4.7 | The Island of Ash: The Abandoned Island of Poveglia

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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Transcript

Speaker 2: 0:22

Venous, a city so drenched in charm and history that it can afford to keep a few skeletons in its closet, or, as fate would have it, on a little island just a short gondola ride away. Let me tell you about Poveglia, a place that could very well make the stoutest of Venetian hearts skip a beat, and not in the romantic Boat Ride at Sunset kind of way. It's a spot so infamous locals wandering through the majestic Piazza San Marco would rather walk into a canal than whisper its name. It's not exactly Voldemort, but saying Poveglia out loud there could, they fear, bring a spot of bad luck. A touch irrational perhaps, but then history has a way of embedding itself into local superstition, especially when it's as colorful as Poveglia's. Now, why the collective shudder at its mention? Let's just say that Poveglia has a backstory that, if it were a novel, would be the kind you hastily read with all the lights on. In the 18th century it became the kind of resting place where rest might be the last thing its inhabitants found, courtesy of the plague. Fast forward a few hundred years and it's the setting of a mental asylum where the only thing more unsettling than its treatments, where the screams echoing off its walls. So not exactly the place for a leisurely picnic, unless you enjoy dining with a side of existential dread.

Speaker 2: 1:59

For years, even the bravest fishermen gave Poveglia a wide berth, as if fearing their nets might catch something a bit more spectral than fish. Its notoriety grew, transforming it from a local horror story to a legend whispered across Europe. Yet there's something irresistibly human about poking the bear or, in this case, rowing towards the island everyone else is rowing away from, despite, or perhaps because of, its macabre tails. Some souls, driven by curiosity or maybe a penchant for the macabre, are drawn to Poveglia, eager to strip back its shadowy veil in search of truth or at least a good scare. So as we set off on this journey through whispers and shadows, let's explore what makes Poveglia, the world's most reluctant tourist attraction, so fascinatingly repulsive.

Speaker 2: 2:56

I'm Jeremy Haig, and if walls could talk, poveglia's would probably scream. Throughout the ages, man has repeated the same earnest saying more of a question, really, or perhaps even a plea. If these walls could talk, but what if they do? And always have? Perhaps their stories, memories and messages are all around us. If only we would take the moment to listen. On this podcast, we reinvestigate legends and tales of the past and allow the echoes of their lessons to live on once again informing us, educating us and sharing new and unique insight into the inner workings of the paranormal and spiritual world. Will you dare to listen? This is when Walls Can Talk the podcast.

Speaker 2: 5:14

In the northeastern stretch of Italy, lying as if by some splendid accident or a stroke of an artist's whimsy, is Venice. This city isn't moored to the mainland as others are. No, venice is something else entirely, a marvel sprawled across 118 tiny islands. These specks of land, some scarcely larger than your average city park, are cobwebbed together by a bewildering array of over 400 bridges. The canals, those watery arteries of the city weave through it, carrying the whispered secrets and the boisterous history of ages past, nestled within the protective arms of the Venetian lagoon. Venice stretches out over a majestic 32 miles, from Gieselo in the north down to Cioca in the south. But this lagoon isn't just a backdrop for the sort of photographs that tourists zealously guard as treasures. Historically, it's been Venice's guardian angel, a natural moat against the less savory intentions of ancient marauders, a sanctuary brimming with marine biodiversity and the birthplace of salt pans that once were as valuable as gold. Crafted by the hands of nature herself, the lagoon is a masterpiece of environmental engineering. The tides of the Adriatic, along with the nurturing flows of the Alpine rivers, have sculpted this lagoon into being. It's a marvel, really, how the very tides that shape its existence also serve as Venice's own natural sanitation crew purging its canals with a thorough rinse twice a day. Yet with such beauty comes an inherent delicacy.

Speaker 2: 7:02

As Venice grew, its embrace with the lagoon became more of a complicated dance. The 20th century, with all its progress and innovations, didn't come without its consequences. Channels were dug deeper, diverting the ancient flows of water. Fast quantities of water were siphoned from the mainland, toying with the delicate equilibrium established over millennia. Then there's the relentless push of the Adriatic Sea and the ever-so-subtle shifts in the Poe River basin. Gradually, almost imperceptibly, the ground beneath Venice has been sinking. And now Venice, that ethereal city afloat on dreams and water, faces a tangible threat the prospect of succumbing to the very waters that have cradled it through history. The looming question now is whether Venice, a city that's as much a product of human ingenuity as it is of natural forces, can once again adapt and endure in the face of a world that's changing faster than ever before, in a manner that only Venice could manage.

Speaker 2: 8:24

The city began to sprout from the lagoon's marshy embrace around the 7th century, as if by some grand, silent agreement. People started to drift in from the mainland, attracted perhaps by the lack of marauding barbarians or the appealing notion of living in houses that seemed to float on water. These new arrivals weren't just any old crowd. They were the sort who looked at a swamp and saw potential for an urban development project that could make property developers today weep with envy. In the heart of this burgeoning watery experiment was an area that was not as much known as Rivo Alto, which sounds like a place where you might buy an exceptionally good espresso, but as time and language tinkered away at it, rivo Alto morphed into the Rialto, a name now synonymous with markets, bridges and making tourists part with their money in exchange for glass trinkets. And overseeing all of this was the doge, not to be confused with a meme of Ishiba Inu, but a leader whose title dripped with as much power and dignity as one could muster, while wearing a hat that looked like a golden pastry.

