This announcement was posted at San Francesco da Paola yesterday and this morning it bore fruit. “You too should participate in this fun initiative!!! Every family can design a rainbow with the words Andra’ Tutto Bene on a piece of cardboard or a bedsheet and hang it on your balcony or window Saturday 14 March. A moment of creativity and of hope. Sometimes words aren’t enough… and so we need children, colors and feelings.”
The children have spoken. “Everything’s going to be all right.”
I got this message from several windows as I walked along via Garibaldi. I don’t know what’s happening elsewhere in the city — I’m hoping that the calli and campielli are smothered in festoons of “It’s going to be all right” sheets and scarves and beach towels and boat tarpaulins and painters’ old dropcloths. Somebody’s father’s favorite shirt…. Mom’s once-a-year taffeta evening skirt… What we can see on the windows may just be the tiniest part of the creative volcano.
Walking up the street, the first rainbows were above the Coop.Actually, we spied them last evening, and it looks like sitting outside all night was pretty tiring.
This is impressive: The world in the colors of the Italian flag, and the Italian peninsula makes a strangely convincing nose. I say “strange” only because attaching Sicily threw the proportions off kilter and now the boot is overpronated.The flag! Some enterprising person pulled it out of mothballs, where it’s been since the last World Cup. But it works too, and will be just as useful for the next World Cup.
Well all right — NO NEED TO SHOUT.
Meanwhile, with the waking-up of via Garibaldi the lines begin to form outside the shops of prima necessita’ (first necessity), the only type that’s allowed to be open. They are orderly and correctly spaced. At least for ten refreshing minutes in the morning I get to see people who are not on my computer screen. They’re amazing! In three dimensions!
Starting from the foreground, at right we see one person waiting outside Gabriele Bianchi’s delicatessen (in Venetian, biavarol); his limit is two persons at a time. At left is a lady with a dog who is not in line for anything, as far as I can tell. Then a few people on the left in line to enter the pharmacy “Al Basilisco,” even though everybody knows it by the name of the founding family, which is Baldiserrotto. At right is a longer line waiting to enter the forner, or bread bakery. The fruit and vegetable stand on the right gets away with people standing along the edges, though I’m a little surprised that they (and also the supermarkets) haven’t installed any plastic or even plastic-wrap shields between the customer and the produce. Beyond that is the line for the Coop, shown below.The line at the Coop is never ends; it’s like that famous imaginary line of all the Chinese (sorry) that never gets shorter. Further down the street are lines outside the detergent/housewares shop, another forner, and on the other side of the canal, there’s one outside the wine store. The fish market doesn’t usually (I don’t want to say “never,” but…) have enough customers to be troubled with organizing a line. The pastry shop is closed, then there’s Alberto, the butcher, who can manage with the space he’s got. And that’s the end of obtaining “prima necessita'” in our little pocket of the world until we go down to the end, turn left, and stand in line outside the Prix supermarket.
What’s interesting about all these lines isn’t so much that people are forming them — though that certainly is noteworthy, being a sort of Nordic, Anglo-Saxon sort of practice that I’d never have thought to see here, where groups of people (I remember the banks) generally tend to arrange themselves as an amoeba. It’s astounding to recall that the same number of people going into stores in via Garibaldi, however many there may be, always used to just go into the store. Whatever store. You just walked in. It was like the vaporetto; if there was space for you, you took it. If there wasn’t space for you, you made some and took it. Even if there were 40 people where now they can allow only one, that was normal.
Now that we’re stuck at the other extreme of the living-together phenomenon, I am amazed that we lived like that. When all this is over, I’m also going to be amazed to see whether we will continue forming lines, or whether the amoeba instinct will re-assert itself. I’m putting my money on the amoeba.
Off to a foggy start this morning. Where once I might have reviled the vaporetto for ruining the scene, I have to say that now the vaporetto IS the scene. Yes, we’re still alive…..And the headlines set out by the newsstand: “Virus, 2000 city employees at home and ACTV cuts runs.” All of that was highly predictable, especially the cutting back on the vaporettos. You see them pass and they’re like the Marie Celeste (empty, but with clear signs of recent life). I will tell you the story about the funeral and the denunciation of the parish priest tomorrow.
Our small but perfectly formed walk in the early morning is our one chance to buy the Gazzettino, to breathe some air, to walk around like normal people for about 20 minutes. And inevitably I notice the signs that are stuck on doors — there seems to be a sort of progression taking place, as if we’re all coalescing around certain tiny hard truths: Distance between people, no touching, headlines, isolation.
