I had never been nervous to get groceries before but there’s a first time for everything.
It was Monday. The first official day of the Florentine Quarantine. The prime minister made a decree stating that everyone in Italy should stay at home, only going out for reasons related to work or health. Getting groceries is allowed, and Italians are still permitted to go to work although telecommuting is strongly advised. Restaurants can stay open until 6pm.
I leave my apartment at 1 in the afternoon to get groceries. Although they’re mostly empty, the leather shops and bars on my street are open. There are very few people out, but there are some walking around and even a few eating at the bar on the corner.
The first thing I notice when I walk into the grocery store, is the black tape criss crossing the floor, marking the required distance customers must maintain from one another as they wait to check out.
One shop clerk is trying to restock the shelves. As he snakes around people in the store, he keeps pulling his hands back and pushing back his hips, like a soccer player trying to prove he hasn’t committed a foul. He reminds everyone to stay one meter apart. “People just don’t understand the situation,” he mutters to his buddy behind the meat counter. The tiny supermarket in the historic center of Florence was not built with personal space in mind.
It takes me twice as long as usual to get my vegetables as I have to keep waiting for the scale to be free. I start to grab a plastic bag for my zucchini, think twice, and put on the plastic gloves meant for grabbing produce. I’ve always ignored them before, but today, I leave them on until checkout.
My standard practice has become to pop into the market every two days or so, sometimes even multiple times a day if I decide I want to cook something special. This is the first time I’ve resorted to my American ways, buying enough produce and staples to last a week. I battle to get all of the items into the three bags I’ve brought with me, pausing on the sidewalk to move the eggs here and the spinach there, praying the plastic bag doesn’t break on my five minute walk home.
I walk up the five flights to my new apartment momentarily cursing the heavy canned goods. Opening the door, I feel a rush of gratitude. I’d moved into the apartment on Saturday, beating the decree by two days. I’m one of the lucky ones. At 25, I’m unlikely to have serious problems if I attract the virus. I work from home anyway. And I’ve just moved into an artistic loft with a terrace, that I’ve nicknamed the apartment on top of the world.
Ironically, since moving here two years ago, my biggest fear has always been struggling to renew my visa and having to leave Italy. Now, I’m literally being asked to stay put.
My best friend who has taken a loan in order come from Stockholm and study in Florence, will have to return home when this is all over. Over a week ago, she described the panic in the cafeteria on the day all of the American university students were sent back home. One of them was going from table to table, asking if anyone wanted to buy her hamster. Why she bought a hamster during a study abroad program will always remain a mystery.
My boyfriend still goes to work – putting diamonds and gems into pieces of jewelry for various clients. His job can’t be done remotely, an artiginal trade that requires his presence in his father’s workshop near the Ponte Vecchio.
Most people are not so lucky. Teachers are out of work for the moment. The tourism industry which Florence thrives on is at a momentary standstill. The economy will suffer. The cases of contagion continue to rise.
Then there are the tens of thousands of people infected. This mysterious virus that spreads rapidly, invisibly – passing over some and fully striking others. I receive messages from everyone back home wanting to know if I’m okay, but mostly, curious about what it’s really like here. I have trouble explaining to them. Everything I read about the situation stirs up panic in me yet my life hadn’t really changed much until the decree.
All I can do is stay home, try not to infect anyone lest I be asymptomatic, and hope that efforts to contain the spread prevail.
I wonder if when this is all over, in the aftermath of personal loss and an economic mess, there will be a silver lining. Perhaps people are feeling it already. We remember how fortunate we are to be able to get up and go to work or school in the morning even though we usually gripe when the alarm goes off. We’re lucky to be able to have a day full of possibilities – museums to visit, bookshops to peruse, events to attend and friends to meet for drinks or dinner. Sometimes we forget these little activities are what make life rich – we complain until a bigger problem comes along and turns our previous lamentations into specks in the rearview.
I sit on my terrace and think about how ironic it is that I am “quarantined” here in my favorite city. I experience a metallic mix of guilt and gratitude. I can stay home and be outside. I can live my life with limited interruptions. I can exist in Florence and write about the important things and just these two activities fill me with energy.
It’s almost as if nothing is going on until you check the news. Or go to the grocery store and spend 30 minutes weighing all your vegetables. A small price to pay for health, work, and an apartment with a view, at a time when the lives of many have been completely put on pause.
