiallythe city itself hung in the
balance.
Venice also established theworld's first lazaretos
Quarantine stations on nearbyislands where individuals
suspected of carrying the plaguewould be isolated.
These were not luxuryaccommodations by any stretch of
(23:15):
the imagination.
They were places of limbopurgatory where people waited to
either recover or succumb tothe disease.
The conditions were harsh, butthe alternative letting the
plague run rampant through thecity was unthinkable.
It's a remarkable expression ofVenice's resilience that it
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managed to emerge from theplague years not weakened but
stronger, with systems in placethat would influence public
health policies for centuries tocome.
The city's leaders understoodsomething fundamental about
managing a crisis the importanceof decisive action even in the
face of uncertainty.
Their efforts to control thespread of the plague using the
(24:00):
tools and knowledge they had atthe time were nothing short of
revolutionary.
The plague chronicles of Venice, then, are more than just a
historical footnote in itshistory.
They're a story of a city atthe crossroads of the world
grappling with the crisis thatthreatened its very existence.
Venice's response to the plaguea combination of quarantine
(24:23):
measures, public healthinitiatives and, let's be honest
, a little bit of luckdemonstrated a level of
sophistication in public healthpolicy that was truly
unparalleled at the time, andwhile the methods may seem
rudimentary by today's standards, they laid the groundwork for
modern epidemiology andinfection control measures.
(25:00):
If there's one thing that can besaid about medieval medicine
without fear of contradiction,it's that it's not for the faint
of heart nor, quite frankly,for the overly attached to being
alive.
As we delve into the world ofquote advanced medicine
practices from the era, we findourselves in a realm where the
boundary between the esteemedphysician and the local witch
(25:21):
doctor was as indistinct as afoggy night on the Scottish
Highlands.
Let's start with the basics theFour Humors Not a comedy troupe
, but the foundation of medievalmedical theory, which posited
that the human body was governedby four fluids Blood, phlegm,
black bile and yellow bile.
(25:42):
The balance of these humors wasbelieved to influence one's
health, temperament and evenpersonality.
Feeling a little melancholic,too much black bile, a little
bit sanguine, you've got bloodto spare.
The solution to most ailmentstherefore involved balancing
(26:03):
these humors, often throughmethods that today would be
considered less treatment andmore torture.
Bloodletting was the medievaldoctor's go-to move, a sort of
medical panacea that couldsupposedly cure everything from
headaches to heartbreak.
The logic was simple Too muchblood caused problems, so
(26:23):
removing some would surely help.
This was done with a phlegm, aspecialized bloodletting knife,
or with the help of leeches, thelatter of which could at least
claim to be practicing medicinewithout a license.
Then there were the remedies,concoctions that would make your
average flu shot seem aspleasant as a stroll through a
(26:44):
rose garden.
One popular prescription forvarious ailments involved
powdered emerald, which wasabout as effective as you'd
imagine.
Grinding up a precious stoneand ingesting it would be.
Another, for those particularlytough cases of the plague, was
a poultice made from chopped upsnakes.
Of course, no overview ofmedieval medicine would be
(27:07):
complete without acknowledgingthe role of prayer and a healthy
dose of luck, because when yourdoctor is just as likely to
prescribe a frog attached toyour chin as he is to recommend
rest and hydration, you're goingto need all the help you can
get.
In the end, medieval medicinewas a curious blend of
observation, superstition andoutright guesswork.
(27:29):
Its practitioners walked a fineline between innovator and
charlatan, often within the sametreatment plan.
While we might chuckle at theabsurdities of their methods,
it's a humbling reminder of howfar we've come and a cautionary
tale of the dangers of medicaladvice from anyone wearing more
rings than a jeweler.
(27:51):
As Venice grappled with the gripof the Black Death, this
peculiar character, the plaguedoctor, became something of a
dark celebrity.
They were the medicalequivalent of arriving at a
party and immediately knowingwho the DJ was.
Except in this instance, theparty was a pandemic and the DJ
was dressed for a funeral in abird costume.
(28:12):
The plague doctor's attire,though macabre and scary even,
was a masterpiece of earlyhealth and safety gear, which
some may not know.
The beaked mask resembling abird ready for a masquerade ball
was not just for show.