Speaker 2: 9:35

Venice today is like a magnet for the soul. It draws in those who breathe art, those who devour history and those who just really need a good Instagram backdrop the Grand Canal, venice's show-off street, snakes its way through the city for over two miles. It's flanked by buildings that have seen more history than most countries, standing as silent custodians of Venice's past glories and, let's be honest, a fair number of its follies. As you float down the Grand Canal on a gondola, beneath bridges that have supported the feet of countless Venetians, it's hard not to think about the secrets that the water beneath you has kept. How many whispered declarations of love, underhand political dealings or dramatic tales of boom and bust are etched into the stones lining its banks?

Speaker 2: 10:31

Venice, with its maze of canals and labyrinthian alleyways, is a city that delights in contradiction. It's a place where a fleeting look across a teeming square could ignite a romance worthy of a Shakespearean drama, or where the quiet machinations in the shadowy nooks could very well topple dynasties. This isn't just about the opulent displays of art or the architectural wonders that seem to defy gravity and reason. It's about the very essence of Venice itself. The stones underfoot, the water that laps against ancient foundations, have been there to witness the comings and goings of doges, the creative storms of artists and the clandestine rendezvous of figures who blend with the night. The city is a siren drawing in throngs of visitors, with promises of unparalleled splendor and a richness of culture that's hard to find elsewhere. Yet the discerning wanderer understands that Venice's true allure isn't just in the feast for the eyes that it offers. The real enchantment of Venice is its uncanny power to whisk you away, not merely through the spectacle of its streets and buildings, but into the depths of its dark history. Here, every corner temps with a mystery, every shadowed alley whispers of the past. Venice is in a city where history is confined to the pages of forgotten tomes, dusty and hidden in dark shelves. Here, history throbs with life, painting every canal and alley with the colors of its tales, inviting those who pass by to lose themselves in the narrative woven into the very fabric of this truly bewitching city.

Speaker 2: 12:22

The saga of Venice doesn't kick off with the usual cast of regal characters or grand architectural marvels. Instead, it begins with a group of folks motivated not by visions of grandeur but by a pressing desire to not be overrun by barbarians. Around the 5th century AD, as the Roman Empire started to look less like the world's most formidable power and more like a target practice for any barbarian with ambition, a band of refugees the Veneti, decided it was time to find a safer zip code. Imagine them landing on what was essentially a collection of soggy bits of land in the middle of the Venetian lagoon. To the untrained eye, it looked like the sort of place you'd be more likely to catch a cold than start a civilization. But, as history would have it, these were folks with a knack for seeing real estate potential where others saw only wet socks. With a spirit that could only be described as stubbornly optimistic, they set about turning these marshy islands into the foundations of what would not only become just city but a shining beacon of trade and affluence.

Speaker 2: 13:35

The very waters that seemed like a questionable choice for urban development turned out to be Venice's secret sauce. The city's canals weren't just picturesque backdrops for future postcards, but were the super highways of the medieval world. Pictureships heavy with the wealth of the world gliding towards Venice, they carried not just the tangible spices that tickled the nose, silks that caressed the skin, but also the intangible promise of prosperity. At the helm of this burgeoning trade empire were the doges, and don't let the modest title fool you. These were men who wielded power with the subtlety of a sledgehammer and a world where might didn't just mean right, it meant wealth. Under their watch, venice transformed from a group of waterlogged islands into a hub of opulence, a place where the clinking of duckets was the soundtrack to daily life and where the city itself seemed to rise mirage-like from its unlikely beginnings to stand as a titan of commerce and culture. Bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun, venice is often pictured with merchant ships, its winding canals acting as bustling highways. But look beyond that shimmering façade and there's a depth to Venice that transcends mere trade and commerce.

Speaker 2: 15:01

Venice, at its core, has always been a canvas of human expression. During the Renaissance, when most of Europe was in the throes of a cultural rebirth, venice was not just a silent spectator, but a vibrant epicenter. Walk down any alley and you could have chanced upon a masterpiece in the making. Imagine the maestro Titian, lost in thought, his brushstrokes bringing to life another vivid portrait. Or Tintoretto, passionately molding hues and forms, his canvases echoing with emotion. And then there was Verones, with his grand scenes, ensuring that every corner of Venice breathed art.

Speaker 2: 15:43

Yet for all its radiance, Venice also bore the scars of its tumultuous history. The very air in the 14th century felt heavy, not just with the aroma of paints and the distant sound of Evaldi's strings, but with the impending doom of the Black Death. It swept through Venice with merciless fury, claiming almost half of its people. The city then, known for its vibrancy, felt the hush of mourning Even as it grappled with such tragedy, the shadow of war loomed large over them. The Adriatic wasn't just a serene expanse, but often a tempestuous battleground. In its battle for dominance, venice found itself entwined in fierce battles, sometimes as the aggressor, sometimes as the defender. And within its ornate halls and along its canals, political machinations thrived. Factions whispered in darkened corners, each plotting, each yearning for the seat of power.

Speaker 2: 16:51

One of the most fascinating aspects of Venice's history is its unique political system. Venice was ruled by a doge who was elected by a council of nobles. The doge had immense power, but he was also heavily restricted by a complex system of checks and balances. Venice was also home to one of the world's first secret services, known as the Council of Ten, which was responsible for maintaining law and order and rooting out political dissent. Perhaps the most famous event in Venice's history is the Carnival, a two-week-long festival that takes place every year in the weeks leading up to Lent. The Carnival is a time of revelry and excess, with masquerade balls, elaborate costumes and street parties taking place throughout the city.

Speaker 2: 17:42

Venice's history is also steeped in legend and mythology. One of the most famous stories is that of the doge's palace, which is said to be haunted by the ghosts of past doges. Legend has it that if you listen closely, you can still hear the footsteps of the doges echoing through the palace's halls. Another legend tells of the bridge of Psy's, which connects the doge's palace to the city's prison. The bridge is said to be named for the prisoners who would Psy, as they crossed it knowing they would never see the outside world again.

