Don’t worry, it’s not your internet that’s suddenly very slow, causing the picture above this blogpost to be out of focus. It’s simply sfocata, or in other words a bit blurry. Hence, it’s not perfect. Normally, I would have immediately labelled this photo as unusable, but this time, I think it fits exactly with what I have seen, heard and experienced this past week.
Where a fortnight ago we went into a complete lockdown, zona rossa, in which it would be forbidden to go outside without a form on which you’d give up a valid reason, this turned out to be far from the reality
Because blurred – or even a little vague – is how you could call the situation in Rome. Where a fortnight ago we went into a complete lockdown, zona rossa, in which it would be forbidden to go outside without a form on which you’d give up a valid reason, this turned out to be far from the reality. After just two days, messages came in in my diverse group chats: “Eh, do people in your neighbourhood go out all the time too?” and “Doesn’t this feel much more like zona arancionethan zona rossa? That first week I would still put on a sports outfit when I left the house. Last week, this was no longer the case as everybody was just going outside however and whenever they wanted. For a walk, a play date in the park, an errand, or a coffee to go.
I couldn’t be more surprised when I walked past a bar full of people last weekend
Bars and restaurants are closed and can only serve take-away. No more than one person at a time is allowed inside, where you get your coffee in a cardboard cup with the friendly but urgent request to put your sugar in it outside. Hence, I couldn’t be more surprised when I walked past a bar full of people last weekend. A grandmother was rocking her grandchild back and forth in a pram while enjoying her cappuccino and cornetto – the Italian version of the croissant – being seated at a table, two ladies were sipping their coffee while they kept moving alongst the bar to make room for others, and a very diverse crew of locals, from young Romans who had just finished their workout to an American girl, were constantly dropping in. From behind the bar everyone was greeted with an enthusiastic “Buongiorno bello!” And if someone was hesitating at the door, not sure whether to enter a bar that was buzzing with life, a friendly “But please, do come on in!” encouraged them to step in.
It seemed like a Sunday morning like any other, except for the fact that everyone in the bar knew better
The picture was almost painfully soothing and so welcoming at the same time. It was one of those typical Italian bars that’s the pure opposite of a ‘hip concept’ with no desire to be called trendy. While the Formula 1 race was displayed on a big screen with Max Verstappen defending his pole position and a very passionate Italian commentator not being able to contain his euphoria – “che sensazione!” – the smell of a freshly baked torta di mele invaded my nostrils. It seemed like a Sunday morning like any other, except for the fact that everyone in the bar knew better.
It felt so strange. So illegal and so normal at the same time
I stepped inside. Had my cappuccino in a porcelain cup while taking a bite of my ciambellone. It felt so strange. So illegal and so normal at the same time. I looked around at the crowd in the bar. These were not people who did not know how to respect rules, or who were against the authorities. These were not ‘virus deniers’, people who sought out confrontation with the police, or people who were not able to comprehend the severity of the current situation. I spoke to a few of them, while everyone was correctly wearing their facemasks. There was a lady with her husband and dog who was visibly distressed to see her thirteen-year-old daughter now spending days on end alone in her room behind a screen. There was the nonna who didn’t love anything better than enjoying this stolen moment that she shared with her granddaughter in a bar on Sunday morning. Then there was a very elderly gentleman who shouted from behind his newspaper that we young people should absolutely refuse to lock ourselves in the house to save his generation. And there was a plumber who was already dreading going back to work on Monday. He used to be offered a coffee and a steaming plate of fresh pasta in people’s homes, whereas now they anxiously awaited him with the disinfectant spray. And of course, he understood their concerns, but still. It was clear: every single person who was in that bar yesterday was longing for a break – however brief it was – from the virus-misery that has been testing our patience for over a year now.
Despite the fact that what happened in that bar was certainly not allowed, I was a little relieved to discover that there is one thing that will never, ever fade or become blurry
And in all those different stories revealing big and small sufferings – but a hopeful heart about the approaching summer too – a sentiment of confusion prevailed. Contrary to last year, when all rules and measures were very clear, now all the lines are beginning to blur. From zona rossa we will go back into zona arancione tomorrow, but nobody knows exactly what that means any more. I doubt that it will be noticeable in the streets at all. It won’t be in the bar, the owner assured me. “What colour zone Rome is in now? I really have no clue and I couldn’t care less. For us, it doesn’t change a thing”. And despite the fact that what happened in that bar was certainly not allowed, I was a little relieved to discover that there is one thing that will never, ever fade or become blurry: the ability of the Italians to elevate the tiniest pleasure of a simple cup of coffee to true form of art.