I know people have to get back to work, but I’m really going to miss seeing the water like this.This is one of very, very few boats that have broken the water in our canal during quarantine. It enters the canal with tremendous roaring, and in reverse (because of possible difficulties in turning around? Simple laziness?). I’m going to hope that a boat this size started out carrying more than a mere five or six crates of bread. Considering that these are destined for the Coop supermarket just up the street, it’s possible it has delivered bread to other Coop’s around the city. Still, every time I hear it pass I realize how unaccustomed I’ve become to the sound of motorboats, and how much I really hate it. But it’s the sound of work, and that’s a great thing.
This morning was glorious, as so many mornings have been over the past two months; the shining sun and gleaming water and tranquil atmosphere — perhaps too tranquil, but that’s for another discussion — made our daily dawn walk something lovely.
We started these walks on Monday, March 9, the first morning of lockdown, sensing that we had to keep moving somehow if we were going to be housebound essentially 24 hours a day (legal escape hatch: the supermarket run). Sneaking out under what was then the barely brightening sky, I felt like we were doing something extremely daring.
A few other people were also out, running, or walking purposefully, with or without a dog. We avoided each other, we pretended we didn’t see anyone. Everyone seemed to be operating under the Cone of Silence.
So: At 6:30 AM it’s on with the mask and gloves and out we go. Then nine times over the bridge outside our house (the tenth would be on the return trip). This was Lino’s idea, and it was a good one. Next, we walk up to the end of via Garibaldi, turn left, and walk along the lagoon-front (at 6:50 AM we pass the Giardini vaporetto stop), down to land’s end at Sant’ Elena all the way to the Morosini Naval School.
We get the Gazzettino at the newsstand at the Sant’ Elena vaporetto stop and retrace our steps toward the Giardini dock, which we pass at 7:20. We proceed all the way to the top of via Garibaldi, then home. A stop at the fruit and vegetable boat may be in order (beat the crowds), then home by 7:40. This adds up to 2.8 miles, if anybody cares.
After two months of this, we have come to recognize a number of people. Not that we KNOW them, we just know that at that point there will be the two heavyset women and one heavyset man, evidently relatives or friends (or both), walking a nondescript dog. There’s the man with his black and white English setter and the catapult-thing that throws the ball amazingly far. At the brick bridge we will encounter Barbara, owner of the bar/cafe “Vecia Gina” where we love to sit outside under a big umbrella in the summer, drinking and munching and cooling off.
Sometimes by the bridge by the viale Garibaldi we’ll run into Ennio, whom Lino has known forever and I somewhat less than that — he used to belong to our boat club. There might be Bepi “Stella” out walking his old black dog. And so it’s a mix of people we know and people we think we know by now, though I recognize them more by their clothes than their faces — logical, considering that almost everybody’s masked. Lino sometimes whispers “Who was that?” even when somebody has just said “Ciao, Lino.”
Guess it won’t be looking like this anymore. I realize that more boats will mean more people are working, and of course that’s what we want. But we were living for years at the other extreme, and these past eight weeks have helped me forget how often the waves were so high from passing motorboats that the vaporetto dock would leap and plunge and people (on the dock, as well as on the hapless vaporetto trying to tie up) would hold on to each other to not fall down. Not made up. I wonder if there’s any conceivable middle ground on this.
This afternoon there were many more people out strolling than ever before, and clumps of kids of various ages yelling in various ways. Some people clearly were not from around here, but they weren’t foreigners, just Venetians from other parts of the city. The new regulation says that you can go visit relatives (but not unrelated friends), so I suppose these were social visits to random family members.
But we also saw three Carabinieri walking around, two policemen (Polizia di Stato) in the Quintavalle canal on their jet skis, and not long afterward a regular police motorboat pulled up and three officers crossed the bridge and disappeared, evidently in search of someone or thing. We both had the feeling that they want us all to know that it’s not party time yet; we all have been warned in a thousand ways that we must, MUST continue with masks and gloves and distancing. Even the Prime Minister has implored everyone not to act like everything’s fine, because it’s not. He has also repeated that if infections begin to increase, we are all going to be back where we started, only worse. He didn’t actually say that we’d be locked inside our houses, but it didn’t sound good.
Tomorrow people will start to go back to work. We will take our walk, but I think it will be different. It won’t be a secret thing among just us anymore.