Speaker 2: 18:19

The canals of Venice, as we know, are a trademark of this iconic city, and the most recognized mode of transportation through these canals is the gondola. The gondola is a flat-bottomed boat which is tapered at both ends with a high steel or wooden prow and stern. The boats have no keel, making them perfectly suited to the shallow waters of the canals. The gondola is also propelled by a single oarsman, known as a gondolier, who stands at the stern and uses a single oar to move the boat forward. Today, only a few hundred gondolas remain in the city, but they still retain their status as an enduring symbol of Venice. Their elegant and sleek design, coupled with their glossy black paintwork, makes them a coveted feature of the city's waterways.

Speaker 2: 19:11

For centuries, writers and poets have romanticized the beauty of Venice by gondola, and many tourists still flock to the city to experience this unique mode of transport. Once, gondoliers were renowned for their ability to recite verses from Italian poets like Ariosto and Tosso while expertly navigating their vessels through the sharp bends of the canals. While this tradition has mostly disappeared, gondolas still use their singing skills to entertain their passengers during their twilight rides through the canals. The tradition of the gondolier singing, or El Canto, can be traced back to the 19th century, when Venetians began using their songs as a way to celebrate their culture and history. With the rising cost of maintenance and dwindling numbers of gondoliers, it is possible that this iconic form of transport may one day disappear from the city's waterways altogether. Nevertheless, the gondola will always hold a special place in the hearts of Venetians and visitors alike, as a timeless symbol of the romantic and captivating city of Venice. The city stands out not just as a place of incomparable beauty and wealth, but as a hub of innovation, especially in the face of adversity.

Speaker 2: 20:36

The story of how Venice dealt with the bubonic plague is not just a tale of disease and death. It's a tale of human ingenuity, desperation and, quite frankly, a series of measures that might make modern health officials raise an eyebrow or two. Venice's ascent to become a luxurious crossroads of the medieval world was no accident. Its strategic position on the Adriatic Sea made it a go-to place for trade between the east and west. Goods from as far as China and India made their way to Europe through Venice's bustling markets. Spices that could make a bland stew worthy of a king's table, silks that shimmered in the sunlight and gold that could tempt even the most ascetic monk were common sights in its markets. It was the medieval equivalent of a high-end shopping mall where the world came to trade, negotiate and, occasionally, plot intrigue. However, with great wealth came great challenges. The very ships that carried spices, silks and stories from distant lands also brought with them an unwelcome passenger the bubonic plague, this deadly disease caused by the bacterium your syniopestis and often transmitted by fleas hitching a ride on rats, found in the crowded and bustling city of Venice a perfect breeding ground. The plague did not discriminate. It cut through the population, leaving despair in its wake.

Speaker 2: 22:13

The response of the Venetian Republic to this calamity was in many ways ahead of its time. Recognizing the threat that the plague posed, not just to the health of its citizens but to the economic vitality of the city, venice introduced one of the world's first quarantine measures. The term quarantine itself comes from the Italian Quaranta Giorni, meaning 40 days. This was the period ships were required to anchor offshore before their crews could set foot in the city, in hopes that any disease on board would reveal itself in that time. In theory, a splendid idea. In practice, a period of anxious waiting where the fate of a ship's crew and potentially the city itself hung in the balance. Venice also established the world's first lazaretos Quarantine stations on nearby islands where individuals suspected of carrying the plague would be isolated. These were not luxury accommodations by any stretch of the imagination. They were places of limbo purgatory where people waited to either recover or succumb to the disease. The conditions were harsh, but the alternative letting the plague run rampant through the city was unthinkable.

Speaker 2: 23:37

It's a remarkable expression of Venice's resilience that it managed to emerge from the plague years not weakened but stronger, with systems in place that would influence public health policies for centuries to come. The city's leaders understood something fundamental about managing a crisis the importance of decisive action even in the face of uncertainty. Their efforts to control the spread of the plague using the tools and knowledge they had at the time were nothing short of revolutionary. The plague chronicles of Venice, then, are more than just a historical footnote in its history. They're a story of a city at the crossroads of the world grappling with the crisis that threatened its very existence. Venice's response to the plague a combination of quarantine measures, public health initiatives and, let's be honest, a little bit of luck demonstrated a level of sophistication in public health policy that was truly unparalleled at the time, and while the methods may seem rudimentary by today's standards, they laid the groundwork for modern epidemiology and infection control measures.

Speaker 2: 25:03

If there's one thing that can be said 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 of quote advanced medicine practices from the era, we find ourselves in a realm where the boundary between the esteemed physician and the local witch doctor was as indistinct as a foggy night on the Scottish Highlands. Let's start with the basics the Four Humors Not a comedy troupe, but the foundation of medieval medical theory, which posited that the human body was governed by four fluids Blood, phlegm, black bile and yellow bile. The balance of these humors was believed to influence one's health, temperament and even personality. Feeling a little melancholic, too much black bile, a little bit sanguine, you've got blood to spare. The solution to most ailments therefore involved balancing these humors, often through methods that today would be considered less treatment and more torture.

Speaker 2: 26:13

Bloodletting was the medieval doctor's go-to move, a sort of medical panacea that could supposedly cure everything from headaches to heartbreak. The logic was simple Too much blood caused problems, so removing some would surely help. This was done with a phlegm, a specialized bloodletting knife, or with the help of leeches, the latter of which could at least claim to be practicing medicine without a license. Then there were the remedies, concoctions that would make your average flu shot seem as pleasant as a stroll through a rose garden. One popular prescription for various ailments involved powdered emerald, which was about as effective as you'd imagine. Grinding up a precious stone and ingesting it would be. Another, for those particularly tough cases of the plague, was a poultice made from chopped up snakes. Of course, no overview of medieval medicine would be complete without acknowledging the role of prayer and a healthy dose of luck, because when your doctor is just as likely to prescribe a frog attached to your chin as he is to recommend rest and hydration, you're going to need all the help you can get. In the end, medieval medicine was a curious blend of observation, superstition and outright guesswork. Its practitioners walked a fine line between innovator and charlatan, often within the same treatment plan. While we might chuckle at the absurdities of their methods, it's a humbling reminder of how far we've come and a cautionary tale of the dangers of medical advice from anyone wearing more rings than a jeweler.

