In my last post I insensitively described small-business owners (shops, restaurants, hair salons, etc.) as “howling” to reopen. If I were in their place, I would be howling too. And the same anguished cries are being heard throughout Italy — in Florence, Rome, Milan, in hill towns and beach resorts and places you’ve never heard of — as the bills and “Overdue Rent” notices continue to drop through the slot in the locked doors of shuttered stores of every kind. But the reopening is planned in stages, and belonging to a category whose stage has yet to arrive is heating up everybody’s atmosphere. More on that in my next.
At the beginning of the quarantine in Venice, when silence fell and motion ceased, a few people wrote to me expressing variations on “You must be enjoying the peace and quiet!” I know they would never have written that to a widow just returning home from the funeral, but it seemed similarly inappropriate. I understood that they meant that compared to the chaos and unpleasantness of being overrun by tourists, the opposite extreme ought to be a welcome relief. It wasn’t, it isn’t, it can’t be. One extreme is a bad correction of another extreme. Even on the first day of quarantine I realized that the quiet did not signify peace — au very much contraire. We have listened for two months to a silence that might have been that of the world underwater when you’re trying to see how long you can hold your breath.
But the non-essential small-business owners and artisans and their colleagues and cohorts and conjunctions have been living in a world of -3,000,000 per cent peace and quiet because they’ve been closed for two months — and in many cases, it will be three. And many of their businesses depend on tourists, which apparently have gone extinct.
Please note: No more tourists isn’t a problem just for Venice. This is a European, even global, phenomenon. A recent report by a group of analysts estimated that in the month of March, the tourist income in Europe shrank 68 per cent relative to that month last year. ENIT, the Italian national tourist agency, reports that bookings for Italy from April 13 to May 24 are down 84.6 per cent relative to the same period last year. (For the record, bookings to France are down by 82.9 per cent, and to Spain 80.3 per cent.) ENIT predicts that tourism to Italy won’t be back to pre-2020 levels till at least 2023.
High season? Where?
What can there be in Venice but tourism? This is a question that people have been struggling with since before I came here in 1994, and have continued to struggle with as the monster grew and grew, like Audrey in “The Little Shop of Horrors,” constantly bellowing “Feed me!” I hope somebody has been spending their stuck-at-home time studying whether anything else can keep Venice going, because this is the moment to step forward.
Happily for us, the world is coming back to life in via Garibaldi and environs; the first signs were a very sunny Sunday and the following two days. More motorboats in the canals, more people out on the street, suddenly children were everywhere, running around and shrieking — it’s great. It’s like some safety valve suddenly popped open.
Nobody waited for a sign to say “Unchain the children!” But Sunday evening they were still out at sunset, racing around, having finally tired of covering the street with hopscotch boxes scrawled with yellow chalk. There are noticeably more bikes and scooters around, too — they must have been the promised prize for not rebelling during two months spent almost exclusively indoors.
Some stores have been opening very gradually. There were those that remained closed from the first day, and will have to remain closed till the official permission is granted (see chart below). Others shortened their hours to opening only in the morning. The supermarket closed early, and remained shut on Sunday. I’ll be interested to see if that continues.
Over the past week or ten days, a few businesses (the office-supply/giftwrap/school supply store, the children’s clothes shop) were open all day, but only on Tuesday and Wednesday. It was an adventure trying to keep track of what you could get, and when, but I was surprised at how quickly one could adapt. The daily round just took more planning, and more willingness to wait in line.
Weeks ago, the big tobacco/toy/lotto shop at the end of via Garibaldi (the two smaller ones stayed open) posted new hours: “From Tuesday to Sunday from 9:00 AM to 1:00 PM Monday closed.” That didn’t bother us because we don’t smoke, and the various gambling schemes were suspended, so no playing the lottery. That surprised me — I thought the lottery would be the last thing standing in the devastated national economy, but evidently the government was more concerned with other millions and billions that really would keep people going, and not the phantasmagoric winnings that are always just about to come through.The detergent/cosmetics/housewares store also cut back on hours. Too bad if you forgot to buy your Dead Sea exfoliant in the morning, you’ll just have to wait till tomorrow.All sorts of stuff for kids, especially glittery garb.“Emma’s Road ships!” (This in itself is amazing, because the post office on via Garibaldi has been shut since the acqua alta of November, 2019.) The shopowner (Emma, perhaps?) may have had to stay home but she obviously rejected the idea that she couldn’t keep working during lockdown. “We can make an appointment for a video-call for virtual shopping…It’s possible to request information (photo, prices, sizes and measures) or book the articles in the following ways: 1 Sending a message to our Facebook page, 2 Contacting us via WhatsApp at 3491089086, 3 Calling this number 3924152292. Shipping is free for all orders that are at least 99 euros or by delivery to your home if you’re in our area. It’s possible to pay by bank transfer or PayPal.” She doesn’t intend to leave ANY customer outside in the rain, that’s for sure!This is progress — the office supply store has moved past the “only Tuesday and Wednesday” phase and now is open every morning from 9:00 to 12:30, but only one person at a time may enter, and must wear mask and gloves, and maintain a distance of two meters between — well, I guess that would be between the one client and the one shopowner.I suppose it’s good news that funerals can begin to be conducted again. The need to prevent crowds has meant that since February 23, the dear departed departed alone. This notice doesn’t mention that only a maximum of 15 people will be allowed to attend, and doesn’t indicate who the bouncer at the door is going to be to keep the 16th person out. No funeral mass, either — those will begin on May 11, but this is a step forward.These are the rules: Only up to 15 people can enter. They must wear a mask. Enter and leave rapidly without blocking the door. In church observe the prescribed distance. Be seated on the pews where there are signs. Other directions during the religious rite.As you see, the openings are staggered according to the type of business. The hairdressers are furious; they’re listed to open June 1, as are restaurants. But restaurants are making do meanwhile by offering take-away food; it would need someone cleverer than I to organize a take-away haircut. Or are those called “wigs”? Shops (such as clothing) and team practice recommence on May 18. The notice says “No” to playgrounds for children, but they have no idea how via Garibaldi works!
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.
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.
