Life in Italy's Coronavirus 'Red Zone'
When word of an emergent virus in China — something similar to, but deadlier than, the flu — reached us in Italy, my husband and I knew that this could be the start of a new SARS-like health crisis or, perhaps, a health and political crisis along the lines of the Ebola scare that took place during the Obama administration.
It became all those things, of course, but we had a new and European perspective this time, which soon became the perspective borne of finding oneself in Northern Italy's virus hot spot — or, as it's called, the "red zone." As the virus spread, we began to see just how quickly events were piling onto events; Europe began marking up soaring infection rates and death tolls, and there was a brief border closing between Italy and Austria, all of which pointed toward the possibility of worse to come.
Indeed, that's what happened. With every measure the Italian government implemented, something more extreme soon became necessary. A few cities — Venice among them — were quarantined; then more cities were engulfed by the red zone. In Bolzano, where we live, we were so far for North that even though the cities affected were in the northern part of the country, they were still to the South of us.
But then the entire country came under quarantine, including the semi-autonomous region of South Tirol, where Bolzano is located. Suddenly, the international headlines that had seemed so curiously close and yet distant had arrived at our front door, and extraordinary measures of precaution were the order of the day, with large events being canceled and "social distancing" advised. Bars and restaurants were required to close by 6 p.m.; shoppers and patrons of cafes were advised to maintain a meter of space (three feet) between themselves and others. All this seemed a little over the top — after all, it's believed that the virus is spread through contact with droplets of moisture deposited on surfaces by people coughing or sneezing; it's not a true airborne illness, as far as is known; and handwashing, far more than face masks, is thought to be an effective preventative measure — but within days, the curfew on bars and restaurants turned into orders for businesses to close up altogether. Schools had already shuttered by then, but now gyms, museums, and many other public places were shut by government order. Luckily — or, really, more as a matter of pragmatic necessity - grocery stores, such as our neighborhood locations of Despar and Aldi, were allowed to remain open.
I'd already heard about frantic shopping in the United States — people hoarding pasta, bottled water, toilet paper, and especially hand sanitizer. (For an amusing essay on why people hoard toilet paper, have a look at this.) In the days before the general "red zone" measures went into effect, I took note of what looked to be some hoarding here, as well — though stocks of toilet paper seem unaffected at our local Despar, onions vanished from the produce section. (Later on, someone I know who works for Despar explained that this was not due to hoarding, but rather to a strike affecting the distribution of produce into the region's stores.)
I'd been reading, also, about other ways in which coronavirus concerns were affecting the U.S. — international travel bans, Pride events bravely going forward, but then being canceled; theater and concert schedules disrupted; my beloved chorus — the Boston Gay Men's Chorus — finding it necessary to cancel their Spring Concert, a blow to the organization financially but also artistically. (At least my Chorus friends would have had the pleasure of three hours of companionable music-making in their weekly rehearsal, even if their hard work was not going to culminate with performances.)
But as much of an effect as the virus was having in the U.S., it was suddenly much more noticeable here. What had felt like a minor inconvenience-no worse than a snow day-was suddenly a much bigger deal. My husband and all his colleagues were instructed to work from home. Our Italian classes were suspended, and then hurriedly put online so that we might continue via video conferencing on our laptops. A weekly coffee-shop meeting to chat in English and Italian with a native speaker had to proceed via Skype. And, not least, weekend plans to meet an old friend in Innsbruck, Austria — only a couple hours away by train — had to be scrapped because of travel restrictions.
There were other adjustments to make, among them the occasional use of my cell phone for Internet access. Though our flat has perfectly good internet under usual circumstances, we share the service — along with a grand total of three amps of electrical usage, which is standard for Italy — with our upstairs neighbor, who, like my husband, is now stuck working from home. You can imagine what three data-intensive sources of demand do to our mutual Internet supply. Hello, personal hotspot, and thank you, inadvertently abundant data plan.
But now it was time to head into the real world and see what awaited. With some trepidation I set out on the morning of March 12 — when the police, rumor had it, would stop you in the street and demand to see your ID and your completed "official form" (available online but, for those of without printers at home, useless) listing, among other things, where you lived and why you were out and about— and headed to Despar. What I found there was a small crowd waiting outside the entrance, with the store manager acting as traffic cop. She pointed at a makeshift hand sanitizer station — stocked with gel and wipes — and encouraged us to make use of it, and explained that only a certain number of people were to be allowed inside the store at any given time.
This made sense because one of the government directives regarding social distancing (as mentioned above) had been for people to maintain a meter's distance between themselves and others. This, as it turned out, was questionable advice — some sources indicated that an effective distance between people would be more like three or four meters. Besides, how — in the narrow aisles of a typical supermarket — could such distance be maintained? For one Italian man's solution to that problem, click here.)
After a wait of maybe nine or 10 minutes, I and some others were allowed inside the store, where the manager gave us additional information: We were required to wear gloves while shopping.
