The Florentine April 2020

April 2020

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The English-speaking news magazine in Florence

Healing not broken A commemorative issue

www.theflorentine.net

Healing not broken A commemorative issue

We hope you enjoy our interactive digital edition.

Everything you see in blue is clickable, as too are the advertisements. This is The Florentine into the future, a brave new world of publishing in Florence, Italy.

Editor’s letter: Healing not broken / Helen Farrell Contributors Florence will rise again / Dario Nardella The future? / Marco Badiani Voices of tomorrow / Giovanni Giusti Empty Florence / Francesco Spighi How to help Italy + Florence The empty ballroom / Perri Klass + Larry Wolff A message / Benjamin V. Wohlauer No more chances after today / Marisa Garreffa The best and the worst / Sarah Crowe Retreat into your home, not into yourself / Harry Cochrane Opportunity / Alexandra Lawrence Family life in lockdown / Jane Farrell Il British during lockdown / Amanda Lowe

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The next adventure / Simon Gammell A sense of community / Eugenio Giani A different world / Luigi Salvadori The wisdom of farmers / Paolo Chiappini Full city, empty city / Carlo Francini Tuscany, together for tomorrow / Francesco Palumbo An opportunity to change direction / Carlotta Ferrari The meaning of “home” / Kamin Mohammedi Neighbourhood spirit in San Niccolò / Lisa Brancatisano So, so special / Nardia Plumridge Thoughts from just another girl in Florence / Georgette Jupe Living in a today which never seems to end / Ela Vasilescu The “adopted home” of so many / Gabrielle Maria Taylor Florence, that grande dame / Deirdre Pirro Lost Verse / Kirsty Jane Falconer My One and Only / Aimelie Moen Thoughts from young readers / Téa Mijatović, Sofia Lydia Barbieri, Liam Danilo Barbieri + Allegra DiFlorio My sweet quarantine / Vincenzo d’Angelo Making pasta in lockdown / Emiko Davies Radiant, lethal Italian spring / John Hooper

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the English-speaking news magazine in Florence editorial office + advertising via dei Banchi 4 - 50123 Firenze

info@theflorentine.net theflorentine.net theflorentinepress.com EDITORIAL TEAM editor-in-chief Helen Farrell deputy editor Jane Farrell photo editor Marco Badiani editorial assistant Harry Cochrane MANAGEMENT director Marco Badiani deputy director Giovanni Giusti graphic & art design Leo Cardini advertising Giacomo Badiani digital + web Alexandra Korey accounting Deborah Bettazzi founding editor Nita Tucker

WRITE TO US AT: redazione@theflorentine.net events events@theflorentine.net advertising pubblicita@theflorentine.net classifieds annunci@theflorentine.net accounting@theflorentine.net direttore responsabile Silvia Bini editore B’Gruppo srl via Valentini 10 - 59100 Prato partita iva 01715830970 iscritta al registro degli operatori di comunicazione (ROC) al n. 14773 del 17/11/2006 - Reg. Trib. di Prato n.4 del 12/09/2006 FLORENCE AS IT HAPPENS News and events online, all the time. theflorentine.net CLASSIFIEDS Looking for an apartment, appliance or even an elephant? You never know… If it’s in Florence, you’ll find it here! theflr.net/classifieds WEB TV see hundreds of videos ldmnews.it SOCIAL CONTENT facebook.com/tfnews @theflorentine instagram.com/theflorentine youtube.com/theflorentinenews

Cover image: Francesco Spighi www.francescospighi.com

Healing not broken The Florentine has been with you since 2005: 15 years of news, events, arts, culture and stories of international living in Florence. Now, in the spring of 2020, just before Easter, we are privileged to publish Healing Not Broken, a commemorative issue documenting the emergency we are all enduring, wherever we are in the world.

Propinquity is the word that keeps coming to mind, a poignant noun that made me fall in love with Florence a smidgen more on reading Michael Ondaatje’s novel The English Patient. Never before has humanity been so united in a shared cause. Never before has our magazine received so many messages from so many people, expressing their closeness to Florence and concern for our team. It was this feeling of nearness that drove us to make a new commitment to our readers around the globe during lockdown: TF Together (www.theflr.net/ tftogether), a weekly line-up of digital events to keep you company in the interim. This sense of camaraderie can be felt throughout Florence as schools have switched overnight to online learning, associations have changed their events to virtual platforms and museums accompany us on tours around their collections.

Humanism, of course, had its home in Renaissance Florence and, now more than ever, rational thinking, collectivity and experience inform a code for us to live by.

In this special edition of The Florentine, we witness an outpouring of a renewed humanism in Florence, of learning, words, thoughts and creativity, with articles, poems and short stories scribed by our international community, some a product of our literary competition launched to keep you company during quarantine, plus ideas and considerations for the future from Tuscany’s leaders and institutional figures, all interspersed with iconic photography of Florence at its most restful.

To our readers in Florence, please continue to document this unusual gift of time, albeit tragic, and to reach out to us with a view to publication. To our readers all over the world, please postpone, not cancel your forthcoming trips to this magnificent city. The joy of Florence and Tuscany changes with the seasons and will amaze you just as much in the autumn, winter and beyond.

The city we love so deeply has endured the plague, conspiracies, floods and bombings. Florence will endure this challenge too and with time, perseverance and your support, our Fiorenza will flourish once more.

Helen Farrell, editor in chief Please continue to support The Florentine at this critical time for Italy: www.theflorentine.net/support 6

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Contributors

Dario NARDELLA mayor of Florence

Benjamin V. WOHLAUER Consul General of the United States in Florence

Eugenio GIANI president of the Regional Council of Tuscany

Luigi SALVADORI president of Fondazione CR Firenze

Paolo CHIAPPINI director of Fondazione Sistema Toscana

Francesco PALUMBO director of Toscana Promozione Turistica 8

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Carlo FRANCINI head of the World Heritage and UNESCO Relationship Office of the Municipality of Florence + site manager of the UNESCO World Heritage site “Historic Centre of Florence”

Simon GAMMELL director of The British Institute of Florence index

Amanda LOWE deputy director of The British Institute of Florence

Carlotta FERRARI director of Destination Florence CVB + President and Founder of the Italian Convention Bureau

Francesco SPIGHI photographer based in Florence Larry WOLFF Julius Silver Professor of History at New York University, the executive director of the NYU Remarque Institute, + co-director of NYU Florence at Villa La Pietra Perri KLASS Professor of Journalism and Pediatrics at New York University + co-director of NYU Florence at Villa La Pietra

Marisa GARREFFA writer + performance artist living in Florence

Deirdre PIRRO columnist of The Florentine + author of Italian Sketches: The Faces of Modern Italy, published by The Florentine Press. She’s an international lawyer who lives and works in Florence index

Mattia MARASCO photographer based in Florence

Sarah CROWE former international journalist, who has worked for the UN/ UNICEF for the past 16 years, + currently lives and works in Florence

Alexandra LAWRENCE professor and private tour guide who has lived and worked in Florence for over 20 years April 2020

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Kamin MOHAMMEDI published author, journalist, broadcaster, editor and public speaker

Lisa BRANCATISANO founder of This Tuscan Life magazine.

Born and raised in Melbourne, Australia, she lives in Florence

Vincenzo D’ANGELO works as social media manager at The Florentine’s communications company flod + is a LGBTQIA+ advocate 10 TF266

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Nardia PLUMRIDGE published author + freelance travel and lifestyle writer who regularly contributes to print and online publications in the UK, US and Australia

Georgette JUPE digital social media marketing strategist, editor of Italy Magazine + founder of the popular Girl in Florence blog

Ela VASILESCU story hunter translated into a writer, editor, + teacher, based in Florence, Italy Kirsty Jane FALCONER writer + translator living in Poggibonsi.

Her work has appeared in The Tablet, Times Literary Supplement and the Honest Ulsterman

Emiko DAVIES Australian-Japanese food writer, photographer + cookbook author, who has called Italy home for over a decade

Aimelie MOEN artist born and raised in South Florida. She studied Fine Arts and Art History at Marist College in Florence, and currently lives between Florence and Los Angeles

Gabrielle Maria TAYLOR president of Club Tornabuoni

John HOOPER Italy + Vatican correspondent for The Economist. He is also the author of The Italians and The New Spaniards index

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Florence will be Florence again, for everyone. That’s my promise to you.

Dario Nardella Mayor Of Florence

Florence will rise again We need to be clear-headed and strong to overcome this phenomenally difficult time.

It’s an epochal challenge for the whole world; nobody can be excluded, nobody can say they feel truly safe.

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n these days of profound solitude and uninterrupted work to guarantee essential services to our citizens, confined like everyone else to my own four walls, I observe the ebb and flow of life in Florence from glimpses on the news, in photos and on social media, and from police reports as our forces continue their patrols.

Seeing Florence so desolate is overwhelming; this is Florence as we have never seen the city before, silent, mournful, yet composed in its sorrow. Where there was the bustle of tourists who walked and gazed at our monuments, the laughter of students, the busyness of the many artisan workshops, and even the sound of much-reviled traffic, now there’s nothing, and all that nothing is a stab to the heart.

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I am certain that, together, we will win this terrible battle. Florence, in its long history, has always known how to rise again after even the most ruinous losses. I’m thinking of Florence destroyed by the fury of the Arno in November 1966, when the city appeared to be on the brink of losing all its beauty and uniqueness.

I’m thinking of Florence shocked and speechless when a Mafia bomb struck the heart of the historic centre in via dei Georgofili in 1993. I’m thinking about the resilience shown during the Second World War and the hard-fought fight that led to Liberation on August 11, 1944.

On this occasion too, Florence will not lose its profound spirit and will rise again from this moral and physical test, something that today seems too great to overcome.

Florence will rise again, of that I am certain, and the city will welcome back all citizens of the world, our international friends who so love these streets, who have always found a second home here. Florence will be Florence again, for everyone.

That’s my promise to you. more here index

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The Future?

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t’s hard to say what the future will hold, but my dream is that it will be different and better, like all of us.

Many people are saying that we’ll never be the same again, that we won’t be able to go back to doing the things we did before, like we did before. This idea doesn’t scare me; instead it intrigues and excites me as if I were a teenager again.

This time is precious, distanced from normality, and its exceptionality accelerates our evolution. It’s a luxurious and arduous standstill, which I hope will work like the flames of the phoenix.

The Florentine is in full revolution; the rules of our reporting already have a new dynamic.

The war against this virus is transforming the media scene balanced on a knife edge between the growing need for news and the fragility of the system that produces it. Printed newspapers, web and television have increased their audience in dizzying numbers—this March alone, our web and social analytics were up by 2000%. This multiplying of news consumers is sparking two trends: higher-quality journalism, based on real stories, live broadcasts and fact checking; and a stop in the mobility of society, which is what sped up the production and digital use of contents in the first place, and in this instance there will be no going back.

But here’s the paradox: the economic slump, and therefore the plummeting in advertising caused by the containment measures of the pandemic could have lethal consequences for today’s media companies, which are essential in keeping people informed. The only means of survival is to trust in readers and their support through subscriptions and donations to the newspapers and magazines they find useful. Now more than ever, as a publisher, I urge you to support the news sources that you love.

The Florentine is adjusting to this new habitat. We are changing and will continue to change our dynamics and the channels and methodology with which we bring Florence to your homes.

With intelligence, creativity and your support, I know that we will find a way. We’re not alone. Together, we will build a new, better future.

Marco Badiani, co-publisher of The Florentine + photo editor 14 TF266

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Voices of tomorrow

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nfection, fear, emergency, crisis, death: these are the nouns we keep reading in the news. Surreal, worrying, difficult, uncertain, absurd, distant are the adjectives. Then there’s the rhetoric: heroes, war, sacrifice, battle, courage, symbols.