It was an early attempt at agas mask filled to the brim with
(28:34):
every aromatic herb and spiceone could pilfer from the
kitchen without the cooknoticing.
Lavender, mint, cloves andanything else that smelled
potent enough to knock a grownman to his knees were stuffed
into that beak.
The theory was simple andfrankly effective.
Bad air out, good air in, or atthe very least, air that
(28:57):
smelled like a heavily seasonedroast.
But let's spare a thought forthe man beneath the mask,
despite resembling theembodiment of death itself.
On a casual stroll throughVenice, the plague doctor was
more often than not a lastresort, a sign that things had
taken a dire turn.
Their appearance at yourdoorstep was akin to reading a
(29:21):
review of a restaurant thatbegan with well.
The ambulance arrived promptlyand yet, despite their
foreboding exterior, thesedoctors were on the front lines,
dancing a dangerous tango withdeath at every turn.
The heavy robes and wax-coatedfabric were their only shields
against the invisible killerthat ravaged the city.
(29:41):
These garments, while offeringsome protection, also made a
day's work, akin to wearing asauna suit and a heat wave.
The life of a plague doctor wasfraught with peril.
Their daily rounds brought themface to face with the very
essence of human fragilitytending to the sick, the dying
(30:02):
and the dead with equal partscompassion and clinical
detachment.
It's no surprise that manysuccumbed to the very affliction
they sought to combat.
Yet their commitment to theirgrim task, armed with little
more than a stick for examiningpatients without getting too
close, and to prayer, was atestament to the resilience of
(30:22):
their spirit.
In hindsight, the plaguedoctors of Venice, with their
bird-like masks in ominousattire, were less harbingers of
doom and more unsung heroes of acity under siege by an unseen
enemy.
In the grand scheme of things,povalia's selection as a
quarantine zone could easily bemistaken for a decision made
(30:45):
through a process asscientifically rigorous as
drawing straws.
This tiny island, barely ahiccup in the Venetian lagoon,
became, for all intents andpurposes, the Ellis Island of
the diseased, the unwell and thedownright unlucky.
One can almost picture thescene A group of Venetian
(31:06):
senators gathered in a dimly litroom, a map of the lagoon
spread out before them.
The air is tense, probably bothwith tension and the smell of
wet togas because you know,venice can be damp and someone,
perhaps the most senior or maybejust the one who lost a bet, is
blindfolded and handed a dart.
Wherever this lands, hedeclares with the gravity only a
(31:30):
blindfolded man with a dart canmuster, shall be our quarantine
island.
The dart flies, the room holdsits breath and history is made
as the point sticks firmly intothe tiny patch of land known as
Povalia, or so we mightwhimsically imagine.
In reality, the choice ofPovalia as a quarantine zone was
(31:51):
likely driven by a combinationof its convenient isolation and
perhaps a desire to use a placethat wouldn't be so sorely
missed by the elite.
Let's pick an island we don'tuse for parties.
A senator might have suggestedthumbing through a list of
properties.
Povalia fit the bill perfectlyclose enough to monitor, but not
(32:13):
so close that the plague couldeasily hop, skip and jump its
way back to the mainland.
Thus Povalia was drafted intoservice, not as a bustling hub
of commerce or a tranquilretreat for weary Venetians, but
as a holding pen for the plagueridden.
It was an unfortunate drafting,indeed, turning the island into
(32:34):
a place of sorrow and,inevitably, a hotspot for ghost
stories and tales of woe.
The decision, made in thepragmatic spirit of Venetian
governance, underscored thecity's ruthless efficiency, yet
it also highlighted thedesperate measures societies
will resort to in times of direneed.
The irony of Povalia's new roleas the quarantine island wasn't
(32:58):
lost on the residents of Venice.
An island that had once onlybeen the backdrop for picnics
and youthful escapades was now asymbol of the city's fragility
in the face of nature's wrath.
It became a place whisperedabout in the marketplaces and
across dinner tables, an ominousreminder of what awaited those
who fell victim to the plague.
(33:19):
But what is Povalia?
Nestled somewhere in the wateryembrace of the Venetian lagoon,
like a secret kept even fromthe map, lies Povalia, an island
that, if it could talk, wouldprobably say you might want to
sit down for this.