Here are some discoveries, yesterday and today:
The government’s quarantine comes with a catchy hashtag, since that’s how we communicate now. #iorestoacasa means “I’m staying at home,” and it seems a little more jaunty to put it this way rather than “God, we’re stuck in the house together night and day we’re losing our minds,” etc. It’s succinct, it’s civic, it’s easy to remember, and on the whole it seems to be working.The people in this shop tend to sell items which are a bit unorthodox, which leads us to this notice: “Open intermittently If open we’re in the office, come in and greet us loudly (don’t cough….). If we’re closed, for urgent matters 3351227777.” That number is a little too perfect; I suspect if I were to call it, I’d just get voicemail and they’d never call back.Via Garibaldi wakes up. The trash men are out, the fruit and vegetable sellers are setting up, and the supermarkets are receiving the daily cargo, brought in those large containers you see in the middle of the street, being hauled back to the barge by the guy who drew the short straw. At least the containers are empty now.There’s more activity than the news reports give you to believe, but it appears that many try to get the shopping done first thing in the morning.Luca is handing Massimo the scale (cash register to follow), so they’re just about ready to open. That, and the never-diminishing abundance of their stock, maintains the illusion of normalcy. Don’t ever stop, you guys.In the Prix supermarket, elves have been working overnight laying perfectly spaced strips of tape one meter apart on the runway to the cash registers. Next we’ll have the person with the huge ear protectors and flashlights moving us into position.Ditto at the Coop.At the entrance to the Coop, this innovation: ” Roll of paper towels and disinfectant to use for cleaning the carts.”Shops are beginning to work half-days. The tobacco/toy store announces that they’ll be working from 9:00 AM to 1:00 PM, closed on Mondays.Also the detergent/housewares/everything store. The owners would appreciate being at home, especially if everybody else is.On the door at the Paties glasses and eye-examination store: “Communication to our Clients Based on the recent Ministerial Decree the optical stores (with a licensed optician present, not the simple eyeglasses seller) may remain open because they furnish medical devices. NEVERTHELESS My sense of responsibility toward myself and toward others obliges me to reduce as much as possible any opportunity of contagion. For this reason, OTTICA PATIES will close for the entire period established by the Italian Government. For any necessity, for example the depletion of your supply of contact lenses and liquids, an urgent need for new eyeglasses, excluding obviously the measuring of your eyesight and the application of contact lenses, for the evident impossibility to effect these safely, I invite you to contact me without any problem at 3388790493 and on WhatsApp or by email info@otticapaties.it A hug, and good luck to everybody! I’mstayingathome. Andrea Paties”This shop takes a slightly sterner tack: “Attention According to DPCM 1 March 2020 art. 2, point ‘i,’ we invite you to respect the distance of 1 meter between persons, to safeguard the health of the clients and to avoid penal sanctions and the consequent closing of the shop. We thank you for the collaboration.” I never realized that I could hold, not only my own fate, but that of an entire commercial enterprise and several generations of the owner’s family, in my hands. It’s too much. I’m going to make it two meters, minimum.The door of the trattoria “Nevodi” is beginning to resemble a university dormitory bulletin board; the only thing missing here is somebody looking for a ride to Boston on Friday. The white handwritten rectangle contains a play on words (glad somebody’s still up to it): “We will be closed for some 40 days.” The pun is “quarantena” (quarantine) and “quarantina,” which would be the normal conversational term for “forty-ish,” “more or less forty.” Everybody knows that the word “quarantine” is derived from the 40 days imposed on cargo, ships, and people suspected of being infected with plague. So this person has taken a common expression and revised it in a charmingly frivolous way. Good for you, Nevodi Staff. Meanwhile, the bigger sign shows some improvising in light of the disruption to routine resulting from closing the restaurant: “For consignment of packages (for) Colauzzi and Nevodi (go to) the fruit and vegetable vendor across the street or call 3499021934. I’ll be here in 2 minutes Thanks.”Evening draws nigh on via Garibaldi as the latest shoppers arrive and depart. Shopping takes time now; first is the wait in line to enter the supermarket, then the checkout procedure takes even more time (you can’t approach the cash register till the previous customer has paid, packed up their stuff and left). Life now requires me to adapt and to be patient — two of my least favorite things ever. Except in this case I’m not alone. It’s everybody’s routine now, and there’s no point in muttering about it.
Yesterday (Wednesday) afternoon: Lines now form outside everywhere because the number of people allowed inside is limited and precise. This emporium, part of the Prix supermarket chain, can’t allow many people at all — it’s two and a half long narrow aisles crammed beyond belief with stuff. It’s like a shotgun supermarket, so obviously we’re going to have to take turns. ( I didn’t urgently need anything so I just went home.) And because I know my readers love everything about Venice, I left the pigeon in the picture as well as the bag of garbage that should never have been hung outside at 11:30 in the morning, by which time the collector not only has already passed, but is probably taking his shower and getting ready to go home. I think people can follow some rules, but not all of them, and whoever was here decided to interpret “Do not put your trash out before 8:00 AM” as “Any time after 8:00 is fine.”
I promise and vow that I am not going to turn my blog into an endless series about the coronavirus. But considering how few people are out — and how we’re supposed to stay at least one meter away from them if they are out — and how, actually, we’re not even supposed to be out — the viral situation is the main thing on everybody’s mind.
