People stand at their windows and balconies singing in Rome. Photo / Getty
This week marks one year since New Zealand's borders were closed. Tracy Goodall, a New Zealander who has lived in Pietrasanta, Northern Tuscany, since 2010, reflects on a roller-coaster year and the welcome respite of the America's Cup challenge.
A year ago, the world was enchanted by the images on social networks and TV channels of Italians singing lustily from balconies, demonstrating solidarity with their neighbours and communities. One year on, the only singing I hear in my town comes from the birds that are still absolutely loving the empty streets. The rainbow banners proclaiming "Andrà tutto bene" (it will all be fine) have long disappeared. Perhaps the problem is that, in true Italian style, there was no end date attached, leaving the "when" wide open to interpretation …
What is life like in Italy now the initial novelty has well and truly worn off? We were the first country in the world to go into a full, hard national lockdown and although it was incredibly tough and surreal, we were intrepid and innovative, with the famous Italian creativity finding ways to get through it with flair and humour. I say "we" although I am a New Zealander.
How did a year go by so quickly? Remember when we still thought the Tokyo Olympics might go ahead? How naive we were. In October, I booked a flight to London for May 2021, thinking surely it would be all okay by then. As my husband — the Lovely Marcello, as my New Zealand friends call him — told me in his best attempt at a Kiwi accent: "You're dreaming, mate."
I recently dug up a photo showing me wearing a mask in the office. The date: February 24, 2020. My colleagues smiled at me indulgently thinking it was just another of my Anglo-Saxon idiosyncrasies. The death toll was about eight. One week later, anyone who could work from home did so and a week after that, the entire country was shut down. One year on, we have passed the gruesome 100,000 deaths milestone and I now work 100 per cent from home.
Slowly Italy opened up again from May, with many businesses praying for a successful summer season, especially in coastal areas like ours where tourism is the lifeblood from June to September. And life did return to a kind of new normality for three months, albeit with masks and hand sanitiser as much a part of your everyday paraphernalia as keys, wallet and phone.
We had a handful of barbecues in our garden but with precautions, such as vetting our guests and inviting only those who seemed to be as cautious as we were.
We even went on holiday, a few days hiking in the mighty Dolomites, then driving on to Venice, where we had the privilege of experiencing it with perhaps 10 per cent of the usual number of tourists. It was magical — but of course we're not gondoliers or restaurant owners reliant on tourism for our livelihood.
The relaxation of rules over summer came at a cost, however, and October saw the so-called Second Wave. This time a colour-coded system was introduced, shutting down regions, rather than the entire country. We've had a curfew for four or five months now — you really do lose count of time, so it's hard to be accurate. Nobody can venture outside their homes between 10pm and 5am.
For a year it's become part of my daily routine to check the numbers. The deaths and new cases. We're now in the Third Wave and we tend to see around 20,000 new cases each day and 300 deaths. A year ago, these figures would have horrified us, but you just slowly, inexorably, become inured to them.
Italians ask me how the situation is in New Zealand and I explain that there's been a total of 26 deaths and that life is pretty normal down there because the country has been rigorous about protecting the borders. I always feel compelled to add that of course, it's slightly easier to achieve when you are an island nation with a small population far away from densely populated Europe, lest it comes across as gloating. The next question, inevitably, is: "So why don't you go
back for a while?"
Knowing you can't get home is just such an alien and sickening feeling. That freedom of choice is something I've always taken for granted and now that it's gone, I realise how precious it was.
The hardest thing, though, is imagining something happening to my parents and knowing that it would really be a month before I could get to them, by the time I booked a flight, sorted logistics and had my fortnight of quarantine. That's just something I prefer to not think about.
Something else that we have lost over here is the ability to plan. Whether that's a weekend away in another part of Italy (forget even thinking about abroad), a wedding or just a family meal, it's all the same. Marcello is best man at a wedding in Verona in June but nobody knows if that will go ahead. His parents live in a town 15 minutes away, as do his sister and her family. We have seen them perhaps three times in a year. We had Easter on our own, Christmas on our own and it will be just the two of us again for this Easter as the whole of Italy goes into Red to try to minimise movement over the festive period. I do love my husband, but we've spent a lot of undiluted time together this past year.
The last time we ate out was five months ago. Dining out is very much a part of Italian culture, so not being able to have a family lunch on Sunday or go out for pizza on Sunday is a big deal.
And so, I have to admit that when I read about the rush to fast-food outlets and shopping malls after a week of lockdown in Auckland, I had to smile wryly.
I don't begrudge New Zealanders having freedom. I love the fact that when we've been watching the America's Cup, the Italian commentators keep reminding viewers every now and then when images flash up of the crowds sitting cheek to cheek, "Don't be alarmed by the crowds. There is no Covid in New Zealand, so they're not breaking any rules."
For us though, images represent a kind of parallel universe. Really, people can go to sports events and mingle in their thousands?
I've felt emotional seeing some of the clips posted by friends of concerts in vineyards and parks and when I've shared them with Italian or British friends, who are of course in the same situation, they've told me how moved they feel, but that it also gives them hope for a time when we, too, will be able to enjoy such simple pleasures again.
In the meantime, people swing between weary acceptance and anger. And there's a lot of anger, including from many who believe it's all a farce and we should let businesses open up again as Covid is just like the flu. It's very hard to find anything else to talk about, so the America's Cup has actually been a very welcome respite, for its conversational value alone.
The only other topic is the other V word. Vaccine. It's like the Holy Grail. We're just so far behind the UK but a new Special Covid Commissioner has just been appointed and announced an accelerated rollout.
Then I think that spring is in the air, it's getting warm enough to sit outside and the vaccine will arrive. Eventually. You have to stay positive. Just don't test positive. That's the trick.
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