Povalia, with a name thatsounds like a sneeze and a
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history that reads like a gothicnovel, sits quietly between the
bustling streets of Venice andthe sandy shores of the Lido.
It's an island so intriguinglyoff limits that it practically
winks at you from behind a notrespassing sign.
This small island has seen morehistory and horror than seems
entirely fair for any patch ofland not actively seeking it out
(34:04):
.
And this is Povalia, an islandthat, were it a person, would
have enough stories to keep apub full of listeners enthralled
and perhaps slightly terrifieduntil closing time.
Our story begins innocuouslyenough in the year 421, a time
when quote barbarian invasionswere of legitimate concern and
(34:28):
not just the theme of anunusually ambitious college
party.
The residents of Pajuwa andEsti, seeking refuge from such
invasions, found solace inPovalia, turning it into a
thriving community that couldrival any today.
Fast forward a few centuries,to 1378, and we find Povalia
(34:49):
caught in the crossfire of theWar of Shioca, the last of the
Genoa-Venice mashups, theresidents were moved to Gwadeka,
presumably because someonedecided that what the island
really needed was a bit of peaceand quiet, and quiet it
remained for centuries.
In fact, in a plot twist thatno one saw coming, especially
(35:10):
not the Kamudulis monks, theDoge in 1527, thought it might
be a jolly good idea to offerthe island to them.
The monks, possibly after aquick scouting trip, declined,
opting instead for places withfewer barbarian invasions in
their history.
The island then underwent atransformation that would make
(35:30):
even the most ambitious propertydeveloper blush.
In 1645, venice, in a move thatscreamed were not paranoid,
you're paranoid, built fiveoctagonal forts to keep an eye
on the lagoons' comings andgoings, and Povalia got its very
own octagon, because nothingsays stay away, quite like an
eight-sided military fort.
(35:52):
By 1776, poveglia found a newrole under the magistrato
Alessantia, acting as Venice'sbouncer, vetting goods and
people for plagues and otherparty-crashers.
In 1793, following aparticularly nasty visit from
the plague on two unsuspectingships, poveglia was repurposed
(36:15):
as a lazaretto, a sort ofpurgatory for the slightly
sniffly and decidedly sick.
It's said that over 160,000souls met their maker here,
their remains making up asignificant portion of the
island's topsoil.
Gardening on Poveglia, oneimagines, is definitely not for
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the faint of heart.
Napoleon ever the opportunistsaw fit to bulldoze the church
of San Vitale in 1805 to makeway for more practical if less
holy pursuits.
The lazaretto closed shop in1814, but not before leaving
behind a legacy of loss and asoil composition of 80% human
(37:01):
ash that would givearchaeologists nightmares.
The plot, as they say, thickens.
By 1922, the island morphed yetagain, this time into what was
officially billed as a home forthe elderly.
Unofficially, however, itbecame an asylum, a final
(37:22):
destination for those deemed toounorthodox or inconvenient by
society's standards.
Poveglia wasn't just an island.
It was a statement to thefragility of human sanity and
the lengths to which peoplewould go to isolate what they
didn't understand.
In sum, poveglia's historyreads like a guide on how not to
(37:46):
run an island From refuge tomilitary fort, from plague pit
to asylum.
It's a place where history'sdarker chapters were written,
rewritten and then buried in thefoundations.
Officially, visiting Poveglia isa no-go, a rule that adds just
the right spice of forbiddenallure to the place.
(38:07):
Yet tales of covert visits bywriters and photographers abound
, painting a picture of anisland that's less sun-soaked
paradise and more seen from ahorror movie.
And then there are the ghosthunters, who have all but
crowned Poveglia as either themost haunted island or the most
(38:28):
haunted place in the world.
Because why settle for secondplace in the spectral Olympics?
Poveglia is not your typicalisland getaway, obviously.
It's a place where historywhispers from the crumbling
walls of the buildings thatremain, where every shadow might
be hiding a ghost or perhaps avery startled seagull, and where
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the line between the past andpresent seems just a bit
blurrier than elsewhere.
If the buildings of Povegliacould talk, they might first
clear their throatsuncomfortably before launching
into a tale that would make eventhe most stoic of us reach for
a comforting glass of tea.
These structures, each with astory etched into its very
(39:12):
bricks and mortar, are witnessesstill standing of the island's
tumultuous history, a historythat veers sharply from noble
aspirations to chapters ofdespair.
