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Bergamo Chronicles. Isolated Birthday
I’ve spent two months in Bergamo. The first getting to know the university, walking round, eating ice-cream in Gelateria Romana and looking at the Alps from Venetian walls of the old town. The second month I spent in quarantine learning about the town from apocalyptic international news, or deciphering Italian posters in supermarkets. Every time the car with a loudspeaker passed on the street, I thought ‘see, you haven’t learnt Italian good enough, and now you’re missing some important information and probably going to die.’ Though to be fair, I probably wouldn’t understand that loudspeaker even in Ukrainian, and the purpose of it is most likely exactly that, to scare people into paralyzed obedience.
My friends abroad seemed to know way more about Bergamo than I did, asking me whether I’ve seen coffins, and how many. Bergamo became a notorious name, and my earlier invitations to visit me there now sounded like a curse. The very walls of the town got radioactive with news. Windows of the closed shops stood inviting to transpired 50% sales, and posters of all the cancelled events added to the feeling that I was in Chernobyl. I wasn’t afraid of the virus itself, since like most people around I’d already went through mild fever and other symptoms, not considered here serious enough to be hospitalized or tested for.
