CASTELBUONO, Sicily (CN) – My father got to the outdoor food market in a nearby town in Puglia, the bootheel of Italy, driving his old white Fiat Panda. Life was about to take a sudden turn.
It was Monday, March 9, the morning of the day Italy's prime minister went on television and ordered the entire country under an emergency lockdown due to the worsening outbreak of the mysterious coronavirus disease in northern Italy.
He parked his Panda in Cisternino, a hilltop town hosting a market that day, and began one of his favorite routines: Mingling with the crowds of market-goers as he buys fruit and vegetables in season.
The markets of Italy are bustling, colorful places, with mounds of oranges, artichokes, broccoli, eggplants and so much more for sale. Vendors holler, weigh bags on scales and banter with customers as coins and banknotes are swiftly exchanged.
“When I got there, it was 9:45 in the morning,” my father tells me over the telephone. “It was a regular market day, fewer people maybe than usual, but really not any different. Then I noticed everyone started closing up. But it was only 9:45. I didn't know what was going on.”
What had happened was the sudden arrival of the virus even here in Cisternino at the very other end of the Italian peninsula, 560 miles south of Italy's outbreak zone near Milan. Someone in Cisternino had tested positive shortly before the market opened and now the town's police were shutting the market down.
It was the last market my father was going to for a long time.
The next day, the first day of the lockdown, he went to a supermarket. When he got there, the scene made his heart sink. People were lining up and keeping three feet from each other. Masks were appearing.
“It was horrible,” he says. “Everyone was standing far away from each other. The supermarket was letting only a few people in at a time. All the clerks were in masks. It was so crowded. I just needed to buy some cat food, so I didn't go in. It's not worth going to town. Everyone is afraid to touch each other, it is horrible.”
Twelve days later, my father, who lives alone in the countryside, doesn't go to town any more. He's 81 years old, so the less contact he has with anyone else, the better. My brother, who lives close by, is shopping for him.
A big piece of my father's life is now gone. Every day, he liked to drive to one of the picturesque towns around him, stop in a cafe for an espresso, scan the newspapers bars in Italy offer customers, visit an outdoor market, maybe run into some friends there and drive back home in his Panda to make a tasty lunch.
Now, my father spends his days finding things to do on his land. He is pruning fig trees now. It's still chilly, so he uses the branches he cuts to burn in his wood stove. He hears the news on his radio, and none of it is good: The pandemic gets worse.
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Throughout Italy, it's the same. Life has been sucked away.