Speaker 2: 27:54

As Venice grappled with the grip of the Black Death, this peculiar character, the plague doctor, became something of a dark celebrity. They were the medical equivalent of arriving at a party and immediately knowing who the DJ was. Except in this instance, the party was a pandemic and the DJ was dressed for a funeral in a bird costume. The plague doctor's attire, though macabre and scary even, was a masterpiece of early health and safety gear, which some may not know. The beaked mask resembling a bird ready for a masquerade ball was not just for show. It was an early attempt at a gas mask filled to the brim with every aromatic herb and spice one could pilfer from the kitchen without the cook noticing. Lavender, mint, cloves and anything else that smelled potent enough to knock a grown man to his knees were stuffed into that beak. The theory was simple and frankly effective. Bad air out, good air in, or at the very least, air that smelled like a heavily seasoned roast. But let's spare a thought for the man beneath the mask, despite resembling the embodiment of death itself.

Speaker 2: 29:11

On a casual stroll through Venice, the plague doctor was more often than not a last resort, a sign that things had taken a dire turn. Their appearance at your doorstep was akin to reading a review of a restaurant that began with well. The ambulance arrived promptly and yet, despite their foreboding exterior, these doctors were on the front lines, dancing a dangerous tango with death at every turn. The heavy robes and wax-coated fabric were their only shields against the invisible killer that ravaged the city. These garments, while offering some protection, also made a day's work, akin to wearing a sauna suit and a heat wave. The life of a plague doctor was fraught with peril. Their daily rounds brought them face to face with the very essence of human fragility tending to the sick, the dying and the dead with equal parts compassion and clinical detachment. It's no surprise that many succumbed to the very affliction they sought to combat. Yet their commitment to their grim task, armed with little more than a stick for examining patients without getting too close, and to prayer, was a testament to the resilience of their spirit. In hindsight, the plague doctors of Venice, with their bird-like masks in ominous attire, were less harbingers of doom and more unsung heroes of a city under siege by an unseen enemy.

Speaker 2: 30:41

In the grand scheme of things, povalia's selection as a quarantine zone could easily be mistaken for a decision made through a process as scientifically rigorous as drawing straws. This tiny island, barely a hiccup in the Venetian lagoon, became, for all intents and purposes, the Ellis Island of the diseased, the unwell and the downright unlucky. One can almost picture the scene A group of Venetian senators gathered in a dimly lit room, a map of the lagoon spread out before them. The air is tense, probably both with tension and the smell of wet togas because you know, venice can be damp and someone, perhaps the most senior or maybe just the one who lost a bet, is blindfolded and handed a dart. Wherever this lands, he declares with the gravity only a blindfolded man with a dart can muster, shall be our quarantine island. The dart flies, the room holds its breath and history is made as the point sticks firmly into the tiny patch of land known as Povalia, or so we might whimsically imagine.

Speaker 2: 31:51

In reality, the choice of Povalia as a quarantine zone was likely driven by a combination of its convenient isolation and perhaps a desire to use a place that wouldn't be so sorely missed by the elite. Let's pick an island we don't use for parties. A senator might have suggested thumbing through a list of properties. Povalia fit the bill perfectly close enough to monitor, but not so close that the plague could easily hop, skip and jump its way back to the mainland. Thus Povalia was drafted into service, not as a bustling hub of commerce or a tranquil retreat for weary Venetians, but as a holding pen for the plague ridden. It was an unfortunate drafting, indeed, turning the island into a place of sorrow and, inevitably, a hotspot for ghost stories and tales of woe. The decision, made in the pragmatic spirit of Venetian governance, underscored the city's ruthless efficiency, yet it also highlighted the desperate measures societies will resort to in times of dire need.

Speaker 2: 32:58

The irony of Povalia's new role as the quarantine island wasn't lost on the residents of Venice. An island that had once only been the backdrop for picnics and youthful escapades was now a symbol of the city's fragility in the face of nature's wrath. It became a place whispered about in the marketplaces and across dinner tables, an ominous reminder of what awaited those who fell victim to the plague. But what is Povalia? Nestled somewhere in the watery embrace of the Venetian lagoon, like a secret kept even from the map, lies Povalia, an island that, if it could talk, would probably say you might want to sit down for this. Povalia, with a name that sounds like a sneeze and a history that reads like a gothic novel, sits quietly between the bustling streets of Venice and the sandy shores of the Lido. It's an island so intriguingly off limits that it practically winks at you from behind a no trespassing sign. This small island has seen more history and horror than seems entirely fair for any patch of land not actively seeking it out. And this is Povalia, an island that, were it a person, would have enough stories to keep a pub full of listeners enthralled and perhaps slightly terrified until closing time.