Magazines exist because of their writers and readers. Our editorial team, columnists and contributors have always nursed a deep love of Florence, Tuscany and Italy, but more than that they have honed the art of writing to convey their experiences. A greater awareness has been sparked among our community. The city we love now more than ever has revealed its fragile beauty.

Desolate photographs, a far cry from mass tourism, from the everyday bustle, restore Florence to its age-old glory. These iconic images pose historic questions that are pertinent and pressing. How can a city find its true balance? What price must we pay? What’s the right equilibrium between residents and visitors? The hope is that the imposition of this emergency sparks expert answers to these issues.

Our readers have always been attentive and lavished us with comments, suggestions, constructi-

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ve criticism and declarations of love for Florence and our journalism. Now, they drive us to do our best. We feel the need to understand what is happening in Florence, which for so many conjures up memories and elicits plans to study abroad, move here for work or take a vacation. This has generated a growing sense of responsibility in our team. For 15 years, we have had the privilege to report from Florence. Now we must do so with renewed integrity as we make our own humble contribution to its revival. Our readers do not just want to be informed; they feel a debt of gratitude to this city and for what Florence has given them. They ask us what they can do to help; they urge us not to give up; they reassure us that they will return as soon as they are able to do so. Their words fill our hearts with hope.

For this special issue of The Florentine, in addition to articles written across our community and striking photography, we have decided to listen to the people who are not exempt from what is happening, but who, by the nature of the institutional roles they hold and their positive attitude to life, are already able to glimpse the seeds of rebirth and revival. We have decided to focus on individual qualities—vision, ability to analyse, solidarity, practicality—which are required to withstand the storm and, when the time is right, start over. We asked for these people’s thoughts and they agreed, enthusiastic to say their piece.

I’ll finish with a personal consideration: we should have stopped and we couldn’t. This virus has forced us to halt. What’s the lesson as we move forward? To live with confidence, not seeking assurances about our existence and simply being grateful for the life we lead. The only way to do this is by becoming our own rulers, recognizing the essential values to which to aspire, through discipline and dedication, seeking inner awakening every day. If we manage to accomplish that, then #andràtuttobene (everything will be alright).

Giovanni Giusti, co-publisher of The Florentine + director of institutional relations index

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Empty Florence T

he first time I went out to photograph Florence, Italy still wasn’t in lockdown, and there was no way we could have imagined the scale of things to come.

That first photographic outing was aimed at telling my customers what was happening in our city. I didn’t know that The Florentine would contact me that very evening to act as their lens. The following day, the Italian Prime Minister Giuseppe Conte extended the lockdown to the entire country and two days later even tighter measures were added. These new measures closed restaurants and non-essential shops; the media has always been exempt as newsstands remain open and journalism is more essential than ever in keeping people informed.

Initially, I wanted to focus on the last remaining tourists as they left the city— their fearful faces covered with the earliest masks—but Florence emptied faster than expected. Then a different idea came to mind. As a born and bred Florentine, who has been privileged to enjoy every corner and season, all hours and weather conditions, what struck me the most was the silence. The volume was absent from ground to head height in a space that usually bustles with busy lives in pursuit of art to fill the eyes and Instagram. Florence stood in a vacuum with the full force of its art and history that have made it great over the centuries. All of a sudden, my city was how it had never been seen before. What we had taken for granted up until a few days before now revealed itself in all its uniqueness: treasures normally reserved for night owls and early morning risers were there shining peacefully in the early spring sunshine. So, that’s how I chose to portray Floren18 TF266

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ce: in the full light of day, sharp and harsh, in contrast with the deafening emptiness of streets usually filled with life; the sound of footsteps; the sea-sawing squeak of a bicycle wheel; the echo of a whistle that reverberates under the arches now bigger than ever.

It’s a bittersweet feeling to immortalize Florence like this. My eyes greedily feast on all the bare beauty freed from superfluity as they fill with tears at the consequences of all this for Florence and its citizens.

That’s why I set up a fundraiser. People all over the world can purchase these photographs and, in so doing, make a direct donation to Florence’s main hospital. Please help our city by donating here: https:// donate.fondazionecareggi.org/-florenceforhospitals/gallery.

In the meantime, I look forward to photographing the city as it slowly reawakens from this unexpected hibernation and returns to its usual vibrant self.

Francesco Spighi, photographer index

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How to help Italy + Florence Here is a list of fundraising campaigns and charities in Florence and Tuscany that require help during the Covid-19 pandemic.

Civil Protection Department Italy’s Civil Protection Department is coordinating the nation’s response to the Covid-19 emergency.

Donations can be made by bank transfer from Italy and abroad using the following bank details: Banca Intesa Sanpaolo Spa, Via del Corso, 226, Rome; IBAN: EN84 Z030 6905 0201 0000 0066 387; BIC: BCITITMM.

www.protezionecivile.gov.it

Red Cross Italy + Firenze The Italian Red Cross have been active since the very start of the Covid-19 alert and their resilience needs our support. The local branch, the Italian Red Cross-Florence Committee, is working tirelessly to implement the CRI for you service, which delivers food and medicines for elderly and immunosuppressed persons.

www.cri.it

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www.crifirenze.it

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Support A Nurse

Help Veneto

Nurses are arriving in Florence from all over Italy to assist in the Covid-19 emergency. This crowdfunding campaign aims to provide financial assistance to the healthcare professionals recruited to respond to Coronavirus patients in Tuscany. The initiative was launched by the Claudio Ciai Foundation, with the support of the City of Florence and Fondazione CR Firenze.

Ruffino Wines are running a Go Fund Me campaign to raise funds for the healthcare system in the Veneto, one of the areas worst affected by Covid-19. The beverage company, Tuscan-based and American-owned, will match every euro donated.

www.gofundme.com/f/sostieniuninfermiere

Support local artisans

Helping cancer patients In this time when efforts are multiplied in order to deal with the Covid-19 emergency, cancer patients are at high risk. In order to give increased assistance, the Associazione Tumori Toscana (Association against cancer in Tuscany) is raising funds for reinforcement nurses and hospital beds.

www.associazionetumoritoscana.it

Florence photos for hospitals Order one of Francesco Spighi’s iconic photographs of empty Florence, taken on commission for The Florentine, during the Coronavirus epidemic and make a donation to the city’s main hospital, Careggi.

www.donate.fondazionecareggi.org/-florenceforhospitals

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bit.ly/RuffinoCaresItaly

The Creative People in Florence group inspires with the support that is being rallied amongst creatives and supporters. Give to small creative businesses by purchasing their creations and reaching out to find out how to order their designs directly. You could also make a donation to the Creative People in Florence association.

www.creativepeopleinflorence.com

Support The Florentine At this time of uncertainty as Covid-19 lays siege to Italy’s health, culture and economy, The Florentine needs your help to continue our mission as an international magazine to keep our community strong, optimistic and informed. We’re asking Florence lovers, in Italy, in the US and wherever you are in the world, to pledge what you can to guarantee coverage in the short- and mid-term.

www.theflorentine.net/support

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Special wistfulness

The empty ballroom

by Perri Klass

Larry Wolff

The opening of the spring semester at NYU Florence began with orientation at the end of January on an unexpectedly springlike day, when the sun was shining and the new students were visiting the gardens. We greeted them all in shifts in the ballroom of Villa La Pietra, talked about how thrilling it had been for us to come to Italy, and Florence of course, for the first time when we were college students in the 1970s; we tried to give them some idea of the range of beautiful and interesting things that they would discover over the course of a semester in Florence. We explained about the Acton Collection that surrounded us in the ballroom, pointed out the magnificent 18th-century Aubusson tapestry, Palace of Circe, which came out of restoration and returned to the ballroom wall last fall.

You see the empty throne of the sorceress Circe in a setting of classical architecture, inhabited only by the animals which were once her lovers but were then transformed by her magic. Only stone statues and no human figures appear in the tapestry.

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ver the next few days, we held an opening symposium on Italian politics, so the students would know something about political life in the country that would be their home for a semester; we held an introductory session on the European Union, so they would know something about the continent as a whole, at the very moment that the UK was making its historic departure. We personally led small groups through the masterpieces of the Bargello, through the amazing new Museo dell’Opera del Duomo, took them up into Brunelleschi’s dome and looked out over the city. “It’s all yours for this semester,” we said to them. “You’ve never lived in such a beautiful city, you’ve never taken classes on such a beautiful campus as Villa La Pietra.”

And less than a month later, to all of our amazement, their semester was brutally cut short by forces beyond our control, and even perhaps beyond our imagining. We feel a deep sadness for the people all over the world who are living in fear, living with illness, many of them dying, but we feel a special wistfulness for the students to whom we promised a semester of astonishing beauty and new knowledge. When we think of the piazzas of Florence empty, without Florentines, without tourists; of the gardens of Villa La Pietra empty, without students, without faculty; we also think sometimes of the empty ballroom and the empty throne of Circe. We remember the tapestry in which, mysteriously, there are no human figures, only architecture and animals. Somewhere in the gardens of Villa La Pietra there are statues and olive trees, a pair of pheasants and an occasional errant deer. And we will return.

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t is in times of trouble that true friends are most needed. And at this moment when the world is facing a serious public health threat, Americans and their friends in Tuscany are standing together to confront it. As President Trump made clear in remarks on March 14, the United States loves Italy, and the friendship between our two countries is stronger than ever. We see concrete examples of this friendship across the country. For instance, in Cremona U.S. NGO Samaritan’s Purse donated a 68-bed Respiratory Care Unit to help care for those infected with COVID-19. Here in Tuscany, Camp Darby donated hospital equipment and supplies to Lombardy, the region hardest hit by this crisis. From its production facility in Sesto Fiorentino, Eli Lilly donated a million euros worth of insulin to the Italian medical system. Meanwhile, alongside Lilly, American investors like Baker Hughes continue to provide employment to many thousands of Italians. Although we are experiencing a global challenge, the foundation of our economic partnership remains as strong as ever. We are confident in Italy’s efforts to combat the COVID-19 outbreak and grateful for Italy’s tireless work to administer care to those affected by the disease. As I said many times during the 2019 celebration of the Consulate’s bicentennial: “Italy has no better friend than the United States.”

Benjamin V. Wohlauer, U.S. Consul General in Florence

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Florence before lockdown

No more chances after today

by Marisa Garreffa It takes me a while to realise I miss the car horns. Traffic still flies by, the emptier roads mean Italians take pleasure in speeding along, but what’s missing is the conversational trumpeting of beeps and long-stretching blows. The rhythm of my mornings is changing; I’m no longer woken by the congested chatter of thick traffic headed out to start the day.

Instead, birdsong fills my window, a clearer symphony across the softened soundscape.

I HAVE

to cross town to collect my final paycheck, one last task to close my work with the study abroad programs that have now been evacuated. So many of us are now out of work.I walk fast with my hands deep in my pockets, aware not to touch anything and to keep my distance from anyone I see. There are more people than I am expecting, not many, but enough to notice. They walk in singles but there is also the occasional couple. I watch a man and woman kiss, lingeringly, along the edge of the Arno. It seems a radical action, this public expression of touch and intimacy.

A tourist couple, looking very lost, walk briskly by.

“Maybe we should get a travel agent from here, from this end, to help us get home.” The city is now for construction workers, couriers and other delivery people. “Where do I park my truck?” one calls from his window. “Wherever you want. You can park anywhere.”

Passing the strip of designer stores I see attendants waiting inside with masks and gloves. Waiting for who, I wonder. An Italian woman paces back and

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forth in front of a store. “Boh. Comunque. Io rientro a casa.” In the time of lockdown, there are very few valid reasons to leave the house. But Florence has always been a magnificent city of dogs, and now these local heroes are the ticket out. The dogs are walking their owners. I arrive at the office where I collect my pay, and my colleague makes an enthusiastic fuss over his dog, who is jumping and excited. “I brought him just in case. I know I had to come in for work, but still, he’s my extra reason for when I’m heading back.”