There are some really goodYouTube videos, by the way, of
urban ex-explorers that havefound ways to bribe fishermen
(39:37):
into bringing them to the island.
The fishermen will drop themoff for 10 seconds and then take
off, because if the policecatch you around the island,
you're immediately arrested.
Then you just pray to God thatthe person you paid will
actually come back and pick youup.
But in some of those videosthey actually get inside the
bell tower, the hospital, theasylum, and they find the
(40:00):
kitchens and the kitchenmaterials.
If you want to really, reallyget a good picture of this, I
would almost even pause it nowand go to YouTube and find
videos of Poveglia, because it'sso worth it, it's so
fascinating.
Sorry, I got distracted becauseI was just remembering those
(40:20):
videos.
And it's worth it Do it.
Let's start with the island'schurch, or I suppose, what's
left of it.
Originally a beacon of hope anda place of worship, this
structure with its once-soringbell tower now peaks above the
trees like a skeletal fingerpointing accusingly at the sky.
The architects of this holyplace surely never imagined
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their creation would one dayoversee not the salvation of
souls but their desolation.
The church, with its gothicarches that might have once
framed stained glass windowstelling vibrant biblical tales,
now frames only the void.
Nearby, the Lazaretto buildings, erected with a noble intention
(41:04):
of quarantining and treatingthe ill, have their own stories
of despair.
These structures, designed forhealing, became the final abode
for thousands who never left.
It's a cruel irony that thevery places meant to offer
respite from the plague becameits silent accomplices.
The architecture here isutilitarian, the starkness of
(41:28):
its design reflecting the grimreality of its purpose.
Long quarters that once echoedwith the footsteps of the sick
and their caretakers now listenonly to the whispers of the wind
.
Then there's the asylum, alater addition to the island's
architectural ensemble.
If the Lazaretto buildingsspeak of a tragic past, the
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asylum screams of misguidedintentions and misunderstood
souls.
The building, possibly oncegrand and imposing, with its
sturdy facade and barred windows, was meant to be a sanctuary
too.
Instead, it became a prison forthose deemed too different, too
difficult or too inconvenient.
(42:12):
The architects of thisestablishment, with their plans
for spacious rooms andtherapeutic spaces, likely never
envisioned the shadows thatwould come to dwell within them.
Today, povelia's buildings standin various states of decay, the
island's history and humansuffering bringing them down
(42:33):
with them.
Nature is slowly reclaimingwhat was once hers, with vines
embracing crumbling walls andwildflowers peeking through
cracked pavement.
The bell tower, stripped of itsbell, stands, mute the
Lazaretto and asylum.
Their interiors, gutted by time, host only memories.
(42:56):
The entire layout of the island, with its buildings scattered
across it like forgotten toys,tells a story of decline From a
place of refuge to a place ofexile, from a community to a
quarantine.
To walk through Povelia now isto walk through a gallery of
(43:17):
ghosts, where each building isan exhibit and every breeze
carries echoes of the past.
Yet in the ruins there is ahaunting beauty.
In the heart of Povelia, therestands or rather leans slightly,
a bell tower that has certainlyseen better days.
This tower, once a proud beaconcalling the faithful to prayer,
(43:41):
has become something of areluctant celebrity in the
annals of eerie landmarks.
Its history is as layered as awell-made lasagna, albeit one
that might leave you feeling abit queasy afterward.
Originally, this bell towerserved as the island's auditory
centerpiece, its peals echoingacross the lagoon, a comforting
(44:01):
reminder of community and faith.
In those days, the bell's tollwas a sound of sanctuary, a call
to gather, celebrate, rejoiceand perhaps sometimes mourn, but
always together.
It was a symbol of hope, evenif far away from the mainland.
However, as Povelia's destinytwisted under the weight of
(44:22):
plague, war and madness, thebell tower underwent a
transformation from a beacon ofhope to, let's say, a less than
welcome herald.
Instead of calling villagers togather, it began marking the
passage of souls from this worldto the next.
Its toll no longer signifiedthe beginning of a service, but
(44:44):
the end of a life.
The job of the bell ringer inthis transformed landscape was,
to put it mildly, a peculiar one.
