It was in late January that I first heard the word “coronavirus’. It was some kind of flu, I gathered, that was happening far away, to a la...
It was in late January that I first heard the word “coronavirus’. It was some kind of flu, I gathered, that was happening far away, to a large number of people in China. I skimmed through the news about Wuhan and cities in China being blocked off. Comfortably ensconced in the First World, I read this information with some amount of distance. In Italy, after all, we were too busy with fashion week and aperitivo, the daily routine of school-work-home, to really be concerned.
Until one Friday morning, when we woke up in Milan to news of the first Covid-19 case: a 38-year-old man who had reported to the emergency room in the town of Codogno with fever and respiratory problems. He had recently had dinner with a colleague who had just returned from China earlier in February. There are several things to note here: first, the coronavirus had actually entered Italy earlier, two people in Rome had tested positive, but had recovered and the virus hadn’t really spread. Second, it was my understanding that flights from China had been blocked for a while now so how did this gentleman manage to come back to Italy? It must then be this China-returned...