I set a brisk pace home. Having finished my task, I feel a strong responsibility to restare a casa, to do my part in the Italian solidarity. On street level, the stores are almost completely closed. A few restaurants stay open, empty, or with one person nursing a beer and pizza alone, or with the staff sitting outside to take the sun, nothing to do, at safe distance from each other. The bottles of hand sanitiser still wait in the pizzeria doorway, from an earlier phase of the restrictions. Now there is almost nobody around to use it. By tomorrow, a new ordinance will be declared, closing down everything but the most essential stores. Police index

Florence will take to her upper floors and to her windows.

There has always been another secret life in this city.

The one that exists above ground level.

will monitor the streets more carefully and encourage people to go back home if they don’t have a valid reason to be out.

take the sun, and speak to each other through shutters, over railings, calling down, calling up, calling in every direction to reach each other.

And yet, there are still the sounds of life. They are coming from above. Music from a window drifts through the quiet streets, and the sound of voices filters out through the shutters. A woman walks alone down the street, Palazzo Pitti looming up behind her. The square empty but for a couple of sunbathers, laying close and risking trouble, but there’s no one around to catch them. Voices shout from a high window and the girl on the street laughs. She stops and calls up to her two male friends. A reverse Romeo with two Juliets.

Almost home, in my local piazza a small handful of people are spread at great distance from each other, sitting quietly or laying in the sun. I pause on an empty and isolated bench, it seems ok to take a last moment. We are allowed to leave the house for a walk, for some exercise, but we are unsure if this solitary pausing is allowed. An artist calls across the distance, would I mind if he drew a quick sketch of me? I nod permission. It is the kind of exchange that Florence is known for. There will be no more chances after today. When the sketch is done, we pass slips of paper with contact details to avoid drawing too near and touching each other. “When it’s over,” we promise, “we should take a coffee.”

Florence will take to her upper floors and to her windows. There has always been another secret life in this city. The one that exists above ground level. There are those who know Florence from her rooftops and from her windows. While the Vasari Corridor allowed the rulers passage, it is not the only place where life unfolds in the air. People call to each other across streets, window to window, rooftop to rooftop. They lay on balconies to index

I nod my head to this last moment of shared time - I have no dog, no more work, and no reason to go out again until it’s time to buy more food. This quiet journey home is a last goodbye to the life we share in the streets. Just for a little while.

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But that doesn’t mean we won’t share life. Already at home, people are finding ways to reach out. A brother and a friend send money to help me pay the rent. Later, a friend will tell me how her family are struggling, now in sudden debt. We will share the money. She has helped me before. What one has, one shares.

In WhatsApp groups, friends are translating the latest rules to help everyone understand the changes. We watch the video of Conte outlining the new measures. Just before I go to bed, plans are made for an online aperitivo later in the week. All I have is a dusty old bottle of Baileys.

A friend sends a recipe for espresso martini, but I don’t have all the ingredients. The next day, a care package is left at my door. A thermos full of vodka, the missing ingredient, and three books: Love in the Time of Cholera; Guns, Germs, and Steel, and Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine. I send laughter in thanks. Another package arrives: health essentials, plus vinegar, wine, and ice cream. “I know you’re doing it tough. Please don’t pay me. Just enjoy.” Tears fill my eyes.

Online networks are quickly being converted into social and mental health support hubs. People trade tips, helping each other to translate the new regulations so that the rules are clear, offering shopping and medicine collection help to anyone living in their area. We send suggestions for things that can help keep children occupied, and 30 TF266

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fill the time. People write thoughtful articles and messages, with important information to share.

Psychologists are posting in groups, offering free short consultations for people struggling with anxiety.

A friend and collaborator makes plans to launch our open mic night online, providing entertainment and a place to share our creativity while we’re in lockdown. This isn’t just about fun, but a serious mental health support strategy. High stress environments, like a police monitored lockdown during a pandemic, are a huge challenge for mental health. Finding alternative ways of creating social support systems is vital.

This is the time that we look around and see what we can offer to those who may be struggling. I publish a letter of love from Italy to my friends around the world. As Ela Vasilescu so poignantly said, “You are us two weeks ago”. While in social isolation, we will continue to work creatively so that no one is alone. There are many who will need help. We know what we have to do. It is a time to come together, to confront the challenges as one. It is time to think of others more than ourselves. We must learn the lessons from this crisis, and let an outbreak of sickness equally become an outbreak of love. Empty streets are the sign of full hearts. We are in this together. index

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Like a bolt out of the blue, it became deadly serious

The best and the worst

by Sarah Crowe First, there was racial distancing: locals taking a wide berth around Chinese tourists.

Then, there came the jokes: Italians having a good time when the world thought they were in the midst of a plague. Locals scoffed when one after the next the foreign universities and colleges in Florence closed. “It’s just like the ‘flu,” many said. Others cringed at hysterical headlines about their beloved country. That was late February and there were only a handful of Coronavirus cases in northern Italy.

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hen, like a bolt out of the blue, it became deadly serious. It was as if a war had been declared and every day the frontline shifted. All schools and universities closed and the quarantined area expanded as the cases of infections shot up.

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February 27: 655 cases, 17 deaths... March 1: 1,694 cases, 41 deaths... four days later, 3,089 cases, 107 deaths...

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Last weekend, the red zones turned orange as the closed-off area expanded from 50,000 people to 16 million people in the north. Across the country, places of art and beauty joined places of learning in lockdown. Yet, on Sunday, the Tuscan spring sun shone gently, Florentines poured out onto the streets wandering across the Ponte Vecchio licking gelato, hanging out around Palazzo Pitti in bars and restaurants. It was as if, once again, they could claim back their magnificent city as their own. Some reminisced nostalgically about how it was when they were young, before the tourists came, before the likes of Airbnb made them foreigners in their own city. They basked in the warmth of the empty streets.

March 7: 5,883 cases, 233 deaths March 8: 7,375 cases, 366 deaths On Monday, March 9, at around midnight, we learnt that Italy was to become the first country in the world to lockdown entirely. Stay at home and stay apart (minimum one metre) came the strict government decree. One day later, the decision came to close almost everything, except food stores and pharmacies. Silence. Emptiness.

Order. This was not Wuhan. This was not China. index

This was vibrant bella Italia. Imagine Italy without bars and cars, restaurants and museums, without church bells ringing.

March 13: 17,660 cases, 1,266 deaths This virus has plucked out the country’s social soul, a society founded on the family, la nonna and love of the good life, a genuinely generous and warm people. Up until a week ago, you were greeted with a “ciao bella”, downed the world’s best coffee for one euro and sipped aperitivo on someone’s terrazza. In normal times, our street around the corner from the Duomo is so thronging with locals and tourists that you cannot ride a bike, and often you cannot sleep with the noise from people having far too much fun in the bars These are not normal times. Every day, we read the heart-wrenching stories of grannies not being able to hug their grandchildren and children for the last time as the virus takes them “as if they were drowning,” one doctor is reported to have stated. We see pictures of nurses collapsed with their masks still on. And every day the infections and deaths go up and up.

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March 14: 21,157 cases, 1,441 deaths I’ve spent my life covering disasters, civil unrest, South Africa’s turbulent apartheid years, South Asia’s terrorist wars and the migration crisis in Europe as a journalist and UN/UNICEF worker around the world. This is my second “biological war”; I covered the Ebola crisis in Liberia in 2014 and for those of us who were there, it is a nightmare from which we never fully awoke.

These times have shaped and enriched my life in unimaginable ways, a learning that only comes from living. But these experiences have also shattered a base for family and firm friendships.

Ironically, when I had the opportunity to work in Florence and fell in love with the place, I decided I could not do another field post and stayed on. Who would have thought it would have come to this, here.

Crises bring out the best and the worst in humanity: the crazy panic buying, stocking up on toilet paper, fighting over a bottle of sanitizer. In Italy, there is little sign of that; instead there’s a tangible sense of “we’re in this together”, keeping one meter apart in the shops, no hugs, no handshakes, no aperitivo. In Italy, there’s somber solidarity: children across the country have been bravely hanging out signs from their windows and the same sentence is repeated time and time again as a mantra: andrà tutto bene (everything will be alright).

On Friday, March 13, after a week that uprooted life as we know it, I held a digital drinks party with colleagues as much of Italy threw open their windows, came out onto their balconies to sing their hearts out, bang pans and drums, and shout out in defiance, evoking the same spirit of the Italian resistance to fascism, against the cursed virus.

This is not just about a medical response: testing, tracing, treating, hand washing and social distancing are all lifesaving. This is not a virus like Ebola, which destroys most of its hosts.

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The same sentence is repeated time and time again as a mantra: andrà tutto bene (everything will be alright).

Covid-19 hops about unseen and unprejudiced from the young to the old, killing them first. With this virus, you are only as well as the next person.

You could be a super-spreader; you could be asymptomatic. The masks and the tests must be kept for those in real need.

This is about trust in each other that we will do the right thing collectively: trust in a public health system to deliver; trust in knowing the food stores and pharmacies will remain open.

Other countries around the world are fortunate that they now have some time to learn from Italy.

They must be prepared to help, not to hoard; to obey orders; and to change, like Italians have had to. It is for the greater good and for the good of everyone.

Life as we know it in Italy has changed beyond imagination, but la dolce vita will rise again, bars and churches will fill again, and friends of Florence will return. This I know. * The data for Italy includes deaths, positive cases and the clinically healed, and is taken from the Protezione Civile website. April 8, 2020, 94,067 currently positive, 17,127 deaths, 24,392 healed; total cases 135,586.

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If #iorestoacasa is having an effect, it is because it appeals to one’s sense of shame as much as to one’s social conscience.

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Shame and social conscience during lockdown

Retreat into your home, not into yourself

by Harry Cochrane I was at a birthday party when the news came through. Italy was under lockdown.

It was 11pm or so. Buoyed by other people’s wine and other people’s cigarette fumes—I have always been the most passive of smokers—I took it with gung-ho optimism. Well, social gatherings might be banned, but that’s exactly what we’re having right now, isn’t it? Cin cin, ragazzi. Here’s to self-isolation.

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he real last hurrah, I now see in hindsight, was on Wednesday March 11, when I went to my local bar for a light lunch and then returned a few hours later for a cocktail. I talked to the owners, Marco and Daniela. “I was optimistic a couple of days ago,” Marco darkly omened, “I’m not now.” Little did I know, though I might have suspected, that the next morning his door would be closed.

A week later, I have learned the simple truth. Solitary confinement is rubbish. I am a habitual fidget, and #restareacasa for a whole day has been impossible for me ever since my parents indoctrinated me with daily country walks. “Exercise is a curse,” my old Kung Fu instructor told me what I already knew. “You get used to doing a certain amount, and then you need a little bit more.”

This last week has forced me to go cold turkey. I drink up the few minutes of sun on my way to the bins or the supermarket, which I wish were further away. Everybody knows everybody in my piazza, and they take it on trust that if you are out and about, you have a good reason. But if #iorestoacasa is having an effect, it is because it appeals to one’s sense of shame as much as to one’s social conscience. Pedestrians give each other wide berth—all to the good—but eye contact seems harder to come by than it used to be: certainly, I catch myself dropping my gaze, shying from the glares of my fellow sinners.

This, I realise, is decidedly not the right course of action. Human contact is now so rare, so etherized, that I should be grasping it whenever the chance arises. Apart from the few inevitable busybodies, nobody relishes the great guillotine that has come clanging down through the social fabric, especially with days of sun and warmth promised by the BBC. Stay at home, do, but to you lucky people with terraces and balconies, I hope you’re out on the deckchairs, lapping up the rays.