Imagine being a chap whosedaily to-do list included, quite
literally, sounding the alarmfor the dearly departed.
This bell ringer, a local whosename has been lost to history,
(45:06):
perhaps mercifully so, had whatonly could be described as the
most unsettling job.
In Venice, each toll of thebell was a heavy-hearted
announcement of another lifeclaimed by plague or disease.
If Venice was a city of masks,our bell ringer was behind an
auditory one, his identitycloaked by the very tolls he
(45:27):
sounded.
Legend has it that this bellringer, after years of his
morose duty, began to claim thathe could hear the voices of the
departed in the tolling of thebell, that each peal was
accompanied by whisperedfarewells or anguished cries.
Whether these claims were theresult of an overactive
(45:48):
imagination or truly somethingmore spectral, we can't say, but
it adds a certain chill to thealready goose, bump-inducing job
description.
Today, of course, the bell towerstands silent.
Its bell long since removed,perhaps in mercy to the island's
restless spirits.
Or perhaps even ghosts need alittle bit of peace and quiet
(46:12):
now and then.
The story goes that the islandwasn't quite ready to relinquish
all of its inhabitants to thepeaceful slumber of the
afterlife.
Instead, it seems, theypreferred to linger much to this
may of the asylum's20th-century residence.
Imagine being a patient at thisplace, where the line between
(46:34):
the horrors of the mind andthose of the world was as thin
as the veil between life anddeath.
These poor souls reportedseeing shadows flit through
their rooms, shadows that didn'tquite fit with the living world
and certainly didn't belong toany friendly visitor.
Night brought no respite, onlythe wails and moanings of
suffering spirits echoingthrough the halls.
(46:55):
One can hardly blame thedoctors for being skeptical.
After all, diagnosingghost-induced insomnia isn't
probably covered in medicalschool.
Yet the true horror of Povegliawasn't its haunted nights but
the daylight horrors inflictedby a doctor whose name has also
been lost to history.
(47:16):
And fucking good riddance.
This man with ideas as twistedas the wrought iron gates of the
asylum, believed lobotomieswere the key to curing mental
illness.
His tools of choice werehammers, chisels and drills,
applied with a barbarity thatwould make even a medieval
torture wins.
(47:37):
Anesthesia was apparently forthe weak, and sanitation a mere
suggestion.
One shutters to think of thepain and terror his patients
endured under the guise oftreatment.
The legend doesn't end with hisgruesome practices, however.
The ghost of those wronged,tired of their ethereal
(47:58):
existence being disturbed bysuch barbarity, are said to have
driven this mad doctor tomadness himself.
The tale takes a leap, quiteliterally, as the doctor,
tormented beyond his limits,either jumps or is propelled
from the iconic clock tower.
But fate, it seems, had a grimsense of irony and the fall
(48:22):
didn't claim his life.
Instead, a strange, mysteriousfog, perhaps the very breath of
the vengeful dead finished thejob and he was never seen again.
And here's where the tale twiststhe knife of tragedy and terror
.
One final time, on certainnights, when the lagoon is as
(48:45):
still as death itself, the bellof Poveglia tolls.
The toll's not from the tower,for the bell is long gone, but
from somewhere deep within theisland's sorrowful soul.
So if you ever find yourselfdrifting through the Venetian
lagoon at night and you bettertake me with you, if you do and
(49:06):
hear the distant sound of a bell, spare a thought for the lost
souls of Poveglia, all 160,000of them, whose cremated ashes
still, to this day, make upabout 80% of the island's soil,
for in their tale lies achilling lesson Sometimes the
true horrors aren't those of thespirit world, but the cruelties
(49:30):
we inflict upon each other inthis one.
Since its closure in 1969, theisland has stood silent, save
for the whispers of the wind andthe occasional intrepid or
foolhardy soul daring enough toexplore its decrepit ruins.
It's hardly surprising, then,that Poveglia has become
(49:51):
something of a mecca for thoseintrigued by the supernatural.
The island's potent blend ofhistory, horror and mystery
makes it truly irresistible.
In 2009, the crew of GhostAdventures cast their spotlight
on the shadowed isle, dedicatingan episode to its exploration.
Their adventures, broadcast toeager audiences around the world
(50:15):
, added a modern chapter toPoveglia's ghostly lore.