She pauses to rub her nose with her arm.
Here are two definitely not-fun facts: As of yesterday, all hotels are closed until April 3, something which has literally never occurred in the history of the city. And as of yesterday, the gondoliers are no longer gondoling. I can’t conceive of this, but there it is: They all met, and concluded that the risk to everybody — gondoliers and passengers — was just too high. (They would have been ordered to shut down anyway, I have no doubt.) It wasn’t enough to have a bottle of hand sanitizer in the boat — people in gondolas are sitting closer than one meter apart, and the gondolier is helping them on and off at very close range.
And basically, considering that there are practically no tourists, there’s no sense in boating up. Venice without gondolas gliding along the canals, with their gondoliers yelling that kaleidoscopic badinage at each other, will have reached an entirely new level of strange.
Oh wait — it got stranger with the new decree last night: All restaurants, bars/cafe’s, and any stores other than the few essential ones (supermarket/food shops, pharmacies) and many offices are closed. Business in Venice at the moment is nearly in the condition of Monty Python’s dead parrot.
No bars, cafe’s or restaurants? Suddenly the line of places offering refreshment along the Riva degli Schiavoni looks like Coney Island in January. And completely apart from the desolation of this panorama, I realized that if I had suddenly needed a bathroom, there was no friendly bar every five steps in any direction. As Lino so helpfully pointed out, my only option would have been the nearest canal.Many shops have taped lines on the floor one meter apart.This is the new approach to the pharmacy, as to any of the few open shops (the bread bakery, the housewares store, etc.). A distance of one meter between individuals makes a long line in no time at all.
And speaking of lines, the enormous rush of trucks trying to get out of Italy toward Austria (and the rest of the world) via the Brenner Pass created an 80 km/50 mile backup. The police not only checked the temperature of every person in every vehicle (there were plenty of cars, too), they also verified that each vehicle had enough fuel to reach Germany without stopping. In fact, the only people permitted to enter Austria were either citizens or persons confirming that their travel did not include any stops in Austrian territory.
Back in happier days, this line of cups on the counter at the hospital cafe was enough to make me smile.
The governor of the Veneto Region, Luca Zaia, is maintaining the total shutdown until April 3. If all this seems drastic, it’s the only hope the Veneto has to somehow avoid reaching one million infected by the middle of April, if the rate of contagion continues steady. That would be one person in five.
And it’s not just closing shops that’s going to do the trick. We’re all now living whwat amounts to house arrest. Staying home is Plan A of a total list of one plan. “The people of the Veneto have to realize,” Zaia said, “that the main cure against the virus is we ourselves. Do not go strolling on the beach on the weekends, do not go to shopping centers, do not go to the piazzas, do not go anywhere that isn’t your workplace or a food shop. For me, 29 people who have lost their lives is already too many.”
We took a constitutional walk this morning (2.2 miles, 209 calories, 1 hour 6 minutes), as we have the past few mornings. One does feel the need to move, at least at the beginning of the day. We buy the Gazzettino, we do some minimal shopping, and then back into our lair.
It has been driven home a million times that we are not to touch our eyes, nose or mouth, so naturally that’s all I want to do. I have managed to compromise with myself, and only rub my nose with my sleeve, as if I were five years old. (I doubt that I was allowed to do that when I was five, though Lino remembers a number of children when he was small whose sleeves were their first line of drippy-nose defense all winter long.) Tissues were invented in 1924, but unhappily it wasn’t for the succor of Venetian urchins.
Walking along around 9:00 AM, I counted from five to seven vaporettos of various types moving around the bacino of San Marco (battello, motoscafo, the Alilaguna, the ferry between Tronchetto and Lido) but only a few other vehicles. The next bulletins about them may well have to do with limiting the service; it’s only a matter of time. Even I can see that it’s not the best idea to keep burning fuel to carry so few people around, although it does sort of liven up the landscape.
No more guessing if you fit in the shop or not — the small tobacco/toy store has already calculated the correct dimensions and stipulated how many people can enter at a time. In red letters: “Attention: Because of the new public health law only two persons at a time may enter.”Closer to San Marco, the English subtitles appear. In this glass shop in Campo San Zaccaria they can take four at a time.“Crisis of coronavirus 8 hotels in 10 are heading toward closing.” We were warned that this was likely, and considering how few people are to be seen on the streets, it seems inevitable.We saw them locking the chain on the front door of the hotel Al Nuovo Teson at 10:00 AM and it seemed fairly final. I’ve seen plenty of places closed with signs saying “Closed for maintenance” or “Closed for vacation,” with reopening dates noted. The hotel’s website accepts a reservation for day after tomorrow, so I’m not sure what to think about this chain. There’s a saying here that “Hope is the last thing to die,” so we may be reaching that point.