Since Italian shoppers wear gloves anyway when selecting produce and fresh bread — the flimsy disposable plastic kind Americans use when selecting bagels or donuts in the bakery section — the question presented itself: Were we expected to double glove when we got to the bins where the fresh bread was stored? After all, once we'd been handling tins and bottles and other packages throughout the store with our gloved hands, reaching in and grabbing a roll or a loaf without putting a new glove over the old one would be just as bad as grabbing a roll with one's bare hand — right?
As shoppers moved through the store — compelled by a hastily-applied strip of red tape to stand back from the meat counter, dodging swiftly-working store personal who were outfitted with gloves, masks, and aprons, and trying not to bump into either the workers or other shoppers — there was a sense of mission: Get what you need and get out. It wasn't just a matter of personal protection; others were waiting to get in.
Also, the checkout lines were growing long after just a few minutes. The one-meter rule was clearly not working here: One elderly man was trying to maintain the prescribed distance from others, but shoppers, perhaps not quite picking up on his intention — he was, after all, stationed right by a display of deodorants, toothpaste, and other hygiene items — simply stepped in front of him. This being Italy, I was surprised he didn't raise a ruckus, complete with hand gestures, such as my husband and I had seen one day at the "questura," where we had to get some paperwork processed in order to live and work here. ("Sorry about that," the woman helping us said with a smile, as two police officers screamed at each other about — I think — who was going to use the department car that afternoon. "Italy," she added, as if the one word explained everything... which, in fact, it did.)
Standing a dozen people back from the nearest register, I suddenly remembered a forgotten item. Should I set my basket down and run to fetch it? No: That way lay ruin, if not madness. I'd lose my place in line and maybe my basket full of groceries. Thinking over other possibly missed items, I realized that there were a number of other things I should probably stock up on — not to hoard, but rather to avoid having to face a Saturday market crowd, which was going to be worse than the one on this Thursday morning. I resigned myself to the necessity of returning the next day, with a better-prepared list in hand, so as to be ready for the weekend: A habit in any case, given that many stores here are closed on Sundays.
The next stop was the local butcher's shop. I only intended to get a couple of items, if the place wasn't mobbed; seeing a sign that advised only four customers would be allowed in at a time, I glanced in through the window to see how crowded it was and, to my surprise, saw no one was there. As soon as I stepped in and the butcher greeted me — in English, since he speaks four or five languages and takes any chance to exercise his skills — I found out that he was planning to be closed indefinitely after that day. He might be open the following week, he said; it was far from certain, though.
Finding this out now was a real stroke of luck. I quickly revised my list and walked out of the butcher's shop with a bulging bag, having purchased ground beef and pork for Friday's usual dinner of spaghetti Bolognese (following the recipe of that same butcher friend); ground beef for Saturday's usual dinner of shepherd's pie; a couple of chicken breasts for Sunday; and enough cold cuts to see to other meals until at least Monday. Also in the haul: Several "Kaminwurtz," a kind of dried salami that stays good for a long time even when not refrigerated and makes for a good snack or lunch. It's South Tirol's version of beef jerky, and it's delicious.
Should I have bought more? What if he wasn't open after all, come Monday? Well, I'd deal with that when the time came. Our tiny freezer could only hold so much, and the meat, while fresh, would only stay good for so long. The situation called for a balancing act between stocking up and avoiding waste and spoilage.
Friday's excursion to Despar was less fraught since everybody knew the drill now, but it occurred to me that the Saturday vegetable market — a virtual street fair of fresh produce that also features dairy, meat, clothing, and many other goods and stretched for blocks — would almost certainly not be allowed to take place, given the government ban on large events and gatherings. This resulted in another two large bags of groceries to lug home, despite Thursday's haul. But what can you do? A man has got to have his salads.
Even as the virus continues to disrupt life in the U.S., in Italy dealing with it has swiftly become almost routine. My husband will work from home for the rest of the month; Italian class will resume via videoconference next week. And a friend I encountered on the street taught me the new way of shaking hands: With your feet. You tap each other's feet gently with a sideways swipe, as though kicking at a soccer ball.
Life goes on. Spring — usually a month earlier here than in our American home — is coming on full force, and we are lucky enough to have a garden where we can enjoy it. With a little Netflix, a little Spotify, and some careful planning, we are prepared to shelter in place (because that's what it feels like we are doing) for the foreseeable future.
There is no telling just how long this will be our new normal. In Bolzano, a second person died just today of the coronavirus, and more than 125 people are now reportedly known to be infected. With luck, the precautions taken by the government will head the disease off and blunt the curve, as they say, of its spread, with the goal of preventing a situation in which hospitals are overwhelmed.
The news from the States indicates that the effects of the virus are just now starting to take hold in a widespread way. Hopefully, the crisis will peak and then dissipate. Coronavirus is likely to become endemic, rather than epidemic, but the sooner that happens, the better. Swift and effective response from government (as well as business and individuals) will, hopefully, ensure a better, rather than worse, outcome. With luck, it's not too late for those measures still to have some significant effect.
Meantime, EDGE's accidental foreign correspondent has plenty of onions, antibacterial soap, and toilet paper. With some luck, preparation, and planning... and a lot of handwashing... it is (knock on wood!) quite possible to stay healthy even in the red zone.