Raise a glass to your neighbours, chat with them from a safe distance, let them know you’re alive and well. Let them see the whites of your eyes.

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In his extraordinary “Urbi et Orbi” homily on March 27, Pope Francis spoke of the ills in our society prior to the pandemic, gently pointing out that “we carried on regardless, thinking we would stay healthy in a world that was sick”.

It is time to admit that our little world in Florence was sick, too. We had given this magnificent city over to mass tourism and it was a sickness that no amount of money could cure. The center—save perhaps the Oltrarno—had lost its residents and, as a result, its soul. We all knew it and together many of us tried to counteract it within our own communities and by working from our consciences, yet we felt powerless to change things in a more substantial way.

But then, suddenly, the change came. The streets went from heaving to empty in a matter of days. No more buses, no more masses. The change is here, the slate is clean. What an amazing opportunity we have been given—to make ourselves and our city well again.

What will we do with this opportunity? What will our leaders do with it? What will you—resident, traveler, lover of Florence—do with this opportunity? Please, let us dream big for the future health of our city—let us dream sustainably, collaboratively, creatively, joyfully—together.

Alexandra Lawrence professor and private tour guide

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Reflections from a confined mum

Family life during lockdown

by Jane Farrell

I get up at 4am—uncharacteristically, I can assure you—and make a strong cup of coffee. Sitting on the still-dark balcony, I wait for the sun to rise, breathing in air that has become notably cleaner these last few weeks, and attempting to extract some sense from this strange new world we’re living in

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y husband is awake too, having never really gone to sleep, brain kept in constant agitation by endless streams of news coverage. The only sound I can hear is that of the birds, also surely trying to figure out what has happened to all the humans. I know that, in a few hours, my three-year-old will wake up and the working day will start from my makeshift office in the study/playroom. We have breakfast together and then I retreat to the desk, feeling a degree of guilt that I’m not dedicating myself to replacing the activities he’s used to enjoying at scuola materna, yet also an undeniable relief that I have something to distract me. Being present in the house, but also not, means there’s a certain amount of confusion for my toddler. Every now and then he comes to the glass door to where I’m working and just stands behind it, knowing that he shouldn’t disturb me, yet curious to find out what I’m up to.

I can’t resist and take a five-minute cuddle break, a perk of working from home. He looks up at me, hopefully asking “Have you finished working now?” It’s only 9.30am, but I say, “Nearly” and lead him to his own table and chair beside mine where he sits dutifully concentrating on colouring a picture of blue skies, vast fields and roaming animals.

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have on him in the long term? My worries must be the same as every other parent’s because the school WhatsApp group becomes filled with songs, video messages, hugs and kisses from his classmates, who are missing their jokes, games and running around gleefully laughing. My son’s face changes as he watches them, a beam spreads from ear to ear and he asks to watch them again and again, imitating their videos later and singing their songs. I miss my friends too. Video chats fill every other moment as we share updates on the crisis and talk about how surreal everything is. Surreal, surreal, surreal. And yet what else can we do except get up, get dressed and create new routines.

While I’m immersed in some particularly devastating news piece, I hear my child’s laughter as he delights in his toys and the time in this safe space we’ve created. He seems very accepting of this new reality, happy to have us ever by his side. But then there’s the rest of the family, the aunts and uncles, grandparents and cousins whom we are missing and who are missing us. Skype calls tend to turn to frustration that a virtual hug can’t be a physical one and more often than not I finish a call fighting against what feels like a wave of grief. We’re lucky to have these people to call, to have those who miss us and to love so many people. We appreciate each other more during this enforced separation and we look to our close circle for support through these times, leaning on each other and valuing others more than before.

We wave to the little girl who lives in the apartment across from us. We’ve never met these new neighbours, but now they’re our closest thing to a human connection. My son sings on the balcony and neighbours peer out windows to observe and smile, grappling to find joy themselves. We try to figure out what the birds are saying, and then join in. We watch a bee gather pollen, we nurture the herbs growing and we look to the distant hills to see if we can make out what lies on them. We evaluate how we’re feeling, and I try to teach my son how to process emotions related to missing his friends and not being able to go to the park, before realising it’s me trying to teach myself and that it’s his young strength that is the support for mine. index

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The new normal of online learning

Il British during lockdown

by Amanda Lowe I’ll go back to Wednesday, March 4. I was administering Cambridge exams in the small, beautiful Tuscan medieval towns of Monteriggioni and Colle di Val D’Elsa. Halfway through the first session, the news came through that the Italian government was thinking of closing the schools. We continued with the second session, got back to Florence and went into the office at 5pm. Still no official news. The phones are ringing.

Students and staff are asking for information and we wait glued to our screens until it is finally announced at 7pm. The schools are to close with immediate effect. My mind is whirring. Colleagues are asking, “What are we going to do?” I can’t remember what time I got home or how much I slept, but by Thursday 5, I had a plan.

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t The British Institute of Florence, we currently have running over 200 English courses with about 2,000 students of all ages starting from age five. We suspended all courses on March 5 and set to work contacting everyone, explaining the plan and getting permission to pass their mobile phone numbers on to the teachers. In the first instance we would set up class groups on WhatsApp to hold the lessons. We worked flat out on Thursday to get the first ones set up for Friday. Then Friday for Saturday. Some teachers and students needed support as they weren’t that familiar with the messaging platform. I remember the sense of euphoria in the staffroom at 4.30pm on the Friday after we had held 20 lessons via WhatsApp. It was our biggest test. The students loved it and the teachers, too. That was when I realised the plan could actually work.

be moving the lessons to an online platform. We also advised them to leave Italy. After that I had a trip to the supermarket where the shelves are looking suspiciously empty.

Then at 6pm we received communication from Cambridge English that all exams would be cancelled with immediate effect. We had three exam sessions at 9am the next day, so we set to work to contact all of the candidates.

Monday 9th. Half of the British Institute is closed. We are going to try and keep the language departments operating as much as possible. All staff come in to collect what they need because we have decided to have everybody working from home. Teachers wheel in suitcases to take home their books. It’s a hive of activity until lunchtime but the wave of tiredness hits as I say goodbye to one colleague after another. Florence is deserted and silent like you have never seen it before. I arrive home just in time for another announcement from the Prime Minister. The whole of Italy is on lockdown for 2 weeks. With hindsight, we had closed in the nick of time. We took the decision before it was enforced and had time to prepare for it.

Saturday March 7 and we were back in the office for 7.30am. Saturday is one of our busiest days with lots of adult courses—all of them to be moved online. Some adults weren’t happy; a couple were rather aggressive. But never mind, we work to get those who want to join into the “lessons” and try to ignore the small minority who want to complain. Saturday comes to a close.

Exhausted but feeling a sense of achievement and the thought of a day off on Sunday, I head for home, where the Prime Minister is making a new announcement. More restrictions. All cultural activities have to close. That means the library and the Italian and Art History departments. Sunday, March 8 is spent contacting our non-Italian students to say that their face-to-face course is cancelled and the school closed, but that we will

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Now accustomed to the full lockdown, all this has become the new normal. Nearly all our students have taken to the online lessons with enthusiasm. We have switched to video lessons and the teachers are revelling in the new opportunities they are finding.

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Comments from teachers and students of The British Institute of Florence “Video conferencing has helped my classes to work as a team and one of my students said, ‘it’s just like being at school’. I can share videos and audio instantly and we laugh a lot and learn from each other in a more intimate way.’

Peter Dulborough, Advanced English teacher “This uneasy state of emergency has sadly cooped us students up at home. Not only have the online classrooms allowed us to keep on moving forward with our studies, but also feel human connectedness as if we were physically together.”

Giulia Borri, adult student “We made a Father’s Day card from a distance!

Mika enjoyed the lesson a lot and her father was really moved by the beautiful surprise. It’s indeed the best part of the week for Mika.

Parent of one of our younger students, aged eight “The Covid-19 pandemic has completely changed our life, especially our daily routine. I’m an ICU doctor, so I have to come face to face with the terrible consequences of Covid-19. In this context, spending two hours twice a week with my English class and my teacher, Lee, gives me the possibility not to lose my dream of learning English.”

Lucia, First Certificate student

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The next adventure

by Simon Gammell The British Institute of Florence was founded at a time of global crisis: the First World War. In 1915, following extended negotiations, Italy had finally entered the war, siding with Britain and France, against former allies Germany and Austria-Hungary. Two years later, when a group of prominent citizens from the Anglo-Florentine community decided to celebrate the deep friendship between the British and i Fiorentini by setting up an institute to study the two languages index

and cultures, the proposal was warmly supported by the authorities on both sides.

For 20 years, the new institute flourished, settling into Palazzo Antinori at the top of via de’ Tornabuoni, offering language lessons and cultural seminars, and establishing a notable library. With the advent of the new war, the institute was in real danger despite (or because of?) the fascist sympathies of the then director, Harold Goad. Goad departed in a hurry, as the institute closed its doors and it was left to the redoubtable librarian, Giulietta Fermi, to arrange for the library to be safely packed away and stored at the Swiss Consulate. The institute was thus able to re-emerge with confidence as soon as peace was restored.

The next major crisis came in 1966, when the institute had relocated from Palazzo Antinori to Harold Acton’s beautiful Palazzo Lanfredini on lungarno Guicciardini just days before the devastating flood of 4 November. Sadly this time, a part of the library collection, in boxes on the ground floor still waiting to be unpacked following the move, was lost.

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again, for just the third time in our 103-year history. We have, of course, had to close both our buildings: Palazzo Lanfredini, which still houses the library together with our burgeoning programme of cultural and social events, and Palazzo Strozzini, our language school. But this time we are still able to deliver part of our programme. Because, though we have had to suspend our rich programme of lectures, seminars, business forums and concerts, our brilliant teachers are giving all our English and Italian language classes as normal, working from home and connecting to the students through video conferencing, using platforms such WhatsApp, Google Hangout and, especially, Zoom.

Using ZOOM videoconferencing, we have even reintroduced some cultural meetings, which began with my own talk Portraits & Selfies about the evolution of international tourism in Florence from the days of Shakespeare through to mass tourism.

And so il British sails on, determined to weather this storm and emerge on the other side in good shape, ready for the next adventure.

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A sense of community This is a difficult period. The pandemic has forced us to take time to be responsible, but we will succeed and we will all learn something from what we are experiencing, just like our grandparents who rolled up their sleeves at the end of the war to build a better country. We will do the same, for our community. It’s from that sense of community that I’d like to begin because that’s what politics has taught me.

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uscany is a community that is based on essential qualities to the extent that it shines as a beacon in the battle for civil rights. Our region was the first in the world (it was a state at the time) to abolish the death penalty thanks to Grand Duke Pietro Leopoldo, who wrote history for global criminal law on November 30, 1786.

There are so many things I’d like to mention, which make me proud to be Tuscan. August 27, 1569 comes to mind, the day on which Pope Pius V bestowed on Cosimo I de’ Medici the title of Magnus Dux Etruriae, the historical validation of what previously had been Etruscan land and which we can regard as modern Tuscany. I think about guiding figures like the Palatine Electress, who made a fundamental contribution to the conservation of the artworks that belonged to the Medici family: the very existence of the Uffizi is owed to Anna Maria Luisa de’ Medici. Her invention of the “family pact” ensured that the

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dynasty’s entire legacy was bound to the state, at that time the Grand Duchy of Tuscany, upon her demise in 1743.

We cannot disregard our history, especially those of us who hold public office. During my years of political appointment for the Tuscany Region, I have visited all of our 273 municipalities and become acquainted with even the smallest of places, which are by no means less important. I have grown to understand their requirements and received confirmation of the depth of our history. I believe that politics means spending time with people, comprehending their needs, conveying a feeling of closeness and respect for who we are, for our identity.

