Life under lockdown is an eerie, surreal experience
Three weeks on and our worst fears about the coronavirus have been confirmed, writes Paddy Agnew in Italy
THE worst thing is not knowing. The coronavirus enemy is within but you cannot see the blighter. You wear a face mask and rubber gloves because everything from the steering wheel to the newspaper to the litre of milk may be contagious, given that the virus can stick around for up to three hours.
Under life in lockdown, all seems eerily changed, utterly changed. For a start, there are few people around, a bit like very early on a Sunday morning. Few shops, essentially only chemists, supermarkets, filling stations and newsagents, are open.
When you get to the supermarket, you have to queue to go in, one by one. Inside, you might think you had stepped into an operating theatre by mistake, with all the staff wearing face masks and rubber gloves.
Taped lines stuck on the floor show you where to stand when you come to the cash desk, a bit like lines at passport control in an airport. Perspex screens have been hastily erected around the cash desk to protect those working at the till.
All the while, you are assailed by a cartesian doubt. I wear rubber gloves, therefore I am. Is this really necessary, did that person just cough, is that person standing too close, or does it matter?
Italians are a tactile lot. One of the greatest pleasures of life in Italy is the warm, physical way in which people salute one another, embrace one another, hug and kiss. That has gone. You nod at people at a distance, but you do not shake hands or, God forgive, exchange even a brief cheek kiss. You never know, do you?
Three weeks on and our worst fears about coronavirus in Italy have been confirmed. In just three weeks we have gone from no cases and no deaths to more than 21.157 cases and over 1,441 deaths. It seems as if the Great Plague or something similar has moved in with us and, worse still, there is not a cure in sight. Yep, even the scientists do not know. Cartesian doubt reigns supreme.
To some extent, life under lockdown is at once surreal and at the same time schizophrenic. Walking around our village (if you have dogs, you are allowed out to walk them) on these glorious sunny March days is strange.
The almond trees are in full blossom, there is new growth everywhere, it is a perfect day and yet there is no one about. It is even more surreal to walk around an empty Piazza San Pietro at midday and find that the Holy See has been deserted by its annual eight million tourists.
A friend, who lives in the Vatican, told me that he had gone out for a walk the other night. For the first time in his life in Rome, he said, he felt uncomfortable, unsafe. Rome does not normally seem like a ‘heavy’ city but to walk around the centre of the
Eternal City at 9pm and find it empty is disconcerting.
In our village (Trevignano Romano, 50km north of Rome), the epidemic might seem far away, up in north eastern Italy, but, of course, it is not. Already, we have a confirmed case in Bracciano, the town across the lake from us. It is simply a matter of time before it reaches us, and if you are over 65 years of age, then that gives pause for thought.
The few old folks out (on a shopping errand) wear face masks, rubber gloves and a look of total bemusement. The bars where they might meet pals, buy a coffee and make it last for three hours, are shut. The old people’s centre where they might play a game of cards is shut, too.
Indeed, a lot of things are shut — restaurants, cafes, cinema, library and village museum. As much as possible, people are working online from home, something that for many is a new experience and which has caused overload for previously little used teaching systems.
Italian street life, the buzz, the hub, the ‘passeggiata’ (basically out strutting your stuff) have all gone. Worst of all, football has been shut down until April 3. Daily life, as many Italians know it, seems to have come to a halt. We are all just Waiting For Corona.
The external quiet, of course, contrasts sharply with the social media frenzy. With physical movement greatly restricted (young people out for a football kickaround have already been stopped and fined), virtual social solidarity has exploded on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram et al which are full of information, advice, lockdown vademecums, jokes, all about how to survive this. There is a huge sense of solidarity, a sense of “we will get through this” — something that maybe owes much to the collective memory of two world wars.
Up and down Italy last week, people have been coming out on to their balconies to wave the Italian flag, to sing the national anthem, to give each other heart. Rock stars, opera singers, folks who like to sing have been spontaneously performing from their balconies. Luciano Pavarotti’s famous rendering of Puccini’s Vincero is all over social media.
The Covid-19 strike rate in Italy is currently 422 dead per week and rising. By comparison, common or garden ’flu killed 198 people between October 2018 and April 2019. This is not media hype or Johnny Foreigner lack of ‘bottle’. Nor is it mismanagement. It is a virulent modern plague and we do not know a lot about it.
Last Friday, the British physician, TV presenter and writer, Dr Christian Jessen, suggested that the Italian lockdown was just an excuse for a “long siesta”.
Of course, he is right, for 1,441 people it will indeed be a very long siesta.
‘It seems as if a Great Plague has moved in with us’