coronavirus | Venice: I am not making this up

Just stay home already

March 20, 2020 7 Comments

The headline this morning: “Virus, another two deaths, too many people are ignoring the prohibitions.”

I know I promised you the mayor of Delia first thing today, but I decided to post this first. Think of it as part of the overture before the curtain goes up.

There are so many facets to daily life in this extraordinary interval that it may be pointless to try to keep up. And I’m not sure a daily “Cyrano’s Gazette” would even be interesting after a while.

Still, a riffle through the newspapers today shows that too many people in the Veneto still haven’t grasped the basic concepts of quarantine. The first basic concept is “Do not exit your front door.” Second concept: “This is going to annoy and inconvenience you.” Third concept: “This isn’t just about you, buddyroe.” Yet too many people are clearly annoyance-and-inconvenience-intolerant, if not openly allergic.

This is what your world is supposed to look like, though maybe without the canal. No people.

As for the blithe spirits who continue to wander far from home and hearth in blatant contravention of the order (note: It’s not a request, it’s not a suggestion, it’s not an opinion) to stay home? We don’t have to look far to find them.

The Carabinieri of the province* of Venice have stopped some 30 wanderers to inquire why the hell they (the wanderers) are not only outside their house, but even outside their province? “My garden has immediate need of topsoil (terriccio).” (I realize people have to care for their animals’ needs, but you’ll just have to muffle the demands from the begonias.)

“I have to meet my lover near the stadium.” (Standard practice here would be that the Carabinieri immediately check on the whereabouts of the lover too. So two people are now in the soup.) This swain was not only outside his province, but outside his region — he lives in Friuli.

A bar in Favaro Veneto, six miles from Venice, was open at 9:00 AM (the hour is immaterial: it was open) serving drinks to a merry gathering of nine. All of them were reported — that’s the official denunciation, plus undoubtedly a fine — including the owner of the bar.

The same case in a bar in the town of Santa Maria di Sala, and also in Passarella, a little postage-stamp of a village outside San Dona’, whose complaisant owner opened his bar for some people (it’s a small town, they could even all be relatives) who were found playing cards. The classic excuse of “I wasn’t there, and if I was, I was sleeping” cuts no ice at all these days. All of them were fined, and the bars are now what the police mean by “closed.” In these cases the Carabinieri typically attach a notice to the door: “Sotto sequestro” — impounded. If you try to sneak into an impounded place to have a nightcap, this would indicate that your passion for gambling — not with cards, but with your next few years — has risen to a whole new level.

In other fragments of the hinterland, the respective owners of a pizzeria, a bar, and a pastry shop were all discovered to be conducting business as usual, and now they’re not. To paraphrase the song, what part of “closed” do you not understand?

Speaking of which, for the next two Sundays the supermarkets will be closed. Translation: Get your shopping done early, because that reason for being out has been removed. You will have no motive whatever, apart from relieving the dog, to be outside your house, or driving around in your car, on your unicycle, on waterskis, on your feet, on anything.

I feel sorry for the dog, though; he’ll be worn to a nub by how many times he’s going to be taken outside on Sunday. Now that I think of it, I’m waiting to hear that some clever dog owner (or ten) has offered to rent their pet for a small consideration. It will happen.

This morning I went to do some topping-up shopping in order to remove any necessity of going to the store tomorrow on the eve of the first supermarket closure. Too bad I can’t go out and photograph the lines, they ought to be considerable.

Our trash collection service has accelerated. The old routine was that two men (both adorable, I have to say), each with his big handcart, would arrive in our little side street between 8:15 and 8:25. Maybe 8:30. One cart was for kitchen garbage, the other for the recyclables of the day, either paper or plastic/glass/cans.

The past two days, though, the two have disappeared, and one new man (probably also adorable, but his mask makes it hard to tell) shows up at 8:00 or 8:05 with just one cart into which everything goes. And he doesn’t wait around.

I asked him why he’s suddenly passing by so early, and he said — in a rather rushed manner — “We’re short-staffed, and also we have to finish by 10:00.” First we were running low on doctors, now it’s garbage collectors. And coming up are the officers of the law — the Carabinieri, etc. are thinning out, which is one reason why the Army will be joining the quarantine control brigade.

This is to help me keep my smile in working order. I hope to use it again at some point.