Speaker 2: 34:22

Our story begins innocuously enough in the year 421, a time when quote barbarian invasions were of legitimate concern and not just the theme of an unusually ambitious college party. The residents of Pajuwa and Esti, seeking refuge from such invasions, found solace in Povalia, turning it into a thriving community that could rival any today. Fast forward a few centuries, to 1378, and we find Povalia caught in the crossfire of the War of Shioca, the last of the Genoa-Venice mashups, the residents were moved to Gwadeka, presumably because someone decided that what the island really needed was a bit of peace and quiet, and quiet it remained for centuries. In fact, in a plot twist that no one saw coming, especially not the Kamudulis monks, the Doge in 1527, thought it might be a jolly good idea to offer the island to them. The monks, possibly after a quick scouting trip, declined, opting instead for places with fewer barbarian invasions in their history. The island then underwent a transformation that would make even the most ambitious property developer blush.

Speaker 2: 35:37

In 1645, venice, in a move that screamed were not paranoid, you're paranoid, built five octagonal forts to keep an eye on the lagoons' comings and goings, and Povalia got its very own octagon, because nothing says stay away, quite like an eight-sided military fort. By 1776, poveglia found a new role under the magistrato Alessantia, acting as Venice's bouncer, vetting goods and people for plagues and other party-crashers. In 1793, following a particularly nasty visit from the plague on two unsuspecting ships, poveglia was repurposed as a lazaretto, a sort of purgatory for the slightly sniffly and decidedly sick. It's said that over 160,000 souls met their maker here, their remains making up a significant portion of the island's topsoil. Gardening on Poveglia, one imagines, is definitely not for the faint of heart.

Speaker 2: 36:43

Napoleon ever the opportunist saw fit to bulldoze the church of San Vitale in 1805 to make way for more practical if less holy pursuits. The lazaretto closed shop in 1814, but not before leaving behind a legacy of loss and a soil composition of 80% human ash that would give archaeologists nightmares. The plot, as they say, thickens. By 1922, the island morphed yet again, this time into what was officially billed as a home for the elderly. Unofficially, however, it became an asylum, a final destination for those deemed too unorthodox or inconvenient by society's standards.

Speaker 2: 37:32

Poveglia wasn't just an island. It was a statement to the fragility of human sanity and the lengths to which people would go to isolate what they didn't understand. In sum, poveglia's history reads like a guide on how not to run an island From refuge to military fort, from plague pit to asylum. It's a place where history's darker chapters were written, rewritten and then buried in the foundations.

Speaker 2: 38:03

Officially, visiting Poveglia is a no-go, a rule that adds just the right spice of forbidden allure to the place. Yet tales of covert visits by writers and photographers abound, painting a picture of an island that's less sun-soaked paradise and more seen from a horror movie. And then there are the ghost hunters, who have all but crowned Poveglia as either the most haunted island or the most haunted place in the world. Because why settle for second place in the spectral Olympics?

Speaker 2: 38:38

Poveglia is not your typical island getaway, obviously. It's a place where history whispers from the crumbling walls of the buildings that remain, where every shadow might be hiding a ghost or perhaps a very startled seagull, and where the line between the past and present seems just a bit blurrier than elsewhere. If the buildings of Poveglia could talk, they might first clear their throats uncomfortably before launching into a tale that would make even the most stoic of us reach for a comforting glass of tea. These structures, each with a story etched into its very bricks and mortar, are witnesses still standing of the island's tumultuous history, a history that veers sharply from noble aspirations to chapters of despair.

Speaker 2: 39:27

There are some really good YouTube videos, by the way, of urban ex-explorers that have found ways to bribe fishermen into bringing them to the island. The fishermen will drop them off for 10 seconds and then take off, because if the police catch you around the island, you're immediately arrested. Then you just pray to God that the person you paid will actually come back and pick you up. But in some of those videos they actually get inside the bell tower, the hospital, the asylum, and they find the kitchens and the kitchen materials. If you want to really, really get a good picture of this, I would almost even pause it now and go to YouTube and find videos of Poveglia, because it's so worth it, it's so fascinating. Sorry, I got distracted because I was just remembering those videos.

Speaker 2: 40:24

And it's worth it Do it. Let's start with the island's church, or I suppose, what's left of it. Originally a beacon of hope and a place of worship, this structure with its once-soring bell tower now peaks above the trees like a skeletal finger pointing accusingly at the sky. The architects of this holy place surely never imagined their creation would one day oversee not the salvation of souls but their desolation. The church, with its gothic arches that might have once framed stained glass windows telling vibrant biblical tales, now frames only the void. Nearby, the Lazaretto buildings, erected with a noble intention of quarantining and treating the ill, have their own stories of despair. These structures, designed for healing, became the final abode for thousands who never left. It's a cruel irony that the very places meant to offer respite from the plague became its silent accomplices. The architecture here is utilitarian, the starkness of its design reflecting the grim reality of its purpose. Long quarters that once echoed with the footsteps of the sick and their caretakers now listen only to the whispers of the wind. Then there's the asylum, a later addition to the island's architectural ensemble. If the Lazaretto buildings speak of a tragic past, the asylum screams of misguided intentions and misunderstood souls. The building, possibly once grand and imposing, with its sturdy facade and barred windows, was meant to be a sanctuary too. Instead, it became a prison for those deemed too different, too difficult or too inconvenient. The architects of this establishment, with their plans for spacious rooms and therapeutic spaces, likely never envisioned the shadows that would come to dwell within them.

Speaker 2: 42:29

Today, povelia's buildings stand in various states of decay, the island's history and human suffering bringing them down with them. Nature is slowly reclaiming what was once hers, with vines embracing crumbling walls and wildflowers peeking through cracked pavement. The bell tower, stripped of its bell, stands, mute the Lazaretto and asylum. Their interiors, gutted by time, host only memories. 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 of exile, from a community to a quarantine. To walk through Povelia now is to walk through a gallery of ghosts, where each building is an exhibit and every breeze carries echoes of the past. Yet in the ruins there is a haunting beauty. In the heart of Povelia, there stands or rather leans slightly, a bell tower that has certainly seen better days. This tower, once a proud beacon calling the faithful to prayer, has become something of a reluctant celebrity in the annals of eerie landmarks. Its history is as layered as a well-made lasagna, albeit one that might leave you feeling a bit queasy afterward.

