Roma Corona

by Samuel Bladwell (United Kingdom (Great Britain))

I didn't expect to find Italy

She was wearing a HAZMAT suit and as she spoke the mask shifted up and down slightly. “Have you been feeling ill? Coughs or Sneezes?” “No” I reply, slightly distracted by the small gun-like machine her assistant is holding. It beeps. There is a moment’s pause and I don’t know whether the result is positive or negative. Her eyes widen and I can tell she’s smiling beneath the mask. “Don’t worry, you don’t have coronavirus.” I’m in Roma as part of a long loop like adventure through southern Europe. When I started a month ago and a bit ago, borders were open and friendly and border guards offered a happy smile when they asked, “where are you travelling too?” Now the Lombardy in the north of Italy is in the red zone with more cases of corona virus every day. The north may be shut, but in Roma the sun is shining, the Forum beautiful, the Villa Borghese green, and the food delicious. In the sun of Italy, such concerns are forgotten. When I arrived in Roma, my friend Francesca was waiting for me with the keys to an apartment. “For you it’s a good thing, normally apartments like this in Monti are 90 a night. Now the museums will be empty, and you can go to any restaurant you like!” Her hands flying about as she talks. “You are optimistic” I reply, smiling warmly at her Roman enthusiasm. She flashes a wide smile, “Don’t worry, there’s no corona in Roma.” Monti, the neighbourhood where I am staying is known for its nightlife. I wander the pretty cobbled streets, well-dressed Romans passing me on their way to aperitivo, snacks and drinks consumed before dinner. While any of the small and bustling bars would suffice, my friend Lavinia has chosen Ai Tre Scalini. The table space in front of us gradually fills with delicious morsels in small steel cups, and two glasses of beer. “What a time to come to Roma!” Momentarily distracted by a melt-in-your-mouth piece of truffle-flavoured salami, I am slow to reply, and Lavinia takes it as a cue to continue. “But as you can see no one cares anyway, Romans will always have aperitivo.” The night drags on and delicious aperitivo is substituted for an equally delicious plate of authentically Roman carbonara. There isn’t a drop of cream to be found, only eggs, pepper and pancetta. As I bite down on the rigatoni it resists the perfect amount. Lavinia is distracted, trying to book space at another bar. I speak no Italian, but her expression says it all. “It’s full?” I enquire. “Yes, you’d think corona would have scared more people off. It’s ok, we are in Monti and there are plenty of bars to choose from.” The next day I head out to see the sights. The forum is empty, and closed. Where there would have been a queue there is now a deserted ticket office, and a small sign. All museums are to remain closed until the 3rd April, but the Roman ruins are such a spectacle that even looking from the Via dei Fori Imperiali. With the sun shining I go around the forum I head across the Tiber and into Trastevere, another interesting neighbourhood of bars and food. While the museums are shut, the restaurants are open, and it’s a perfect day to enjoy the quiet cobbled streets, coffees and cornettos. Each day the streets, shops and restaurants grow quieter. By Monday evening tables in a bar contain a hand-pump with hand sanitiser. We all sit a little more distant, but still close enough to chink our beer glasses together. On the wall, the usual football game is replaced by a press conference with the Italian prime minister. We all watch closely. Stephan’s eyes gradually widen as the press conference continues. Finally he speaks. “I guess they had to.” “Had to?” I ask, slightly apprehensive. Stephan’s face transforms in a knowledgeable smirk, and picks up his glass, ready to cheers. “All of Italy is under lockdown from tomorrow. No more travel, except with explicit reasons. I guess it wasn’t the Italian holiday you were expecting!”