Eugenio Giani, President of the Regional Council of Tuscany

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A different world I wasn’t accustomed to spending entire days at home, and it hasn’t been easy to adjust to that fact. Like many of my colleagues, friends and acquaintances, most of my time was dedicated to meetings, travelling and work lunches. A whirlpool fuelled by adrenaline that makes you feel alive and important, but which leaves little time for reflection and silence.

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ow we have plenty of time, and we must try not to waste it. My first thoughts are about my family, our health and our future, and what our lives will be like when all this is over.

Most of all, I think about the younger generation and my children, who I’ve spoken with many times during these days, about how they and we will face a profoundly different society. Although I am an optimist by nature, I freely admit that I cannot be optimistic at the moment. Florence, Italy and Europe will find a way, but right now it is hard to see which route we should take once we leave the tunnel.

I am deeply fortunate to lead a robust institution, which is already showing how much it can do to help the local area during this tempest. As a foundation we will be able to do much more when the storm has passed, but I am certain (after all it’s something we’ve been saying for days now) that we will all see the world differently.

Once we leave our homes again, savouring that freedom of movement that we have lost, first we are likely to be swamped with serious financial problems. Notwithstanding this, I hope that we will remember to preserve the friendships and personal ties that we had set aside too quickly, which we have now retrieved, precious and strong, to help us endure these long days of fear and anguish.

Luigi Salvadori, President of Fondazione CR Firenze

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The wisdom of farmers This isn’t the first epidemic and it won’t be the last. We don’t know when it will end, but it will, sooner or later.

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e are living in a time that we would have never expected, to the beat of the melancholic bookkeeping of infection, as the lampposts of our social life are switched off one by one, one shop sign darkening after another. We are alone, albeit “im-media-tely” diluted by the multitude of the web. Our lives are inexorably global and interconnected, always. We say that we’re all in the same boat, but we know that’s not the case. We don’t all suffer in the same way. There are some who pay the price and lose much more than others, those who have chosen to row or those who are forced to do so in our stead.

We say that we’ll all come out of this better and stronger than before, that nothing will be the same as it once was, that we’re ready to rethink our lifestyle, for the common good, and focus on the important things: health, family, friends and hobbies. Are we sure? Are we really sure that we will be wiser and less greedy? That we won’t make the same mistakes? Will we have learned a lesson? Or is all this destined to come undone after the intense wave of emotions we’re riding?

Given that we’re still the same handful of people who clutch at straws, instead we should make notes for tomorrow.

I’d include the importance of words in a handbook for a different philosophy of life. “Those who speak badly think and live badly. You need to use the right words: words are important!” to coin the words of Michele Apicella in Palombella Rossa, the 1989 film directed by Nanni Moretti.

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Crisis is one of the dominant words at the moment. It has acquired a negative meaning in everyday use, whereas its true significance comes from the Greek κρίνω: to separate. It was once used by farmers to refer to threshing, when the grain was separated from the straw and chaff after the wheat was harvested. In recent times, reference is usually made to the Far Eastern etymology of “crisis” composed of two Chinese characters, signifying danger and opportunity.

We should bring back to the forefront the meaning that is closer to the origins of our culture, reflecting on the essence of the word “crisis” in Greek civilization, embracing the positive nuances, separating life’s grain from the weeds of bad habits, choosing personal and social resources best suited to starting over, given that, as Einstein advised, “We cannot solve our problems with the same thinking we used when we created them”. index

In so doing, we will discover that, in Tuscany, we possess a natural and cultural habitat best placed to enrich ourselves with renewed knowledge.

Loving our region, our land, will increasingly mean earning the privilege to live here while drawing upon centuries of civilization and translating this into the capability of welcoming visitors from all over the world. We must recognize the value of good policy, strive for greater consideration and fewer insults, more study and tender care of our unparalleled biodiversity, appreciate expertise and overcome the technological middle ages inhabited by serial haters. Going back to that handbook for a different philosophy of life, this means making good use of old farming wisdom, separating the things which we truly need for our return to the future from those that make us feel good about ourselves.

Paolo Chiappini, Director of Fondazione Sistema Toscana April 2020

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“In the dawn, armed with a burning patience, we shall enter the splendid cities.�

Arthur Rimbaud, A Season in Hell.

Full city empty city

by Carlo Francini

The natural or unnatural evolution of the virus that we are experiencing in our cities, in our country and all over the world calls for self-control as well as evaluation (certainly in the heat of the moment and therefore heralding mistakes) about what action to take in the future.

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ather than giving an answer, at least for the time being, I’d prefer to pose a fundamental question: are we really sure that the urban experience we had up until recently was that perfect and in sync with a sustainable lifestyle?

The city administration and other institutions have already asked themselves this question and the clear signs of an undercurrent change in direction were unquestionable and apparent, but what is happening now could sink those sacrosanct intentions once life is resumed, which will need to be governed and not endured.

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enduring values. In some ways, the full city and the empty city seem to be two sides of the same coin.

Florence, like other world cities, will rise again when this storm has passed. This has always been the case, even in recent times. Nevertheless, what must we guarantee for ourselves, our heirs and the rest of humanity?

We must look for and find a sustainable urban life model without delay, a model where the values of tangible and intangible culture are not conceived as a picture postcard but as underlying principles for new choices associated with better quality services for the housing (in its multiple forms) and which provide actual support in the metropolitan area for the sectors of industrial production, crafts, research and trade.

Culture and education should be at the centre of a holistic vision of a city, but with a truly sustainable approach, also from an economic perspective, capable of enhancing the use of the urban space, its monuments and museums, and not demeaning it to achieve pointless figures and records.

What we are feeling is a genuine need for a global trend reversal during these long days spent in a sort of artificial dream (or nightmare).

I like to remember how Florence, among the criteria that enabled its inclusion on the UNESCO index

“Soon there will be flowers.”

Piero Bargellini, Mayor of Florence 1966-67 World Heritage List, possesses an extraordinary intangible legacy as the birthplace of modern humanism.

Florence, together with the other cities belonging to the UNESCO World Heritage List, might become the pivotal place for the experimentation of new models based on humans and our relationship with the natural and cultural environment.

In 1967, UNESCO, which was so lavished with help for Florence and Venice after the tragic flood and high water of 1996, produced a documentary titled “Return to Florence”, in which the unforgettable mayor Piero Bargellini spoke about the city’s recovery from an economic and social perspective, but in a poetic leap he linked the new beginning with the arrival of spring with a straightforward expression: soon there will be flowers.

In this sad start to the spring, let’s hope that we can regain the willpower and wisdom needed for our future. index

“I placed you at the centre of the world so that from there you could best observe all that is in the world. Neither celestial nor earthly did I create you, so that you, your own voluntary and honorary sculptor and shaper, could forge yourself in the form you preferred. You could degenerate into an lesser being, into a brutal animal, or you could, as you will, be regenerated into a higher being, into a divine creature.”

Pico della Mirandola in his “Discourse on the Dignity of Mankind”, inspired by San Miniato al Monte

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Tuscany, together for tomorrow The change that is engulfing the tourism industry is so great that nobody can envisage the outcome with any certainty. It’s a global phenomenon; yes, our economy is taking a hit, but it’s our lifestyle, as we know it, that’s at greater risk. The impact on tourism was immediate, brutal and lacking assurances about what will remain of the industry when this situation is over and, even more so, what tourism will mean in the future.

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n this context, there’s only one possibility, and that’s to stop and consider what “Destination Tuscany” aims to represent for tourism in the future. It’s an opportunity to rethink how we’d like to position ourselves faced with this drastic global change that is impacting our way of life, to produce, and we are obliged to reason with a new vision for the sector’s recovery, which involves workers, the public system and all those who reside in tourist destinations, essentially, Tuscany’s tourism community.

Even at the very peak of this emergency, I can glimpse two possible outcomes for our sector, on which we can train our efforts. The first consists in redefining the concept of Tuscany as a tourism destination. This means visiting our region in a more informed way, closer to our contemporary reality. The second objective is to develop Tuscany’s tourism community, a network of public and private operators who remain in contact and who work together to promote a collective image, accompanied by Toscana Promozione Turistica, the region’s tourism board.

Our obligation lies in preparing for the programming we will implement as soon as

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the sector shows signs of recovery, for which Toscana Promozione Turistica is already creating a set of coordinated actions. First and foremost, we are studying market surveys to estimate the timescales and methods of the resumption of tourism markets.

The creation of a crisis management team with the Tuscan Region, as well as a coordination group for the regional tourism promotion system, is the immediate next step to manage the crisis responsibly, to understand the tourism scenarios that lie ahead and what the economic consequences will be, outlining the approaches in order to define the strategies for immediate intervention and the relaunch of national and international tourism, restructuring the priority areas.

We must stand alongside all those who work in Tuscany’s tourism industry during this time of uncertainty. For this reason, we have introduced the #Tuscanytogether digital labs aimed at tourism professionals and operators in the face of the emergency, in order not to stop the efforts previously underway in our region.

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Lastly, the relaunch strategy consists in a destination marketing campaign aimed at the different types of tourists who look to Tuscany as their next destination. This campaign comprises a national campaign, aimed at domestic tourists who will resume travelling as soon as the emergency in Italy is over, and an international branding campaign, which will begin once the pandemic has finished and international tourism starts again.

These campaigns will prove even more successful if they are ideated, shared and adopted by the entire regional tourism network, from luxury hotels to farm accommodations and B&Bs, by public operators and municipal councillors, all tourist information points and travel agencies, bathing establishments, bars and restaurants, and so on. This is not just our plan for day-to-day work; it’s also my personal wish for the tourism sector.

Francesco Palumbo, Director of Toscana Promozione Turistica April 2020

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An opportunity to change direction I’ve worked in tourism since the beginning of my career. For me, it’s always been more of a passion than a job: to see world citizens rejoice in the wonders of our city and country, to gather in our towns and share our unique Tuscan lifestyle for a time.

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his continues to drive me now as it’s too painful to put into words what we are feeling and the losses we are enduring. It’s a universal agony, which affects the whole world, which separates and tears us apart, but at the same time unites, makes us more equal and breaks down barriers.

From America to China, we are all forced to stay at home; our cities are empty. We are obliged to stop, for ourselves and for others.

Thankfully, we can still fly, while waiting to catch a plane in the future, thanks to the power of our imagination and the web. The internet allows us to stay connected and our personal networks enable us to share hobbies, photos, experiences and dreams. In recent weeks, thousands of people have posted messages of love and support on our pages from all over the world, replying to our request to share the love for Florence with heartbreaking words.

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“Your beauty and your energy have survived for centuries and will survive all this.”

“I feel at home when I’m there.”

“We love walking your streets and will be back again.” #andràtuttobene

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Florence has always known how to rise again, and it’s never had to do this alone. The citizens of the world, our tourists, have always been by our side. Many came when the waters of the Arno flooded the city in 1966 and those same individuals, our Mud Angels, keep returning to remember that poignant time. These people from all over the globe are united in their love for our city, motivated by a desire to be part of Florence’s destiny. index

The goal that we had set for 2020 was to improve tourist flow management. After all, so many people love Florence, visit the city and we have a duty to show them all of our beauty to ensure a happy vacation and increase liveability in the most popular areas. Since I’m a glass halffull sort of person, I believe that this terrible tragedy is giving us an opportunity to change direction and rethink a different tourism and city model. Florence has always embraced tourism as a pivotal element in the lives of all its citizens: tourism is a strategic topic in local politics and a key asset for the city’s economy.