But it's not just professionalghost hunters who find
themselves drawn to the island'seerie embrace.
In 2016, a tale that sounds asthough it leapt straight from
the pages of a gothic novelunfolded when a group of
Americans from Colorado hey,colorado found themselves in
(50:38):
need of rescue.
Then, traying onto Povegliaunder the cloak of night, they
soon discovered that some placeswere their legends, not as mere
cloaks, but as armor Found byfirefighters in the state of
shock.
Their panic painted a vividpicture of an encounter not with
the physical remnants of theisland's past, but with its
(50:59):
spectral inhabitants.
The island, it seems, is alivewith sounds that have no earthly
business in a place longabandoned by the living.
Voices, screams and lamentsdrift on the night air, a
symphony for which there is noaudience, save for the
occasional unwelcome visitor.
(51:20):
Researchers braving theisland's unwelcoming aura have
recorded odd electromagneticfields enveloping the entire
perimeter, a phenomenon all themore chilling for the island's
complete lack of electricity.
What is it about Poveglia thatholds such a grip on the
imagination.
Perhaps it's the allure of theunknown, as always, or maybe the
(51:44):
thrill of confronting our fearshead on.
Or possibly it's the simplehuman desire to connect with the
past, however dark that pastmight be.
Whatever the reason, povegliaremains a place where the
boundary between legend andreality is as thin as the mist
that often surrounds its shores.
(52:05):
In today's world, where theboundaries of exploration are
constantly being pushed to theedges of the map and beyond,
there exists a curious paradoxin the form of Poveglia, an
island that, officially, you'renot supposed to visit.
It's a bit like being told notto push a big red button.
The prohibition only adds toits allure.
(52:28):
Venice, with all its splendor,openly shares its riches, yet
it's this off-limit speck in thelagoon that captures the
imagination of the intrepid andthe inquisitive.
The rules are clear Without anod from the municipality,
setting foot on Poveglia is anabsolute no-go, with the threat
of criminal charges looming overwould-be adventurers.
(52:50):
Yet, as is the way withforbidden fruit, the island
draws tourists like moths to aflame or, perhaps more aptly,
like ghost hunters to anabandoned asylum.
They come in private boats orwater taxis, slipping through
the legal net for a chance towalk among the whispers of the
(53:10):
past.
It's a secret pilgrimage, a nodto the human penchant for
seeking out the mysteries thatlie just beyond our reach.
The tales of Poveglia are many,woven into the fabric of local
lore and whispered down throughgenerations.
Yet no official ledger, ofcourse, exists.
It's a narrative built onshadows and sightings, on
(53:33):
feelings and fears.
Those who have dared to breachits shores, driven by curiosity
or bravado, find themselvesenveloped in an atmosphere thick
with the kind of spine-tinglingeeriness that no amount of
sunshine can dispel.
Poveglia, with its crumbledfacades and overgrown pathways,
(53:53):
seems to exist in a perpetualtwilight, not just of the day
but of the soul.
The island, often dubbed theisland of no return, lives up to
its name, not because visitorscan't leave though one imagines
a few might hesitate to turntheir backs on its unseen
inhabitants, but because theimpressions it leaves are
(54:16):
indelible.
Poveglia's history is pepperedwith tales that blur the line
between the chill of historicalfact and the warmth of local
folklore.
Among these, the spectralsightings and fisherman's tales
stand out not just for theirability to unsettle but for
their sheer persistence in thecollective memory of those
familiar with the island's past.
(54:37):
It's as if Poveglia itselfrefuses to let go of its stories
.
One such tale that has beenpassed down through generations
involves a particularlyaudacious phantom known among
the local fishing community forits penchant for mischief.
It's said that this ghost,perhaps a former resident with a
fondness for the sea, or maybea wayward spirit with a sense of
(55:00):
humor, takes a certain delightin startling fishermen.
The story goes that on nightswhen the moon casts a silvery
glow over the lagoon, making thewaters around Poveglia eerily
beautiful, this spectral figureemerges from the depths.
Fishermen focused on their netsin the promise of a bountiful
catch often find themselves theunwitting audience to this
(55:22):
ghost's performance.
With a sudden whoosh of coldair and a mischievous cackle
that seems to dance across thewaves, the ghost swoops down,
sending the fish scattering inpanic.