If I weren’t already a morning person, living here would make me one.Wish my hair would do this.Another early shopper at the fruit and vegetable boat.This is one of the best moments in the entire year — fresh peas, the first artichokes from Sant’ Erasmo…..… and asparagus from up near Treviso. The thicker stalks are eaten with hard-boiled eggs, the slimmer stalks are destined for risotto.I won’t ever be seeing this again. Probably every boat in this picture is raring to go.
General Giorgio Emo Capodilista is following orders: If you go outside, you must wear a mask. This sort of frivolity would have been unthinkable two months ago, but maybe by now we’re all getting used to living with the virus.
There’s something in the air, and it’s not pollen — it’s the sensation of imminent liberation from lockdown, at least for some.
Even as the brain repeats the refrain put out by radio and newspaper and online news that “This is going to be a gradual process, programmed in stages over the entire month of May, subject to immediate revision or revocation if the numbers of infections begin to increase,” the atmosphere is quivering with anticipation.
It’s also quivering with confusion, because unlike two months ago, when all this began, not everybody seems to be on the same proverbial page. Information is coming from the federal government, the regional government, and the city, in the voice of its somewhat overwrought mayor. After eight weeks of only essential businesses being allowed to stay open, the owners and employees of the less-essential businesses have been driven to the edge. In fact, many small business owners are planning various protests for Sunday (in Mestre and elsewhere on the mainland) and in the Piazza San Marco on Monday, May 4.
The restaurant/bar/cafe’ owners are howling to reopen — at the moment, they must wait till June 1 — even though I don’t quite see how, at least in the Historic Center, they are going to begin to recoup their losses when there are no tourists to fill their seats, tables, and cash registers. And even if and when there are tourists, the new regulations require tables to be positioned two meters (6.5 feet) apart; this obviously will slash the number of customers being served. Hair salons are not to allow anyone in the shop without an appointment (no hanging around leafing through magazines), and stylists and clients will have to wear masks and gloves. Disinfecting the premises — chairs, tables, even floor, for all I know — will be a major daily undertaking.
But more on the business situation later.
Disinfection continues, leaving its mark. Frequent spraying goes on: pavement, campi, railings, and vaporetto docks.The person in the white suit wields the spray-wand, in this case drawing from a large tank on a nearby boat.The boat and men were working their way along from stop to stop.The large white cube contains gallons of disinfectant.Far from the boat, he carries his little tank with him as he walks his beat, spraying disinfectant on the railings of bridges and canals. I try to stay upwind.Outside the pharmacy “Al Basilisco” (of Dr. Baldisserotto), just as you find at the entrance to the Coop, a bottle of hand sanitizer is ready for use. “Attention: Before entering, disinfect (hygienize) your gloves.” I’m all for it, but am waiting to see if somebody is going to say it would be advisable to then pull on another pair of gloves over the first pair, and so on….They say there’s no such thing as being too prudent, but we’ll see.At the entrance to the second pharmacy in via Garibaldi (Dr. Polito) are more instructions that experience has evidently rendered necessary: “No more than two persons/clients inside. Enter the pharmacy equipped with mask and gloves. DO NOT remove the mask when you’re in the pharmacy. Respect the one-meter distancing. No more than 1 or 2 persons inside. Thank you.” Do not remove the mask when you’re inside? Do people still not grasp what the mask is for?
We are all trying to make sense of what we’re going to be allowed to do beginning on Monday, May 4. Here is what we know so far.
In no particular order, we can: Stroll or run or bicycle farther afield than the previous limit of 200 meters from your house, maintaining at least one meter of space between you and anyone else. No more than two adults, “and children” (number unspecified), are allowed to be out together. In other words, no coming out in herds.
You can visit friends or family without having to prove verifiable necessity — that’s quite a change — but the number of participants must remain small. It doesn’t help much that “family” is now defined as including “congiunti“; literally, it means “joined,” but indicates a second level of relative or relation. Your spouse is your spouse, your “congiunto” could be your boyfriend whom you haven’t seen in at least a month. There was an invigorating, if brief, exchange on the radio two days ago in which the speakers attempted to discern the boundaries of the congiunto: “If he’s your new boyfriend, how long will you need to have been together?” “Could somebody you met a week ago qualify?” “Is there a difference if I go to see him, instead of him coming to see me?” And so on. Madness.
Basically, the central concept remains: Groups are hazardous to everyone in them. Avoid them.