Never before have we rediscovered the importance of our local producers, the importance of supporting our economy through supporting our businesses, both small and large, which nourish our region and are nourished by our region. This is the model that we could develop in the tourism industry too.

We have a headstart. In recent years, Florence has honed a strong, cohesive and practical network of tourism entrepreneurs. Hoteliers, restaurateurs, tour agencies and guides, photographers, hosts and tourism professionals of every type who are used to working together down the years and who row in the same direction for the growth of Florence. All of our tourism professionals are united in their love of their homeland and are experts in giving back to the place we love. These are the people who will allow us to experience Florence at its most authentic. They will become our hosts again.

Carlotta Ferrari, Director of Destination Florence CVB + President and Founder of the Italian Convention Bureau April 2020

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We are all the same now

The meaning of “home”

by Kamin Mohammadi Home has always been a loaded word for me. Forty years ago we left Iran at the height of the Iranian Revolution. We fled to London where we were given political refugee status. I was nine, and I grew up British outside the home and Iranian inside the home.

My search and quest for identity, for the true meaning of home, drove the earlier part of my adult life and my first book The Cypress Tree told not only the story of my country and my family, but also of a life spent between two cultures, an east and a west so opposed to each other, and of the quest to accept my two nationalities.

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t was the writing of this book that brought me to Florence 12 years ago. I was offered a flat in the city for a few weeks and in that time, I fell in love—with Florence, with the Italian lifestyle and produce, and eventually, with an Italian man. This love has kept me here ever since and forced me to fold another country and culture into my heart. But not until now have I felt such a sense of pride in Italy. Not until now have I felt that I too can identify as Italian and truly call this place home.

As Italy suffers at the frontline of the war with this virus, as I too take to the windows to sing every evening, to applaud the medics and nurses, to shout encouragement to neighbours, to paint rainbow banners, I realise that I suddenly know the Italian national anthem by heart, and it dawns on me that when we emerge from this experience—as one day we surely will—my sense of identity will once more be forever changed.

I am thrown back to another time when we were forced to stay at home, when schools were closed, when there was a curfew in the evenings, when uncertainty and fear left a dusting of terror on every action of normal life. During the revolution in Iran, there was also an unseen threat, the possibility that a thoughtless encounter could lead to your death.

I find myself an unlikely veteran of living in lockdown. But while the similarities are striking, the differences are what have made me fall even deeper in love with Italy.

While the Iranian Revolution brought with it terror and hate, the Covid19 crisis has brought instead empathy and support. It is as if Italy has matured—the anarchic, rulebreaking Italian character has morphed into one embracing social responsibility and the greater good over individualism.

Political leadership has been strong and clear. Most of all, the spirit of this great country has burst forth to counter the bad news and fear. The sense of solidarity, of unity and community, is extraordinary given the death of social life. We all feel closer. With everyone at home, suddenly we all have that most precious commodity of our post-modern lives: time.

During the Iranian Revolution when my father was a target, one of my young uncles slept every night by our front door. My sister and I would go and sleep by his side, tucking ourselves into each side of him. Unbeknown to us, my uncle had a gun under his pillow in case the revolutionaries arrived in the night.

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The gentlest, sweetest man, who would not have been capable of pulling the trigger, nonetheless was prepared to do whatever it took to protect us.

Now, like my uncle, the Italian state is trying to protect us. The ever-stricter decrees and measures are the equivalent of the gun under the pillow. But in the times of Covid-19, no nation state can protect us completely. Only we can try to keep ourselves safe. And that’s why we stay at home, because now we have something fundamental in common: we all want to live. We all want to be healthy and for this virus to not spread. And that means taking care of each other. Even if that takes the form of distance and isolation, of not visiting people you love, of not hugging those dear to you.

We are all the same now. This virus has been a great leveller as well as a great unifier. Unlike the Iranian Revolution which brought terror and violence to break apart our society, instead the fear of the virus has brought us together and has brought forth great love and compassion. For the sake of others, we are all staying in and this mass sacrifice, this mass act of caring for each other, has brought out a love for our fellow humans that has been as welcome as it has been unexpected. Italy has found its heart again. And that’s why I am proud to identify myself as also Italian now, and proud to call Italy home.

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Valuing the simple things in life

Neighbourhood spirit in San Niccolò

by Lisa Brancatisano I have always said that the street where I live is like a little village and I have never felt it so much as during this last month living under lockdown.

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an Niccolò is surrounded by some of the most beautiful gardens in the city, which makes it the perfect place to enjoy Florence in a more relaxed manner. Since my boys were old enough to walk, I have been taking them to the Rose Garden to sit on the grass, explore the winding paths, fishponds and the Japanese garden, which was donated to Florence by the twin city of Kyoto and the Zen Kodai-Ji temple. Free to enter, the garden 64 TF266

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was created in 1865 by Giuseppe Poggi, who was responsible for the city’s urban renovation. It’s thanks to Poggi that keen joggers and walkers like me can also enjoy the panoramic, tree-lined roads that lead up to piazzale Michelangelo. It is from here where we can really admire and soak up not only the beauty of Florence below but also as far as the hills of Fiesole and surrounding Tuscan countryside. From late April for three weeks, the Iris Garden, located to the left of the piazzale, shows off its many varieties. Perhaps, this year, the iconic bloom, also the symbol of Florence, the famous giglio, will be blooming with more beauty than ever before.

We have adapted well to our life in lockdown.

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“Overcome with emotion, I couldn’t hold back the tears as I walked down the street and passed my neighbours, our eyes meeting and sharing the same uncertainty about this new way of living.”

not resorted to clearing the supermarket shelves and panic buying. I have admired my neighbours as they rally around and offer help to those more vulnerable than themselves. We all know each other in our street and even if there are some people I only know by face, we now say buongiorno when passing and ask if all is ok.

There is a sign near the local bar in the piazza, organised by the San Niccolò neighbourhood committee offering shopping for the elderly.

The same committee put together a poster, illustrating how you can make your own face mask, and our local fruit and vegetable shop has a little bucket with fabric masks that you can take for free or make an offering. I remember the first time I put on my mask before going out.

Overcome with emotion, I couldn’t hold back the tears as I walked down the street and passed my neighbours, our eyes meeting and sharing the same uncertainty about this new way of living.

We have slipped into a routine of sorts, albeit sleeping in later than usual and enjoying a more relaxed breakfast each morning before organising the boys’ homework and our domestic chores. index

Our food shopping is planned with more care than ever before as we try and extend the weekly groceries as far as possible. I have always loved cooking, but have been taking advantage of having more time indoors to prepare things that I may have dismissed before, thinking I didn’t have the time. More quality time is spent with our boys as we find activities to occupy them so that they are not watching screens all day.

When I venture out now on my bike to the butcher or pharmacy, or just walk the block to throw out the rubbish, I have a new appreciation for this incredible city that I am so fortunate to call home. The streets are eerily empty, yes, but the warm spring sunshine brings hope and a promise that everything will indeed be ok, that tutto andrà bene, and that this summer will be one where we all look at the world and our family and friends with a new respect and understanding of how valuable the simple things in life are.

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Showing our gratitude

So, so special

by Nardia Plumridge My earliest memory of Florence is walking through piazza della Signoria over its cobbled pavement immersed in what I saw. Surrounded by elegant palaces, the arches of the Loggia dei Lanzi and the art within, I looked up to the epic Arnolfo tower of the Palazzo Vecchio. Florence’s beauty mesmerized me immediately. I recall watching locals lounging al fresco at Caffè Rivoire, sipping their cappuccinos in the morning sunshine. From the beginning, it was clear the city holds a unique spirit and just like that, I was hooked. In that instant I knew that Florence would play an important role in my life, and years on, my passion for the city remains resolute.

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he streets of Florence may be more silent in this moment, yet its beauty remains unchanged. Over centuries, through famine, wars and political upheaval, the city has stood resilient, and it will continue do so for many more years to come. Florence is a vibrant capital that will once again open its palace and caffè doors with its residents welcoming us back with a warm ciao. The Florentines have created an incredible place for us to enjoy and life will return as lively as before. I look forward to returning to the cobbled streets and gazing up at the Arnolfo Tower; to walking the corridors of the Uffizi in pursuit of my favourite Caravaggios; to watch the sun set over the famed terracotta rooftops; to be immersed again in the beauty of Florence that has stood for centuries.

In the future, it’s my hope that visitors make a special note to delve not just into the city’s treasures but into the hospitality of the local businesses, for it will be more important than ever in the months to come. Stay in a small boutique hotel, dine in a family-run restaurant and visit an artisan in their studio to find the perfect souvenir: become a future patron. Perhaps there can be a silver lining to these current constrictions. Florence is a city that remains a great love affair to many and we can show our gratitude by supporting the Florentines who have made it so, so special.

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Simply being there

Thoughts from just another girl in Florence

by Georgette Jupe

As I sit here in my living room in the Oltrarno area of Florence at 10.30am in the morning, part of me thinks, well, this would be what I would normally be doing even if there weren’t a lockdown.

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orking from home has been reality for over five years now, a pleasant one that I have always enjoyed. I wake up early, say goodbye to my husband and settle in with Ginger the beagle snoring by my side as I focus on the day’s tasks. Managing my social media clients, writing blog posts for GirlinFlorence and holding meetings for Italy Magazine from various areas of my 80-square meter third-floor apartment.

Meetings, errands and coffee dates around the city punctuated that steady rhythm, providing a much-needed breath of fresh air to stretch the legs and appreciate the place I’ve called home for over 13 years.

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And then there’s now. If someone would have told me that the entire country would be under a total lockdown, our every movements restricted to only the necessities of life, getting groceries and taking the dog for a very quick walk, I would have likened their words to an episode of Black Mirror, a show that feels a little too close for comfort during this period.

My work, like everyone else’s, has taken a nosedive hit since many of my clients were focused on tourism in Florence. Entire projects with weeks of back and forth negotiations vanished with a quiet and discerningly quick poof. I found that my email box morphed into an index

Many of my readers simply want to talk about and see how things really are over here.

evil place I no longer relished visiting: bad news and spam. I longed for the days of complaining about being too busy, with too many places to go.

The few times I’ve been outside to get groceries have been an experience that is anything but pleasant. No longer are there groups of families in piazza della Passera eating gelato or catching up over a spritz. Local businesses are shuttered with white signs notifying an empty street or square of their closure to the virus. When you come across another person, you look down, cross the street and hurry to the supermarket or pharmacy. There is no stopping for photo ops and pleasantries. index

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This virus, invisible to the average eye, looms like an ominous cloud over our world. It seemed so far away just a few months ago and now it feels so near. It has taken away the lives of so many and has closed the borders of most countries worldwide. We have so many questions, concerns and worries what is happening out there. We are doing our best to be good citizens, to simply do the noblest of things. That means simply staying at home, not putting ourselves in harm’s way, or possibly infecting someone else. The reality is that seemingly inconsequential decisions we make can have a big impact on someone else’s life.

As a blogger, my immediate thought was, how should I approach this? Should I focus on solely on the positive? Forego talking about the elephant in the room and focusing on how to best distract people with evergreen Florence content? Should I pivot my work and be uber-productive in all of 72 TF266

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this downtime, even if I just sometimes wanted to crawl under the covers and watch Netflix?

Encourage people to make the most of their time at home? I thought about this a lot.

What I decided was simply to go back to my roots as a flawed-but-always-learning blogger: just be real in our experience, do what feels right and help when I could. What this means for me is to continue sharing what is going on here in Italy, linking to trusted sources and staying informed with the latest news/certification/law/ local directive, but in the myriad of articles doing exactly that what seems more important to me is simply being there.

There for people in any way I possibly can be.