Nets, once heavy with thenight's work, come up
startlingly empty.
The fishermen, with heartsracing in their catches lost,
(55:43):
are left with nothing but achilling story to share with
those brave enough to listen.
There are stories of shadowsthat move against the logic of
light, of whispers carried onthe wind that speak in tongues
long forgotten, and of suddendrops in temperature that leave
visitors shivering, their breathfogging in the air.
These sightings are as much apart of the island's history, as
(56:06):
the buildings that standdecaying under the Venetian sun,
and these fishermen serve as amodern-day bard for Poveglia.
Sharing their tales, theyensure that the island's haunted
history remains alive, passedfrom one generation to the next
a legacy of fear, fascinationand a certain respect for the
(56:27):
mysteries that lie just beyondour understanding.
In a move that seemed to suggestItaly was rummaging through its
attic looking for things tosell, the state decided in 2014
to auction off a 99-year leaseon Poveglia, the island that
history forgot to cheer up.
The idea was to keep theownership, but let someone else
(56:49):
turn its rather desolatehospital into the sort of luxury
hotel where guests might pay asmall fortune to sleep in rooms
that once housed plague victims.
You know for that authentichaunted holiday experience
Hunter Luigi Brognaro, anItalian businessman with a
vision and a wallet ready totransform this island of despair
(57:09):
into a haven of high-threadcount sheets and complimentary
bathrobes.
Brognaro, with a bid of 513,000euros, had dreams of pouring 20
million euros into making theisland's hospital a place where
you'd actually want to stay,like voluntarily.
However, his grand plans hit asnag when it turned out, his
(57:31):
project didn't quite tick allthe boxes the Italian state had
in mind.
There were whispers, too, thatperhaps his bid was a tad on the
low side, which, in the worldof auctioning haunted islands,
is apparently a big no-no.
In a plot twist worthy of aVenetian opera, brognaro, having
initially resisted thecancellation of his lease,
(57:52):
became the mayor of Venice andpromptly decided he had other
fish to fry, leaving Poveglia toits ghosts and overgrown weeds.
Not to be outdone, a privategroup named Poveglia Pertuti
which sounds like a call to armsfor ghost enthusiasts and
luxury hotel developers alikefloated the idea, in 2015, of
(58:14):
turning the island intosomething out of a tourism
brochure.
They envisioned a public park,a marina for all your yachting
needs, a restaurant, presumablywith a menu featuring less
haunted dishes, a hostel and astudy center, because nothing
says relaxing getaway, quitelike the phrase study center.
Despite their ambitions and abudget supposedly in the 25-30
(58:38):
million euro range, povegliaremained stubbornly vacant as of
2024.
As for the island's real estate, it hosts a collection of
buildings that would make anyfixer upper show host blanche.
There's a cavena or a boat shedfor the uninitiated, a church
that's seen better days, ahospital, an asylum because
(59:00):
obviously there's an asylum abell tower that's lost its bell,
but not its charm and variousbuildings that once served as
housing or offices for thedecidedly brazed staff.
The bell tower, a relic fromthe 12th century, is perhaps the
most striking feature, standingtall as a lighthouse and a
reminder of the church of SanBattale, which met its untimely
(59:22):
demise in 1806.
A sign still points the way toRapparto Psychiatrina or
psychiatric department, a trulyhaunting reminder of the
island's past, as documented byransom rigs in his photo essay.
And while rumors of a prison onPavilion persist, evidence
(59:42):
remains as elusive as the ghoststhemselves.
A bridge ties the main islandto its slightly smaller, greener
cousin, a place given over tonature and possibly picnicking
spirits.
Nearby, the octagonal fortstill sits on its own little
patch of land, unconnected andaloof, wearing its earthen
(01:00:04):
rampart and brick facade withthe dignity of a structure
that's seen at all.
If Povellia Island were to penits memoirs, whole chapters
would need to be dedicated toits rather morbid garden
features the plague pits.
These were not the sort of pitsone might fall into during a
spirited game of capture theflag, but rather the final
(01:00:26):
resting place for an astonishingnumber of souls.
National Geographic, with thesomber authority of a magazine
that's seen its fair share ofglobal tragedies suggests a
staggering 100,000 people mettheir end on the island.