Speaker 2: 43:57

Originally, this bell tower served as the island's auditory centerpiece, its peals echoing across the lagoon, a comforting reminder of community and faith. In those days, the bell's toll was a sound of sanctuary, a call to gather, celebrate, rejoice and perhaps sometimes mourn, but always together. It was a symbol of hope, even if far away from the mainland. However, as Povelia's destiny twisted under the weight of plague, war and madness, the bell tower underwent a transformation from a beacon of hope to, let's say, a less than welcome herald. Instead of calling villagers to gather, it began marking the passage of souls from this world to the next. Its toll no longer signified the beginning of a service, but the end of a life.

Speaker 2: 44:50

The job of the bell ringer in this transformed landscape was, to put it mildly, a peculiar one. Imagine being a chap whose daily to-do list included, quite literally, sounding the alarm for the dearly departed. This bell ringer, a local whose name has been lost to history, perhaps mercifully so, had what only could be described as the most unsettling job. In Venice, each toll of the bell was a heavy-hearted announcement of another life claimed by plague or disease. If Venice was a city of masks, our bell ringer was behind an auditory one, his identity cloaked by the very tolls he sounded. Legend has it that this bell ringer, after years of his morose duty, began to claim that he could hear the voices of the departed in the tolling of the bell, that each peal was accompanied by whispered farewells or anguished cries. Whether these claims were the result of an overactive imagination or truly something more spectral, we can't say, but it adds a certain chill to the already goose, bump-inducing job description.

Speaker 2: 46:03

Today, of course, the bell tower stands silent. Its bell long since removed, perhaps in mercy to the island's restless spirits. Or perhaps even ghosts need a little bit of peace and quiet now and then. The story goes that the island wasn't quite ready to relinquish all of its inhabitants to the peaceful slumber of the afterlife. Instead, it seems, they preferred to linger much to this may of the asylum's 20th-century residence.

Speaker 2: 46:34

Imagine being a patient at this place, where the line between the horrors of the mind and those of the world was as thin as the veil between life and death. These poor souls reported seeing shadows flit through their rooms, shadows that didn't quite fit with the living world and certainly didn't belong to any friendly visitor. Night brought no respite, only the wails and moanings of suffering spirits echoing through the halls. One can hardly blame the doctors for being skeptical. After all, diagnosing ghost-induced insomnia isn't probably covered in medical school. Yet the true horror of Poveglia wasn't its haunted nights but the daylight horrors inflicted by a doctor whose name has also been lost to history. And fucking good riddance.

Speaker 2: 47:23

This man with ideas as twisted as the wrought iron gates of the asylum, believed lobotomies were the key to curing mental illness. His tools of choice were hammers, chisels and drills, applied with a barbarity that would make even a medieval torture wins. Anesthesia was apparently for the weak, and sanitation a mere suggestion. One shutters to think of the pain and terror his patients endured under the guise of treatment. The legend doesn't end with his gruesome practices, however. The ghost of those wronged, tired of their ethereal existence being disturbed by such barbarity, are said to have driven this mad doctor to madness himself. The tale takes a leap, quite literally, as the doctor, tormented beyond his limits, either jumps or is propelled from the iconic clock tower. But fate, it seems, had a grim sense of irony and the fall didn't claim his life. Instead, a strange, mysterious fog, perhaps the very breath of the vengeful dead finished the job and he was never seen again.

Speaker 2: 48:41

And here's where the tale twists the knife of tragedy and terror. One final time, on certain nights, when the lagoon is as still as death itself, the bell of Poveglia tolls. The toll's not from the tower, for the bell is long gone, but from somewhere deep within the island's sorrowful soul. So if you ever find yourself drifting through the Venetian lagoon at night and you better take me with you, if you do and hear the distant sound of a bell, spare a thought for the lost souls of Poveglia, all 160,000 of them, whose cremated ashes still, to this day, make up about 80% of the island's soil, for in their tale lies a chilling lesson Sometimes the true horrors aren't those of the spirit world, but the cruelties we inflict upon each other in this one.

Speaker 2: 49:38

Since its closure in 1969, the island has stood silent, save for the whispers of the wind and the occasional intrepid or foolhardy soul daring enough to explore its decrepit ruins. It's hardly surprising, then, that Poveglia has become something of a mecca for those intrigued by the supernatural. The island's potent blend of history, horror and mystery makes it truly irresistible. In 2009, the crew of Ghost Adventures cast their spotlight on the shadowed isle, dedicating an episode to its exploration. Their adventures, broadcast to eager audiences around the world, added a modern chapter to Poveglia's ghostly lore. But it's not just professional ghost hunters who find themselves drawn to the island's eerie embrace.

Speaker 2: 50:30

In 2016, a tale that sounds as though it leapt straight from the pages of a gothic novel unfolded when a group of Americans from Colorado hey, colorado found themselves in need of rescue. Then, traying onto Poveglia under the cloak of night, they soon discovered that some places were their legends, not as mere cloaks, but as armor Found by firefighters in the state of shock. Their panic painted a vivid picture of an encounter not with the physical remnants of the island's past, but with its spectral inhabitants. The island, it seems, is alive with sounds that have no earthly business in a place long abandoned by the living. Voices, screams and laments drift on the night air, a symphony for which there is no audience, save for the occasional unwelcome visitor. Researchers braving the island's unwelcoming aura have recorded odd electromagnetic fields enveloping the entire perimeter, a phenomenon all the more chilling for the island's complete lack of electricity.