Calling family and friends and making time for anyone and everyone for video chats, or simply a “Ciao, how are you feeling today?” This means answering hundreds of messages and being kind and thoughtful in my responses and sharing the index

work of others. Many of my readers simply want to talk about and see how things really are over here. There is so much out there to read on the internet, in the news, but what people crave was a human connection. They wanted to know that they aren’t the only ones feeling a certain way and want to know how to help. What I definitely don’t want to do is answer in a way that makes it seem that I, and I alone, held any sort of certain truth. So I am doing what I can: sharing certain fundraising campaigns for local hospitals, posting about uplifting moments from this lockdown (flash mobs for solidarity, etc.), but mostly being as open as humanly possible about how my husband and me were dealing with this. Like everyone else, we have constant ups and downs and we find it hard to be productive most days, but we’ve also had many positive, funny moments too. It’s both important to show that it is ok to have fear about the uncertainty of the future, dwell on that even, index

and maybe in the same hour laugh with a friend about a stupid TV show.

What I do know is that we will come out of this and we will be ok. It is hard to let go of illusions of control and find peace in the fact that you are doing your part just by staying home but that’s really all we can do. It’s going to be a long time before things go back to normal in Florence, and when it does, there might even be a new normal. At the same time, some things never change. As Marcel Proust once beautifully said, “When I thought of Florence, it was like a miracle city embalmed and like a corolla, because it was called the city of lilies and its cathedral, St. Mary of the Flowers.”

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Uninterrupted togetherness or solitude

Living in a today which never seems to end

by Ela Vasilescu

“Be the change you want to see in the world.�

Mahatma Gandhi

The streets of Florence, the city that captured our hearts, a city of culture, rich in history and beauty, are quiet now.

We are slowly ending the fourth week of national lockdown. Four weeks filled with mixed emotions, uninterrupted togetherness or solitude, sometimes confusion, and fear for the uncertainty of what the future might bring.

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y now, the news about the spread of the virus, its worldwide consequences, has reached and impacted every country in the world. In every corner of the globe, each nation has imposed some sort of regulations to help contain the virus. For the first time in a long time, humans are united through a single thread. The masks have fallen and left us with the common purpose of returning to a life lived outside of our homes.

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The quarantine is not an easy task to handle.

Being confined indoors because of something we can’t see, feel or touch is hard to grasp. For some, maybe more than we can imagine, the pandemic was just added to their daily struggles: those without roofs over their heads, those with mental health disorders, those locked into abusive relationships, those who live in countries not equipped to deal with such an enormous crisis. Although the quarantine and the measures imposed in Italy has affected all of us, our future plans, our financial stability, we need to acknowledge that most of us are fortunate.

As our everyday lives moved on the balcony, we feel a sense of solidarity that we are experiencing together, yet separate. We notice our neighbors more than before. The lady across the street waters her plants six times a day. She tends to each as if caressing a child. We made friends and named a few cats that live outside our building, birds that come to eat on the terrace downstairs.

They all live in a today which never seems to end; just like us.

In our house, we stopped thinking about life after the lockdown. We stopped counting the days. We stopped following unofficial news.

Instead, we focus on each moment. Most days, our home is invaded by sounds—music blasted into the speakers, the laughter of our child, shouts of excitements when we’re playing games.

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Other days the house falls silent, and we each find a corner to retreat and contemplate. When the ambulance sirens sneak through the opened windows, it strikes our core, and we think of the men and women who don’t have the option to retreat safely into their homes, who struggle every day and witness unbelievable losses and sorrow.

Their pleas are always the same: Stay home!

I still hear about far too many people who continue to react as if the pandemic is a personal inconvenience. They take their walks. They hide under the pretexts of walking their dogs. Despite owning a garden, they hoard the supermarkets.

Their actions strike a rage cord as well as one of helplessness. Yet, if there is anything that we’ve learned in the past four weeks is that some people don’t change. Some people refuse to listen. Some refuse to see. Change is not possible if it doesn’t come from within each individual.

In times of uncertainty, our core values are tested. We remain invaded by our raw feelings, perspectives and choices. I believe reason and integrity can conquer madness. And when the day comes to begin a new adventure, we can be proud of the choices we made, the values we embraced, the lessons we’ve learned. Until then, stay home, be kind, stay safe.

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LET’S KEEP IN TOUCH, BUT LET’S DO IT ONLINE Manage your contract online with MyPubliacqua (accessible from PC, smartphone or tablet) and the MyPubliacqua App (available on iOS and Android) index

Stay home, save lives

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Strong and resilient Italian spirit

The “adopted home” of so many

by Gabrielle Maria Taylor

These past weeks have been extraordinary. From frustration to sadness to positivity and hope, the spectrum of emotions just keeps flowing. There has been a great deal of time for self-reflection.

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s an expat living in Florence for the last ten years, this city has truly become home.

And with that feeling of casa comes pride, now more than ever. By living in Florence, my life has changed for the better in every way. The wealth of culture, the true joy of living la dolce vita, the wonderful people I have met and the inspiring environment have given me so much.

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Observing “my city” over these last weeks has been hard. The walk to the supermarket near the Ponte Vecchio, usually a bustling experience is now an eerie and rather sad one. Florence has been emptied of its usual vivacity.

I have tried to find a certain structure to my day, with morning coffee and exercise before getting down to emails and evenings filled with Skype index

calls and virtual aperitivi with friends. Staying positive and making the best of this surreal situation is the only way forward. The highlight in this ordeal has been to observe the strong and resilient Italian spirit, indomitable in the face of a pandemic. This is definitely something we can all be inspired by and learn from.

The first evening of the musical flash mob brought tears to my eyes. I opened my window and listened to the magical sound of Pavarotti’s ‘Con Te Partirò’ that a neighbour above me was blasting out as loud as he could for all to hear.

Personally, this has been a lesson in how we should appreciate the simple pleasures in life: family, friends, love, joy, kindness and, most importantly, resilience.

In my professional career as President of Palazzo Tornabuoni, a magnificent private residence club in the heart of Florence, I have been given an incredible opportunity. Through this position, I have been fortunate to experience Florence in a unique and extraordinary way. With our 107 Members from around the world, I have been fortunate to meet and work with exceptional people. Communicating with many Members over these weeks, it has been inspiring to see how much they care about Florence. It has become the “adopted home” of so many and given so much. They all, like me, have a life-lasting love for this city and what it represents and cannot wait for the moment they can return and celebrate the wonder that is Firenze. In the upcoming months, I believe it is our duty to work hard at supporting the city and providing assistance to those in need during this unprecedented time.

Over these days, I have been thinking about the joy, love and commitment our team have made over the last ten years in making the Club the unique and wonderful environment it is. A family has been created with Members and Staff alike and this family has remained strong and united in the face of this silent and deadly threat. Everyone looks forward to returning to work, returning to a new reality, one that is kinder and more understanding than ever. index

Few people in history mastered adversity better than Winston Churchill, who famously said, “Courage is rightly esteemed the first of human qualities because it is the quality which guarantees all others”, and also, “A pessimist sees the difficulty in every opportunity; an optimist sees the opportunity in every difficulty”.

Today, the realist in me, more so than the optimist, knows that Italy and the whole world will rebound stronger and more dynamic than ever. As the city reopens, when the time is right, we will open the doors of Palazzo Tornabuoni and honour the unyielding beauty of Florence together, celebrating the people that make it the magical city it is. When the time is right, we will step up and help this magnificent city get back on its feet. I, for one, intend to do so.

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Florence, that grande dame

by Deirdre Pirro

The word for a “cityâ€? in Italian is cittĂ , a feminine noun, and I believe there are few cities in Italy that match Florence for its elegance. Others may not agree but, to me, Florence wears its urban mantel with grace, allure and ever-enduring fortitude, such female characteristics. Each stone of its unique historical centre has a story to tell. Thousands upon thousands of people over the centuries have flocked to the city to explore its inestimable treasures and uncover its secrets. And they will continue to do so after the Covid-19 pandemic is over because it is just one of the many passing perils the city has had to face in its long lifetime. It has vanquished them all and gained strength from them and it will continue to do so as its citizens, whether they be Italians or foreigners, are resilient and love their city.

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rom barbarian times in the year 403 through to those when the Guelphs and Ghibellines were at loggerheads in 1312 and again between 1520 and 1530 during the war of the League of Cognac, the city was under siege and survived. Last century, the occupation of Florence by German forces lasted almost a year (1943–44) during which time, on September 25, 1943, Allied bombers targeted the city centre, destroying many buildings and causing the death of numerous civilians. When the Germans retreated on August 4, 1944, they divided the city by detonating explosives under the bridges across the Arno that linked the Oltrarno district to the rest of the city. Only the Ponte Vecchio was spared. Then again, in May 1993, a powerful car bomb exploded in the via dei Georgofili, killing and injuring innocent people as well as seriously damaging the antique Torre dei Pulci, the Uffizi Gallery and parts of its collection. Initially thought to be a terrorist attack, evidence came to light that the blast was, in fact, the work of the Mafia.

Long before this, in 1333, the first great recorded flood of the Arno river hit the fledgling town, a record of which can still be seen recorded on small plaques on some buildings. Then, in the 14th and index

15th centuries, occasional plagues and famine ravaged the populace. Much more recently, on November 4, 1966, the Arno flooded its banks again, taking lives and damaging or destroying masterpieces of art and rare books of inestimable value in what was said to be the worst flood in the city’s history. But when Florence cried out for help, the world came running to its aid. That is because this city’s history, tradition, art and culture are part of world heritage, which belongs not only to those living within its own walls but to all humankind. Out of all these perils, the city rose again from the devastation and rubble, prouder than ever.

Florence will do so again after the coronavirus has run its course and been defeated. Its streets will again be filled with locals and tourists, while social distancing will be a thing of the past and the only masks we wear will be those for carnival.

Children will be back at school and the parks and gardens will be open. The museums will be bursting with visitors and the restaurants and cafes filled with diners and those drinking their morning cappuccinos at outdoor tables under the Tuscan sun. Life will go back to normal.

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Creativity unleashed To keep you company during quarantine, we ran a literary competition as a positive outlet for your creativity. Short stories and poetry were submitted from all over the world, as far away as Mexico and as near as via della Condotta. Some of the 60 entries concentrated on happier times, whereas others, including our winners published here, sought inspiration in the age of Covid-19. Thank you for participating and, remember, our inbox is always open for your literary efforts.

Lost Verse

Niccolò Machiavelli to Giuliano de’ Medici

By Kirsty Jane Falconer

“My poem, Lost Verse, is an imagined addition to the body of poetry written by Niccolò Machiavelli for Giuliano di Lorenzo de’ Medici: the three prison/exile sonnets addressed to Giuliano by name, and the two early works, Se avessi l’arco and Capitolo pastorale, which describe a young man resembling Giuliano.”

I want to touch you—touching is forbidden.

I want you close, but I must keep you distant.

In silent narrow streets, soft-footed Plague creeps, scenting at each door and window, seeking what treasures she may steal. If she should smell me upon your skin, and know how much I want you, then she will tear you from me. I won’t tempt her.

Since love is fatal, I will feign indifference although it hurts me; I will murder pleasure if it keeps you alive. My love, I’ll hate you before I dare put Fortune to the test; before I damn you to eternal rest.

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My One and Only

By Aimelie Moen

My short story was whipped up in the moments held in shuttered homes.

Simply titled, “My One and Only” this story recounts the final, fatal moments of a young woman’s decision to stay in Italy.

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era had been awake in bed all morning, eyeing the sun as it crept in through the filtered window-pane as Johnny slumbered beside her. She dragged in her cigarette, the third since waking, and studied his unhurried breathing, slowly ruffling the sheets. Johnny’d had this cough, a deep, wet rumble that shook his whole body, and with the sickness spreading outside, she couldn’t leave him—not like this, all alone.

