A few weeks ago Italy's lockdown lightened a little. News spread to the States that people were out and life was beginning again. But for many Italians, these new rules hadn't changed life at all.
Bars (cafes) could open for take-away coffee, but that had never been part of an Italian's daily life and the fear of no customers kept many bars closed. Those that did open had to buy paper cups because although a cappuccino grande sounds Italian, walking down the street with one is a whole new thing. And there was still confusion on who could grab a coffee to-go because we were still required to carry the auto-certification and going out for a cup of coffee wasn't on the list.
The lightened lockdown included a lot more things that we couldn't do, than things we could do. You still couldn't take a walk with a friend. You couldn't talk to more than one person at a time in the street. And you couldn't buy more than two packs of yeast at the grocery store--- the only one of the three 'couldn'ts' that wasn't fineable. (Some joked that on lockdown Michiganders take to the streets with guns while Italians just bake more bread. I was happy to confirm that there was a yeast shortage in the States, too.)
On the new could-do-list you could visit family, but having no Italian roots, that didn't affect me. You could also drive somewhere, take a walk, and then drive home. But since I'm used to walking 10 miles a day it seemed silly to drive (alone) to another town that I could just as easily have walked to. You could go to gelaterie (ice cream shops) but were obligated to get your ice cream (one at a time), leave immediately and enjoy it in your car or walking. There was no licking in front of the gelateria or on a nearby bench in the piazza because that came with a fine. I decided gelato could wait for the next phase.
Six days ago (71 days into the lockdown, three days before phase 2 ) I stopped on the street to talk to a neighbor. She was in her yard and I stayed on the other side of her gate because visiting friends was still prohibited. A few minutes later another neighbor came out for a walk and stopped for a 6-foot visit. That was prohibited, too, because it's considered an assembly in a public place, but we decided to risk it.
I asked the newcomer about her bar. She was one of the few that had tried to open with paper cups. She didn't answer, but started to cry a little. I responded with a few tears of my own only to be followed by the crying woman on the other side of the fence. There we stood, barely friends before the coronavirus, yet nearly three months later able to understand each other's silence and unable to offer a pat on the shoulder or hug. Whoever said Big Girls Don't Cry had no idea of life with the coronavirus.