Speaker 2: 51:39

What is it about Poveglia that holds such a grip on the imagination. Perhaps it's the allure of the unknown, as always, or maybe the thrill of confronting our fears head on. Or possibly it's the simple human desire to connect with the past, however dark that past might be. Whatever the reason, poveglia remains a place where the boundary between legend and reality is as thin as the mist that often surrounds its shores. In today's world, where the boundaries of exploration are constantly being pushed to the edges of the map and beyond, there exists a curious paradox in the form of Poveglia, an island that, officially, you're not supposed to visit. It's a bit like being told not to push a big red button. The prohibition only adds to its allure.

Speaker 2: 52:32

Venice, with all its splendor, openly shares its riches, yet it's this off-limit speck in the lagoon that captures the imagination of the intrepid and the inquisitive. The rules are clear Without a nod from the municipality, setting foot on Poveglia is an absolute no-go, with the threat of criminal charges looming over would-be adventurers. Yet, as is the way with forbidden fruit, the island draws tourists like moths to a flame or, perhaps more aptly, like ghost hunters to an abandoned asylum. They come in private boats or water taxis, slipping through the legal net for a chance to walk among the whispers of the past. It's a secret pilgrimage, a nod to the human penchant for seeking out the mysteries that lie just beyond our reach.

Speaker 2: 53:23

The tales of Poveglia are many, woven into the fabric of local lore and whispered down through generations. Yet no official ledger, of course, exists. It's a narrative built on shadows and sightings, on feelings and fears. Those who have dared to breach its shores, driven by curiosity or bravado, find themselves enveloped in an atmosphere thick with the kind of spine-tingling eeriness that no amount of sunshine can dispel. Poveglia, with its crumbled facades and overgrown pathways, seems to exist in a perpetual twilight, not just of the day but of the soul. The island, often dubbed the island of no return, lives up to its name, not because visitors can't leave though one imagines a few might hesitate to turn their backs on its unseen inhabitants, but because the impressions it leaves are indelible.

Speaker 2: 54:22

Poveglia's history is peppered with tales that blur the line between the chill of historical fact and the warmth of local folklore. Among these, the spectral sightings and fisherman's tales stand out not just for their ability to unsettle but for their sheer persistence in the collective memory of those familiar with the island's past. It's as if Poveglia itself refuses to let go of its stories. One such tale that has been passed down through generations involves a particularly audacious phantom known among the local fishing community for its penchant for mischief. It's said that this ghost, perhaps a former resident with a fondness for the sea, or maybe a wayward spirit with a sense of humor, takes a certain delight in startling fishermen. The story goes that on nights when the moon casts a silvery glow over the lagoon, making the waters around Poveglia eerily beautiful, this spectral figure emerges from the depths. Fishermen focused on their nets in the promise of a bountiful catch often find themselves the unwitting audience to this ghost's performance. With a sudden whoosh of cold air and a mischievous cackle that seems to dance across the waves, the ghost swoops down, sending the fish scattering in panic. Nets, once heavy with the night's work, come up startlingly empty. The fishermen, with hearts racing in their catches lost, are left with nothing but a chilling story to share with those brave enough to listen. There are stories of shadows that move against the logic of light, of whispers carried on the wind that speak in tongues long forgotten, and of sudden drops in temperature that leave visitors shivering, their breath fogging in the air. These sightings are as much a part of the island's history, as the buildings that stand decaying under the Venetian sun, and these fishermen serve as a modern-day bard for Poveglia. Sharing their tales, they ensure that the island's haunted history remains alive, passed from one generation to the next a legacy of fear, fascination and a certain respect for the mysteries that lie just beyond our understanding.

Speaker 2: 56:35

In a move that seemed to suggest Italy was rummaging through its attic looking for things to sell, the state decided in 2014 to auction off a 99-year lease on Poveglia, the island that history forgot to cheer up. The idea was to keep the ownership, but let someone else turn its rather desolate hospital into the sort of luxury hotel where guests might pay a small fortune to sleep in rooms that once housed plague victims. You know for that authentic haunted holiday experience Hunter Luigi Brognaro, an Italian businessman with a vision and a wallet ready to transform this island of despair into a haven of high-thread count sheets and complimentary bathrobes. Brognaro, with a bid of 513,000 euros, had dreams of pouring 20 million euros into making the island's hospital a place where you'd actually want to stay, like voluntarily. However, his grand plans hit a snag when it turned out, his project didn't quite tick all the boxes the Italian state had in mind. There were whispers, too, that perhaps his bid was a tad on the low side, which, in the world of auctioning haunted islands, is apparently a big no-no. In a plot twist worthy of a Venetian opera, brognaro, having initially resisted the cancellation of his lease, became the mayor of Venice and promptly decided he had other fish to fry, leaving Poveglia to its ghosts and overgrown weeds.

Speaker 2: 58:05

Not to be outdone, a private group named Poveglia Pertuti which sounds like a call to arms for ghost enthusiasts and luxury hotel developers alike floated the idea, in 2015, of turning the island into something out of a tourism brochure. They envisioned a public park, a marina for all your yachting needs, a restaurant, presumably with a menu featuring less haunted dishes, a hostel and a study center, because nothing says relaxing getaway, quite like the phrase study center. Despite their ambitions and a budget supposedly in the 25-30 million euro range, poveglia remained stubbornly vacant as of 2024. As for the island's real estate, it hosts a collection of buildings that would make any fixer upper show host blanche. There's a cavena or a boat shed for the uninitiated, a church that's seen better days, a hospital, an asylum because obviously there's an asylum a bell tower that's lost its bell, but not its charm and various buildings that once served as housing or offices for the decidedly brazed staff. The bell tower, a relic from the 12th century, is perhaps the most striking feature, standing tall as a lighthouse and a reminder of the church of San Battale, which met its untimely demise in 1806. A sign still points the way to Rapparto Psychiatrina or psychiatric department, a truly haunting reminder of the island's past, as documented by ransom rigs in his photo essay. And while rumors of a prison on Pavilion persist, evidence remains as elusive as the ghosts themselves. A bridge ties the main island to its slightly smaller, greener cousin, a place given over to nature and possibly picnicking spirits. Nearby, the octagonal fort still sits on its own little patch of land, unconnected and aloof, wearing its earthen rampart and brick facade with the dignity of a structure that's seen at all.