You can train or practice your individual sport, even at your club’s center, but no teams. No congregating.
Parks will be reopened, at the discretion of each town’s respective mayors, so children can get out and play. But no groups!
Residents who have a second home elsewhere in the Veneto (we’re allowed now to travel between towns, but it is still prohibited to cross regional borders) will be permitted to go there to check on its condition, just to make sure that the house isn’t about to collapse or rot away before your eyes. No, you can’t take your spouse and kids and dog; in fact, you can’t even stay overnight. No being clever and turning your little inspection trip into your family’s traditional ox-roast, clambake and Highland Games.
As I try to adjust ever so slightly to a normal view of life and the world, however tentative or experimental, I have become obsessed with the company that advertises on the radio every day at noon. It describes their fabulous kitchen redesign capabilities in the most soothing way (I guess they realize we’re all a little on edge), sprinkled with words like “hope” and “dream” that make it sound as if they are able and ready to make your life — they say “kitchen,” but they obviously mean “life” — so gorgeous and so wonderful that you will not believe you’re even still you.
And every time I hear these extravagant claims I ask myself if there is anyone who has time, or money, or desire, to think about their freaking kitchen right now. Apart from the cost, it would seem to me that after two months of being compelled to cook twice a day — no matter how thrilled you must be to have perfected your sourdough bread or Poulet Paul Gauguin Retour de Tahiti — the last place on earth you want to think about now is the kitchen. If I didn’t have Lino as the cook supreme here, I’d already have turned ours into a pinball arcade.
It’s 7:00 AM at Sant’ Elena and a seagull has already bagged at least one seppia. They’re coming in now, and they may be pleasantly surprised not to have to run the usual gantlet of fishermen along the waterfront. This one evidently had an entire winter’s-worth of ink stored up, ready for battle, but all his ammunition wasn’t enough. (How do I know it was a seagull? Because the seppia’s “bone” was lying a few feet away.)Further up along the Riva dei Sette Martiri, more signs of epic struggle. At least the animals have enemies they can actually see.
So are we beginning to scent the breezes of freedom, comfort and joy? Not so fast. Even on the verge of Phase 2, warnings abound, and if infections begin to increase, back we go into lockdown. This has been made abundantly clear.
Even clearer than the now-world-famed water in the canals. I wish there were something interesting down there, now that we could finally see it.Occasionally you can see an old tire, but I was dreaming of something more amazing. Anyway, the water’s kind of low this morning, which mitigates the thrill of seeing as far as the bottom.
REVIEW CHAPTER: If you’re not convinced that the risk remains, here is oncologist Dr. Paolo Ascierto speaking to overexcited readers of La Repubblica: “Unfortunately the virus is still circulating, and the levels of infection are identical to those of weeks ago. The numbers have improved only thanks to isolation….it’s clear that every day it’s possible to become infected, above all if you don’t use the mask and don’t maintain social distancing. We’ll be out of the emergency only when we have a vaccine that, however, won’t be here any sooner than a year. We still know very little about the virus. How long will someone who was infected remain immune? We don’t know. The mask doesn’t protect us but the others, so if we all wear it, we’re protected. A concert? Without a vaccine, we’ll watch it from home.”
Here is Dr. Angelo Pan, head of the infectious diseases department of the hospital of Cremona, one of the hardest-hit in the epidemic wave that began in Lombardy on February 21. “This virus is a schifezza (skee-FETS-ah — nastiness, disgustingness, filth) like I’ve never seen and never thought to see,” he told HuffPost (translated by me). “I never call it Covid-19, I call it schifezza…. This isn’t flu we’re facing … We have the sensation that this schifezza triggers new problems. The infection leaves traces that we still have to deal with….” (not only on the lungs, but the heart, liver, kidneys, and brain).
Ranieri Guerra, adjunct director of the WHO, defined it as “a monster.” “He’s right,” Dr. Pan agreed. “It’s a genius of evil, capable of having different faces and causing different problems. Its capacity to ‘put on makeup’ (disguise itself) and adapt itself to its environment makes it the worst we’ve had to deal with in decades. I don’t want this problem to be underestimated elsewhere, because it is still dramatic.”
End of review. Do not say that nobody told you.
On public transport, passengers must use mask and gloves and the maximum number of passengers will be limited to 30 persons on buses and 350 on trains. This rule has already caused excitement in Naples, because when the bus is carrying the maximum permitted, it is required to skip the next stops. But in one case, the driver continued to halt and let more people climb aboard. Other passengers rebelled, yelling at the driver that he isn’t allowed to do this. Astonished commentators could only say “In Naples?”