The mayor of Conegliano is ready to take on his citizens who can’t resist (God, they’re everywhere!) going out walking or running or bicycling among the lovely vine-draped hills of the surrounding Prosecco-producing area. Starting tomorrow, the police are going to be sending up drones, three at a time, to surveille the landscape. The mayor’s pretty conscientious to have fired this warning shot. I’d have just sent the drones up and then hauled in the nets, full of thrashing quarantine-breakers.

It appears that there’s one thing we are never going to run out of, and that’s the special cases who are totally incapable of changing their routine, or hearing anything outside their own cranial cavity. These people remind me of the horses I used to ride in Central Park in New York, long years ago. They were so broken-down mentally from doing the same circuit all day that only by near violence could you make them respond to your commands and not those of their muscle memory. “At the second oak tree we’ll trot,” their inner voice said, and it would take a while for them to notice the outer voice, which was me, saying “Actually, no, WE WON’T.” I bet they talked about me once they were back in their stalls.

“Why doesn’t she want to trot at the oak tree? Does she want to wait till we reach the ginkgo? Why?”

“Boy, I’ve had some weird ones, but she was the worst.”

“She’s coming back tomorrow.”

“Maybe she’ll forget….”

A “region” in Italy (there are 20) corresponds roughly to the states of the United States. The Veneto is a region. The regions are sub-divided into provinces, a large area surrounding a major town, which gives the province its name. The Veneto is made up of 7 provinces, Venice being one of them.

Events

We have to laugh

March 17, 2020 4 Comments

I fully realize that the news from Italy is unrelentingly grim. Nobody has to remind me of that. But the old human spirit cannot be completely squashed; I mean, the human spirit whose biggest problem is boredom being stuck at home.

At least a week ago, bits of humor — snips of videos, photos, comments — began to circulate via the usual social media platforms, and friends have been sending them on to me (and everybody else they know, I assume). Here are my favorites so far.

This may be risky, in that the old crack “You really had to be there” is a crucial element; it may be that you can’t really feel how funny some of these are unless you’re already starting to be wound a little tighter than usual. Many of them are in some way about being housebound, or as I tend to call it, under house arrest.

But I’m sending them on just to let you in on this element of life in Venice these days. It’s not just empty streets and climbing contagion counts — there’s a guerrilla war being waged for hearts and funny-bones.

To do a “giro,” or “fare un giro” (JEE-roh) is the usual way of saying you’re doing out for a stroll, going to hang out, walk around the mall or the neighborhood. You usually say it with the “not really doing anything serious” tone of voice, as she does. Translation: “Oh Aly, where are you going?” “Oh, gonna take a walk around the kitchen.”

Translation: “Meanwhile, in a house in the Veneto there are already those who can’t endure the enforced companionship of their wife.” And the bedsheet, in Venetian, is clear enough on that: “I’m telling you, I’m gonna kill her.” (Italian scholars: Ve lo dico, la uccidero’).

“And then, are you really convinced that shutting up a husband and wife in their house for 15 days is really the solution for having fewer deaths?”

The rallying cry/hashtag has been #iorestoacasa (I’m staying home). Here we see how that’s working out.

He stopped too soon — he’s got to take up lacrosse, curling, sepak takraw, chess boxing… I’m afraid there’ll be plenty of time for all of that.

Events

They keep saying everything’s going to be all right

March 16, 2020 7 Comments

More signs stating that “Andra’ tutto bene” have appeared, so I thought I’d share them with you. One can’t have too many, that’s for sure.

Amazing how they color-coordinated the poster to the laundry. Does Giorgio Armani live there?

Signed by the artists, as are most of them. Marco and Nora did a very nice job.

Above the cash register at the Prix supermarket, everything is absolutely going to be all right. The cashier said, “Our kids made them.” They’re obviously destined for greatness.

It’s like Christmas met Cinco de Mayo in here.

I just have to put this one front and center. Rainclouds on the left side of the rainbow, heartclouds on the right. (Bonus: In the center, he’s written “Duri i banchi,” a very typical expression which roughly means “Brace yourselves on the benches.” This refers to the benches used by rowers in the Venetian galleys going into war — think Ben-Hur: “Ramming speed!” and then the collision). If there ever were a moment when this expression was needed, it would be now. I want Mirko to adopt me.

And speaking of the cash register at the Prix, they have installed a large Plexiglas panel between the cashier’s face and those of the scores of passing customers. I’ll be curious to see if the Coop does the same.

Events

Another day in detention

March 13, 2020 10 Comments

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.

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.

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