Speaker 2: 1:00:12

If Povellia Island were to pen its memoirs, whole chapters would need to be dedicated to its rather morbid garden features the plague pits. These were not the sort of pits one might fall into during a spirited game of capture the flag, but rather the final resting place for an astonishing number of souls. National Geographic, with the somber authority of a magazine that's seen its fair share of global tragedies suggests a staggering 100,000 people met their end on the island. Atlas Obscura ever, the purveyor of the world's hidden wonders and horrors, ups the ante with an estimate of 160,000. Evacurate Povellia's soil is less dirt and more well human ash.

Speaker 2: 1:01:10

But maybe it's time to step back now and admire this macabre mosaic we've pieced together the island with its history. Each layer more unsettling than the last is not just a chapter in Venice's storied past. It's a whole volume dedicated to the darker side of human endeavor. From its initial role as a reluctant refuge from marauding barbarians to its final act as a decrepit asylum, povellia weaves a tapestry of tragedy so rich it would make the most stoic historian reach for a comforting glass of wine. And yet, amidst the tales of woe and whispers of the departed, there lies a peculiar strand of human optimism A belief that perhaps, with a bit of elbow grease and a healthy disregard for ghostly tenants, one could turn a place of despair into a charming bed and breakfast. Imagine the brochure Cozy up in our historically haunted asylum, where the only thing you'll lose is your ability to sleep soundly.

Speaker 2: 1:02:09

The segment on home renovation shows that we'll likely never see and for good reason Povellia's ambiance, thick with the echoes of its past residence, doesn't lend itself to quaint BNB aesthetic. It should be serving as a reminder that some places rich in history and sorrow are best left untouched, their stories preserved rather than repurposed. But of course, we can't dwell too long in the shadows of Povellia without acknowledging that it's but one star in a galaxy of haunted locales. As we cast our gaze wider, it becomes clear that Povellia's A-list status in the realm of spectral hotspots is both well earned and yet somewhat limiting.

Speaker 2: 1:02:54

Across the globe there exist countless boutique hauntings, if you will, each with its own unique flavor of fright, from the ancient castles of Europe echoing with the footsteps of long dead lords and ladies, to the forgotten asylums of America, whose decaying halls are ripe with tales of despair. The world is a veritable smorgasbord of spooky. These locations that we cover together, each with their own legion of loyal ghost hunters and thrill seekers, prove to us that the fascination with the paranormal is a universal trait. It's a comforting thought in a way that, across cultures and continents, we share a collective curiosity for the unknown, a willingness to explore the shadows in search of stories that remind us of the thin veil between this world and the next. In the end, povellia, with its plague pits haunted asylum in bell tower that tolls for no one, is a potent symbol of this fascination.

Speaker 2: 1:03:55

And as always, I like to ask why does any of this matter? In a world brimming with information, where the present often demands all of our attention, why look back at the shadows cast by an abandoned island's haunted past? The answer perhaps lies in the very essence of what it means to be human. Our History, with its triumphs and tragedies, shape us. It molds our societies, influences our beliefs and colors our perceptions of the world. By exploring stories like Povellias, we're given a chance to reflect on our own place in the continuum of history, to ponder the legacy that we'll leave behind for those who will one day whisper our names. History, humanity and the hauntings that bridge the two are inextricably linked, each a thread in the story of who we are and the words of the late, great Carl Sagan we make our world significant by the courage of our questions and by the depths of our answers. Povellia, with its layers of questions and whispers of answers, invites us to be so courageous, to delve deep and to find significance in the stories we uncover.

Speaker 1: 1:05:46

Povellia, with its layers of questions and whispers of answers, invites us to be so courageous to delve deep and to find significance in the stories we uncover.

Speaker 2: 1:06:29

This has been another episode of when Walls Can Talk, the podcast. I'm your host, jeremy Haig. You know the drill. Follow us on Instagram at whenwallscantalk with underscoresforspaces, where you can also join our broadcast channel for polls, voting on future topics for episodes, fun, exciting announcements, sneak peeks of upcoming episodes, or you can join our Facebook group. Just super easy to find if you just search the name of the podcast. You can also join my email list by clicking the I want to be part of the club button at the bottom of the show notes. You know the drill Let us know how much you're enjoying the episodes.

Speaker 2: 1:07:04

If you're listening right now on your phone, I dare you to screenshot it, put it on your Instagram stories and tag me so I can thank you personally for being a supporter of the show and being a part of our growth. If you can help me reach more listeners and grow this show, the best way to do that is to either text this or share it to a friend or family member or anyone you know who's your fellow paranormal weirdo or just take a moment if you'll leave us a review on Spotify or Apple Podcast. Wherever you listen, it really affects the growth and just allows our podcast to reach new people, and I don't want to take too much more of your time except to say thank you, and I hope you enjoyed today's tale. Next week we're traveling to Haunted Romania, deep into the forests of Transylvania. If you're ready to visit the Hoi Ba Chu Forest, pack a bag and bring your hiking shoes. Haunted Romania. Haunted Romania, haunted Romania, haunted Romania.