Limiting the number of passengers will obviously require more buses and vaporettos to be in service. Well, one would assume, unless everyone needs to plan an extra hour for transit in case they have to wait for the next one. (At the moment, the vaporettos run every 20 minutes, as opposed to every 12 minutes for the #1.) We saw a vaporetto pass this morning with about 20 people clustered in the central zone that is the entrance and exit combined. Public transport vehicles are now required to have one door for entering and a different one for exiting. Good luck with that with the vaporettos; I know from experience that there are people who perceive the boarding/disembarkation point as being exactly in front of me. Like on the subway, but somehow worse.
This morning I noticed that the impending easing of restrictions has been misinterpreted by some blithe spirit. No, sir. Don’t let anybody take off your mask until orders arrive to the contrary.
The reckless will undoubtedly continue to push the boundaries. A few weeks ago, a man was stopped at a checkpoint and asked where he was going in his car, and why. “I have to go visit my mother,” was the reply. Who could object to that? Nobody, except that he forgot about that verification process the officers have to conduct. They called the number he would have had to give them, and someone answered: “Who? She’s been dead for a month.”
On we go. A few days ago, a man was promenading along the Fondamenta degli Ormesini in Cannaregio, dressed in snowy-forest camouflage (to conceal yourself in Venice) but without a mask. The vigili (local police) stopped him and conversation ensued, as did a ticket for a 400-euro fine. The man lost his mind, yelling all sorts of abuse at them and repeatedly calling them “Ignorant!” because they fined him for breaking a city ordinance while “People are dying of hunger because they have no work!” There isn’t a discernible link between masks and hunger, but there is a good one between masks and insulting a public official, so in addition to the fine he now has been cited for a penal infraction.
This clip was forwarded to me from a friend via WhatsApp; I don’t know the source, but I think it has been circulating fairly widely.
Meanwhile, over in Milan, a man was driving along till he reached a checkpoint. The Carabiniere on duty asked his reason for being out, and the man replied “I’m a nurse and I’ve just gotten off a 20-hour shift in the hospital.”
The Carabiniere stood back, saluted, and said “Thank you for all that you’re doing.”
It would have been touching except that the man was not a nurse, and drove away giggling. You think that’s dumb? He video’d the whole thing. You think that’s dumb? He put it on his Facebook page. Probably many people saw it, but the most important viewer was a friend with a conscience, who reported the affair to the Carabinieri. See above: Fine and a citation for insulting a public official, which will almost certainly see him in court and, depending on how jauntily the man defends himself, perhaps even in the cooler for a while.
And so we trek onward toward the wonders of Phase 2, armed with four masks offered by the city government. A recorded phone call from the mayor alerted us that they would be on the way, and he took the opportunity to thank us for our cooperation. Two days later the package was in our mailbox. I wonder if a new mask will work the same magic as new shoes. Or kitchen.
The Comune of Venice has acquired 600,000 masks, which they are giving away to residents. This packet of four masks appeared in our mailbox two days ago; we’re already two months into daily mask-wearing, but as the old saying here goes, “I vovi sono boni anca dopo Pasqua” (eggs are also good after Easter). Never let it be said that I looked a gift mask in the mouth. And thank you, Mr. Mayor, for giving us this chance to remember that you are soon going to be running for re-election.Written in English, stamped in Chinese. Good thing there are pictures.
Lino strung the two flags across our little street. Only we would have been likely to walk that way, so we just went ahead and bedecked the day. It’s important to recognize that April 25 is also a national holiday: National Liberation Day, commemorating the end of World War 2, so bring on the banners.
Yesterday, April 25, was the feast day of San Marco, who is, as all the world knows, the city’s patron saint. Always the occasion for grand festivizing — ceremony in the Piazza, laurel wreaths on the main monuments, high mass in the basilica, and the iridescent tradition of the “bocolo,” (BOH-ko-lo) or long-stemmed red rose, that Venetian men give to the dearest ladies in their life.
A friend with her bocolo a few years ago.This year, not even the stray petal was to be seen. Except, I suppose, near the few people who had somehow managed to reserve their rose.
