I have reached the nadir (I hope) of my quarantine depression today. Because today, after thirty long years of trying, my plane should have been touching down at the Venice Marco Polo Airport. We had made the airline reservations. We had booked all our hotels and Airbnb’s and train tickets for a two week, Italian extravaganza.
We had planned to spend three glorious days in Venice, then cross the top of the country by train to visit the Cinque Terra, then go on down to Assisi, the hometown of St. Francis. From there, we’d have settled in to Sorrento, to use it as a hub to visit Naples, Pompeii, Herculaneum, Capri, and the Amalfi Coast, and then spend a few days in Rome before returning home.
And then, COVID-19. So close. So freakin’ close.
It’s not the first time that my Italy plans have been scuttled. Economic downturns, relationship breakups, and a relocation to the west coast that took all the Italy savings I had been putting away faithfully every month, for 10 ½ years, are some of the many disappointments I’ve experienced. But this time I had actually held the freakin’ tickets in my hands. I had written out the itinerary. I had read the guidebooks and watched everything Rick Steves had to say on the subject. We had even paid for a consultation with one of his staff. What could possibly go wrong?
Now I’m wondering if international travel of any kind will actually be viable ever again. I suspect this isn’t going to be the last pandemic. It certainly wasn’t the first.
I realize that I look like a privileged, bourgeois brat to be whining about this when people are dying and losing their jobs. I know that I have it so much better than so many people. I’m extremely lucky.
But it’s really hard not to be sad when I was supposed to be in Italy today. It feels like I’m in a state of mourning that no one will understand. It feels like I really have no legitimate right to be upset, and that makes it so much worse.
This trip would have generated a lot of blog posts, too. Maybe I’ll make some spaghetti for dinner and try not to cry into it. I suppose I could blog about that. Or maybe not.
Do you enjoy my random musings? Then you’ll love my book! http://amzn.to/2mlPVh5
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Venice Marco Polo Airport (VCE), Viale Galileo Galilei, 30, 30173 Venezia VE, Italy
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The View from a Drawbridge 
I mourn with you. Your trip was my chance to vicariously live my dream of Italy through your senses. That Italy doesn’t exist right now. As I read this, I smelled smoke and saw a black cloud billowing over the building next store. Gathering up essentials (mask, meds, walker) I realized I was dizzy, winded and stuck because there’s no ramp. So I waited and watched. I think it’s out now and, if no stray embers get stirred by the hot dry winds, I won’t have to break quarantine to evacuate and let Corona have it’s way with me. Certain death avoided so far and I found a spare inhaler… Hope this distracted you from our mutual sadness.
I hope you’re safe, Lyn! That’s scary. You need a ramp, for sure. That does put things into perspective though. I’d rather you had a ramp than I have a trip to Italy. Some things are more important. Next time, though, call 911 and get some burly firemen to carry you to safety. THAT would be blogworthy!
Don’t do damsel in distress well. Used to being the rescuer. Dated a fireman though and had a few adventures. I’m safe for now. Cheap landlords won’t put a ramp in and will use any reason to evict so they won’t have to. Just another challenge to meet. We can still dream of a future trip to Italy while facing our current reality.
I’m sure the ADA would back you up, for ramp AND eviction. That’s insane. But yes, let’s dream.