Atlas Obscura ever, thepurveyor of the world's hidden
wonders and horrors, ups theante with an estimate of 160,000
(01:00:50):
.
Evacurate Povellia's soil isless dirt and more well human
ash.
But maybe it's time to step backnow and admire this macabre
mosaic we've pieced together theisland with its history.
(01:01:14):
Each layer more unsettling thanthe last is not just a chapter
in Venice's storied past.
It's a whole volume dedicatedto the darker side of human
endeavor.
From its initial role as areluctant refuge from marauding
barbarians to its final act as adecrepit asylum, povellia
weaves a tapestry of tragedy sorich it would make the most
(01:01:36):
stoic historian reach for acomforting glass of wine.
And yet, amidst the tales ofwoe and whispers of the departed
, there lies a peculiar strandof human optimism A belief that
perhaps, with a bit of elbowgrease and a healthy disregard
for ghostly tenants, one couldturn a place of despair into a
charming bed and breakfast.
Imagine the brochure Cozy up inour historically haunted asylum
(01:02:01):
, where the only thing you'lllose is your ability to sleep
soundly.
The segment on home renovationshows that we'll likely never
see and for good reasonPovellia's ambiance, thick with
the echoes of its past residence, doesn't lend itself to quaint
BNB aesthetic.
It should be serving as areminder that some places rich
(01:02:22):
in history and sorrow are bestleft untouched, their stories
preserved rather than repurposed.
But of course, we can't dwelltoo long in the shadows of
Povellia without acknowledgingthat it's but one star in a
galaxy of haunted locales.
As we cast our gaze wider, itbecomes clear that Povellia's
(01:02:43):
A-list status in the realm ofspectral hotspots is both well
earned and yet somewhat limiting.
Across the globe there existcountless boutique hauntings, if
you will, each with its ownunique flavor of fright, from
the ancient castles of Europeechoing with the footsteps of
long dead lords and ladies, tothe forgotten asylums of America
(01:03:05):
, whose decaying halls are ripewith tales of despair.
The world is a veritablesmorgasbord of spooky.
These locations that we covertogether, each with their own
legion of loyal ghost huntersand thrill seekers, prove to us
that the fascination with theparanormal is a universal trait.
It's a comforting thought in away that, across cultures and
(01:03:28):
continents, we share acollective curiosity for the
unknown, a willingness toexplore the shadows in search of
stories that remind us of thethin veil between this world and
the next.
In the end, povellia, with itsplague pits haunted asylum in
bell tower that tolls for no one, is a potent symbol of this
(01:03:49):
fascination.
And as always, I like to ask whydoes any of this matter?
In a world brimming withinformation, where the present
often demands all of ourattention, why look back at the
shadows cast by an abandonedisland's haunted past?
The answer perhaps lies in thevery essence of what it means to
(01:04:13):
be human.
Our History, with its triumphsand tragedies, shape us.
It molds our societies,influences our beliefs and
colors our perceptions of theworld.
By exploring stories likePovellias, we're given a chance
to reflect on our own place inthe continuum of history, to
(01:04:36):
ponder the legacy that we'llleave behind for those who will
one day whisper our names.
History, humanity and thehauntings that bridge the two
are inextricably linked, each athread in the story of who we
are and the words of the late,great Carl Sagan we make our
(01:04:57):
world significant by the courageof our questions and by the
depths of our answers.
Povellia, with its layers ofquestions and whispers of
answers, invites us to be socourageous, to delve deep and to
find significance in thestories we uncover.
Speaker 1 (01:05:43):
Povellia, with its layers of questions and whispers
of answers, invites us to be socourageous to delve deep and to
(01:06:15):
find significance in thestories we uncover.
Speaker 2 (01:06:26):
This has been another episode of when Walls Can Talk,
the podcast.
I'm your host, jeremy Haig.
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allows our podcast to reach newpeople, and I don't want to take
(01:07:32):
too much more of your timeexcept to say thank you, and I
hope you enjoyed today's tale.
Next week we're traveling toHaunted Romania, deep into the
forests of Transylvania.
If you're ready to visit theHoi Ba Chu Forest, pack a bag
and bring your hiking shoes.
Haunted Romania.
(01:08:14):
Haunted Romania, hauntedRomania, haunted Romania.
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