Yesterday, we were bocolo-deprived. Plant matter was represented mainly by the laurel wreaths, installed a few days early. As for the bocolo, there were and there weren’t. Of course we knew that the usual freelance vendors staking out via Garibaldi and environs would be nowhere to be seen, that was to be expected. But don’t be downhearted: The Gazzettino published a little article on Friday saying that a few florists were not only going to be selling roses, they’d deliver them to your doorstep. Wonderful! But the article did not publish any names or phone numbers of these florists. Saturday — the day itself — an article appeared repeating the plan, with the names and numbers of the participating florists. Lino immediately called to order one for me (and to discover the heretofore unknown cost, which I estimated would be 3 euros for the rose and 40 euros for the delivery), only to hear “Oh no, you had to book them.”
So this little misadventure will be filed under “You had one job!”, for the florists as well as for the Gazzettino.
This year, San Marco’s day was on Saturday. Shops now are usually closed on Sunday, so this means shop-owners got a rare two-day weekend. Were they happy? Well, Luca and Massimo on the fruit and vegetable boat apparently were — early on feast-day morning, we saw the remains of some pre-feast-day festa left behind where the bananas and apples usually reside.
But no matter! We had a fine day, sunshine, breeze, empty streets, sepulchral silence broken by the occasional bellowing and screeching of dogs passing in the street or on the bridge outside our house. (If you don’t believe that a dog can screech, you haven’t met that long-haired dachshund who evidently can’t stand anything about life, and whose owner must be deaf.)
We took our usual early-morning walk along the waterfront to the end of Sant’ Elena and home again (2.7 miles, for the record), plus our ten crossings of the bridge outside — our personal stone Stairmaster. And we feasted on little kidchops — removed from young goats, not the usual lamb.
We then “went to the beach” after lunch, which is what I call our hour of sitting on the edge of the canal a few steps from our front door. We’ve had two straight weeks of sunshine, so this interlude is a high point of the day; even though we aren’t tanning in any meaningful way. we’re stoking our Vitamin D. And we look at our little boat tied to its pilings directly across the canal, and the lush greenery that is growing on the bottom of the hull, and wonder when we’ll ever row her again. The easing of some restrictions are expected to begin on May 4, but we’ll know only on May 4 if that will turn out to be true. Or, if the Gazzettino is really up to speed, we’ll find out on May 5.
Friday was “Oh my God, we have to get the shopping done because the stores will be closed Saturday and Sunday!” Lines of people here are waiting to enter the only-two-people-at-a-time bread bakery and detergent/cosmetics store. The fruit and vegetable boat (covered by the awning seen in the middle distance) also had an unusually long line. As did the wine shop and the fish stall and the butcher. In the afternoon, there were 50 people in line outside the Coop, which now is closing at 7:30 PM instead of 10:00 PM. I, with my now-finely-honed skills, did the supermarket run on Thursday evening at 7:00 PM when there were only five people in line ahead of me. Of course, by then lots of shelves had been depleted (that’s the trade-off for coming late), but I was able to get what we needed in record time. I’d rather do without a few things than spend hours standing in line, even though it may be a great excuse to be out of the house.People are willing to do this. I don’t understand it, but I respect it. They’ve obviously got reserves of stamina and patience I can only dream of. (The supermarket is about 15 more people-lengths behind me.)Friday morning, long-overdue repairs to the wall damaged by the disastrous acqua alta of November 12, 2019, were suddenly underway.Saturday morning, everything was perfect again.Friday morning, the men were cleaning the monument to “La Partigiana” with hammer and tongs, so to speak, but more obviously rakes and scrapers. Spring cleaning at last?Saturday morning (which was also National Liberation Day), the finishing touches were applied with high-pressure water. The arrangement of roses reveals the mystery of the sudden attack of cleaning — at 10:00 AM Mayor Luigi Brugnaro offered the flowers in token of the city’s respects to the dauntless women of the Resistance.After the ceremony, these offerings remain: Roses for the partisan women, laurel to symbolize victory, and two long-stemmed purple iris that represent wisdom and royalty (it says in this book). The iris are an interesting departure from tradition. I wonder if we’d have had better luck calling up to order them instead of a rose.And laurel wreaths are bestowed on the major monuments. Here, Giuseppe Garibaldi, who was important for much more than the street.
A new day, a new sign, and some new decrees. Thanks to the bright sparks who refuse to be controlled, we woke up this morning to even more stringent regulations. First it was wearing masks when going into a store, maintaining one meter of distance between individuals. Then it was masks and gloves (as you recall) when entering a shop, and one meter of personal distance. As of today, masks and gloves are required of anyone/everyone leaving their house, no matter where they’re going or what they want to do when they get there. Personal distancing is now two meters, so only three people at a time instead of four are allowed inside the faithful detergent/cosmetics store. It’s not that any of these requirements is so burdensome, but it’s kind of tedious to have them imposed because some people just can’t be bothered with any of them.
Despite a number of extreme measures imposed by the national government on the verge of the Easter holiday weekend (Saturday, Sunday, Monday), there are still people who just can’t be reined in.
The decree as of Friday was that nobody was permitted to leave their primary residence. Keywords: “Nobody,” “leave,” “primary residence.” These simple words can’t find any space in many brains because those spaces are occupied by “fun,” and “holiday,” and “break the monotony.” Knowing this, the various order-keeping forces of the Veneto (and I assume elsewhere) fielded regiments of supplementary officers, stationing them at checkpoints on the main roads leading from towns toward the mountains and the beaches. Even if you were heading five minutes across town to your extra dwelling/apartment/lair, you would get fined and sent back to your primary residence. And that fine has no connection with what you might get for perhaps not driving with a mask and gloves, or if you were driving more than one passenger, and that one passenger wasn’t sitting, as per the law, in the rear seat on the opposite side from the driver.
You see? This is how we got from the Ten Commandments to the entire books of Numbers, Leviticus, and Deuteronomy — a simple concept has to become endlessly complicated because people just don’t want to hear it.
Either the Coop was completely denuded by closing time Saturday night, or they’re expecting extreme demand this morning. In any case, the bulwark of boxes containing supplies is a little unnerving. And as you see, it’s not over yet.I think I’ll just break somebody’s heart showing this block of toilet paper: Each package contains four mega-rolls.
Anyway, back to the creative cheaters. A few days ago (every day ago seems like a week ago), a man was stopped by the police in Mestre, inquiring as to his reason for being out walking around the streets.
“I’m going to work,” he replied. This is good, because it’s one of the few reasons you’re allowed to be out. And what work is that? was the natural response from the police.
“I deal drugs,” he replied.
Over the three-day holiday weekend, the scofflaws had a ball. In and around Venice the majority of residents stayed inside, or close by; only 323 people were fined for infractions such as walking on the beach. But elsewhere in Italy, things were humming along to the tune of 13,756 citizens or commercial activities being fined for illegally doing something. Or anything.
On Monday (“Pasquetta”), a member of Parliament was stopped on the road going from Rome to Ostia (a/k/a the beach). When asked where she was going, and why, she replied, “I’m a member of Parliament and I’m working.” Because the police couldn’t establish a rational connection between Parliament and Beach on a holiday, she went home with a fine. Which of course she is going to contest, because something. Injustice, oppression, experts guilty of conflicts of interest, the destruction of the national economy under the excuse of the epidemic, and the danger of vaccines (none of this is made up).
A policeman in Torino stopped a man driving somewhere to inquire where he was going, and the man replied, “I’m going to make love to a friend.” The driver got a 533-euro fine, but the policeman is now under disciplinary action for having put the video (probably via bodycam) on social media. The friend is still waiting.
Yes, there were parties — the by-now usual rooftop barbecues with loud music, easy to detect by the patrolling police helicopters. (In one city, one reveler actually shot at the helicopter.) In Lodi, a young man who knew he was positive for the virus invited five friends over to his house. Naturally they’ve all been fined; I’m still mulling over their concept of “friend.”
Then we move to the grassy embankment of the little river Piovego, near Padova. On Easter Sunday afternoon, a young man was sitting on one of the steps leading down to the water. Alone. Therefore sad. It’s wrong to be outside but he has an excellent reason, which he explained to the policemen (Guardia di Finanza, for the record).
It was on these steps that he had met his girlfriend; where they shared their first kiss; where they had spent such lovely times together. But the separation imposed by the quarantine had somehow led her to break up with him. And so, eyes filled with tears (I am not being sarcastic, I am reporting from the newspaper), he decided to return there to seek inspiration for a poem, a poem that would somehow win her back.
The officers recognized his predicament and were — as far as possible for someone in uniform — completely in sympathy with his plight. They felt for him, even as they were writing out the ticket. And so the young man was sent home, without his girlfriend, without his poem, and also without some 300 euros.