He hadn’t been why she’d stayed put, she decided, but in moments like this, when her family called her every day and begged and begged for her to come home, he was a reason not to go.

She had every warning to leave before—weeks earlier, when her mother, a good God-fearing woman who’d lost two houses and a husband to hurricanes, had visited and said, “Just come away with me”. Vera had argued then that she just couldn’t leave her boss high and dry, there was still that late-March trip to Paris, and that shouldn’t she just at least wait until the end of May when the lease went up and she’d gotten new documents? Her mother held her then, and whispered, “Just fly away with me. I just know I won’t see you for a long time after. Please, please come.” Vera kissed her, waving goodbye as the taxi peeled away and tears struck her chin.

Two days later, then the students left, leaving her workplace barren. The week following, the ninth, and the social distancing had shuttered restaurants on her birthday and she’d had a humble affair at the home of a friend. By the tenth, they were put on paid leave until further notice. The next day, the whole city shuttered doors—and by the end of the week, the country

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was on lockdown and the email to the consulate received with an automated response she hadn’t been interested in fighting. She could’ve called them, but that was only for emergencies, and it hadn’t seemed so pertinent then.

She’d picked up the slack by seeing Johnny more often, and they’d laughed only that Wednesday prior, the first of her “holidays,” sipping hugos in the Piazza San Jacopino. The barman, one-eye’d Marco, had winked at them and threatened to stop paying his bills, if the Ministero made him close shop. They hadn’t seen him in a week, but, then again, they hadn’t really gone looking.

She and Johnny had stayed out in the sunshine, enjoying the quiet of those days when Florentines retreated indoors and it seemed that the city had become theirs. They’d skipped around the streets at midnight, kissed behind columns to hide from carabinieri, and tossed coins in the boar’s throat in hope that the panic would end. They’d go home, make pasta and make love, and revel in their luck of being stuck together. His cough came later that week, first with a sore throat and then with a burning that had been only so slightly feverish. He’d blamed his colleagues for spreading the common cold, but she couldn’t be so sure. He’d started sleeping earlier then, and she’d stay awake, gorging on the news that seemed only to be of rising numbers, and her father would call, just before midnight, as the American media circus frenzied up the 6pm East Coast fear.

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head, you can’t get a bigger sign than this.” He was like her mother, both goodly Christians, and even though she’d shared her prayers with him—she really had spent months praying for a sign to leave—she hadn’t shared the greatest sign, sleeping so sweetly beside her, for fear of harsh words condemning her for living in sin.

Instead, she pandered to him, reminding him of his baby girl’s dream to live in Italy, and how she couldn’t just toss it all in the bin right now, not six years down the line! It was same the excuse she’d given herself for why she had to stay.

He gave in, and reminded her to be safe. “Baby girl, you’re my one and only. I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you.”

She was doing alright, she reckoned, with four packs of cigarettes on the dais and the vinaino just outside their doorstep, still open in the quarantine. The pantry was well stocked too, with mountains of pasta and canned vegetables those hurricane’d memories insisted she purchase.

They had everything they needed in the house, and no need to go outside, even if they could.

Johnny just needed to get better.

She hadn’t told her folks about him, it was too young a romance and they’d call her foolish for staying on to be with him, especially as he was sick. Her mother would hiss out her disappointment that she was “spreading it for all to see”.

She’d already said that years ago, and quite frankly, Vera had no desire to encourage the judgment she felt inside. Her father would say, “Is that why you’re staying, Baby Girl, to be with some guy? What geezer would you let come between you and your family?” She wanted to show Johnny off to her family, and maybe they could accept him, but she’d wait until his cough got better. Her folks wouldn’t worry so much then.

Johnny rolled over and draped his arm across her. She placed his hand in hers and watched him breathe. It was less labored now, and each sigh warmed her spine. He would be alright, she gathered. Six days on and he was healing on the seventh day—one week’s rest, and the Lord would do the work.

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She had prayed, in the moments at midnight after her father had called, and in the early mornings before Johnny woke, as her mother urged her to return. She had asked God what she should do, and a voice had answered, “Go!” She had asked again, Are you sure, God? And the voice had said again, urgently, “Go!” but then she would look at Johnny, coughing in bed and she just couldn’t do what the others had urged her: to just take her documents, expired and whatnot, and just leave. She’d be out of the quarantine and into the contagion, where no health measures had been enacted.

She ignored the voice—for all she knew, it could’ve been the Devil, too. She could never tell who was giving her the signs.

Only this morning did the voice return in earnest. She dragged in the cigarette, and felt the tightening and burning around her throat. She prayed, and asked God to help her find purpose and thankfulness in the new day.

The sun had started streaking the sky with yellow, lightening the ultramarine of night into the soft azzurro of springtime mornings. The gold orb struck out over the terra-cotta’d rooftops, sending rays into the room. The light crept up the bed, and Vera tightened her hold on Johnny’s hand as her chest tightened. A deep, dry cough rumbled out from her throat, shaking her core. The voice called out and whispered into her ear. She listened and obeyed; she wanted to be a good Christian, too. Tears poured down her cheeks as her grip increased. She heard the call to head home. Her eyes searched Johnny’s face, and her voice timorously reached his ears.

Daylight burst brightly through the window frame, enshrouding Johnny and Vera in their bed. He woke to Vera’s hand gripping his tightly, with sunlight pouring down her face. He cradled her as the sun shined from her face, and he recalled his waking dream, where she’d murmured “My one and only”.

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Students at The International School of Florence show their gratitude for all the people who are working on the front line of this international pandemic.

Thoughts from young readers CORONAVIRUS

By Téa Mijatović, age 11 The entire world is in fear that the virus will come near.

I’m a kid stuck at home all day without my friends to play.

School was cancelled, how long will this last?

This Coronavirus is spreading so fast.

It all seems so sad but we should be glad.

Kids are usually safe from getting sick but we can spread it very quick.

Italy has lots of people that are old we have to treat them like they are gold.

My butcher is one of those special folks Please respect the rules… This is no joke.

Now is the time to give a hand for the sick and elderly in this land.

I have my family and animals with me all day I’m happy, safe and lucky is what I say.

We will see each other in just a few weeks and can give double baci on the cheeks.

I hope you stay safe and strong one day this bad virus will be gone.

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GOOD, BAD AND ME

By Sofia Lydia Barbieri, age 8 These are my two sides.

I have always had them, they control me.

Their names are Good and Bad. Let’s have a trip inside my head.

Oh no! Mom is coming, I have to stay, you can go.

“Honey, today we are going on a walk around Florence, start putting your shoes on”.

Soon we were in the car and I got to see Good and Bad. “Who said you could come anytime you wanted?” said Bad with an evil grin. ”Good said, so didn’t you, Good?”

Suddenly we heard dad call “We’re here.”

I had to get down from my head.

Florence was beautiful, We got to see Il Duomo, Ponte Vecchio and Uffizi, an amazing museum.

We also saw Ms. Mcleavy and her cat, Which when Bad saw he went in attack mode.

Later we came back home.

And we all [Good and Bad included] calmed down.

FRED’S ADVENTURE IN FLORENCE

by Liam Danilo Barbieri, age 12 Fred was extremely excited. He was finally going to be left home alone for half an hour, while his mother went down the road to do the groceries. The moment his mother left, he wandered into his room, thinking about what to do. As he stumbled in, the lights switched off.

“What’s that about?” He asked himself puzzled, before treading over to the light switch. The second he flicked the light back on, the switch started to vibrate wildly, and a strong pinkish light shone from it, making him feel as if he was being attracted to it, like a moth. Before he could cry or, or yell, he was swallowed by the light.

When Fred opened his eyes, he was lying in the middle of a racing track, he recognized it from all the automobile races he’d seen on TV. He could hear cheers and shouts from the crowd that was in the stadium, but then when they saw him on the track, silence engulindex

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fed them. Everyone stared at him, wide eyed, wondering where he came from. Suddenly, someone shouted from the stadium to get off the track. Quickly, Fred realized what was happening, and sprinted off the rubble, and dived over the board that seperated the cameramen from the car race. Just as he jumped over the board, a car swerved past him, this one was green, with splotches of black paint all over it.

After that he stayed on the sidelines, and watched the cars zoom by, he was in awe; what happened? How did he get here? After contemplating on the matter for a few minutes, he decided that the only reasonable answer was magic. He had watched many movies and knew that when someone is teleported by magic, that means that they are the heroes of a story, and have to save the world they’re brought to. What did he have to do? Where was the evil villain that he had to beat?

He gazed up in the sky and sighed, where was the damsel in distress that needed saving? And where was the dragon that he had to kill? After they declared the winner of the race, he walked out of the stadium and asked an old man who was slumped up against the wall, where he was. The old man chuckled and mumbled something under his breath, then looked back up at Fred and said that they were in Florence, Italy.

Fred remembered learning about Italy in his geography books at school, but why here? Wasn’t he supposed to be brought to another world? He asked that man what year it was, and the old geezer responded: “1966, of course!” 1966! He’d gone back in time!

Now all he had to figure out was what happened in 1966 that he had to change. He decided that the only way to do so was waiting: in every movie, the hero is told by someone that he has to go save a certain object or person from destruction. Now all he had to do was wait for that someone to contact him.

It happened that evening. He was walking around Florence, admiring the scenery, while he was crossing over Ponte Vecchio. A young man in his mid forties scrambled past him screaming, and following him were five heavily armed men with rifles on their backs. What was going on? Fred decided the best thing to do was follow the soldiers and somehow save the man. In most movies the protagonist saves someone, why shouldn’t he give it a go? He sprinted to the closest soldier and grabbed onto his neck, trying to pull him down. The soldier stayed perfectly still, while Fred swung around on his neck with his arms flailing in the air. Suddenly, all the soldiers started looking at him boggle-eyed while he kept on trying to throw punches and kicks at the closest soldier. All at once, they started laughing and pointing at Fred as if he was some hilarious spectacle. After another few minutes he realized there was no chance of him doing any damage to these huge stocky men, and decided to give up and walk away. At that moment, Fred tried to think of every hero comic he had ever read, and realized that all 94 TF266

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heroes start off on the wrong foot, but then that makes them get stronger.

He walked over to the closest newspaper stand and read what was happening in Florence, there he saw a small snippet of a page talking about forecasts of a terrifying flood. That might be his chance to be a hero! He thought excitedly, now he had to just wait until the flood came. While he waited, he had a few more chances to save people, for example he was able to stop an old grandma from dropping her cat over a balcony, fall down the stairs, and face-plant on the ground. From all that, he learned, never ever give a cat to an old lady.

The day finally came to show the world what he was capable of: the Arno river had started to flood. He looked around seeing if anyone was in trouble, but there were already crowds of people helping others up. The only thing he could do was stay on the roofs till the flood was over. He felt ecstatic, why couldn’t he do something to help? Then he saw his chance. While he looked down from the roof, he saw the old lady walking down the stairs. What was she doing now? He ran down the stairs, and out the front door, the water was up to his waist, and he swam towards the old lady’s apartment.

When he rang his knuckles hard against the wooden frame of the door, he heard a loud “Meow” coming from inside. Had the woman gone insane? In Fred’s mind, leaving a pet to die is an insidious crime, therefore he decided to throw himself against the door, that was only clinging to one hinge on the wall. After knocking it in the water, he swam towards the cat that was perched on top of the lamp in the center of the room. How could that hideous woman do something so evil?

When he got back up on his roof, he saw a floating corpse flowing down the flooded roads, its hair was white and it still had a little purse around its arm. Why, it was the old lady! Her skin was blue, and algae was stuck in her hair, but he could tell it was her by her bulging nose that stuck out like a sore thumb. He felt sadness swell up inside him. Why wasn’t he there to save her? Did he mess up by saving the cat instead of the old lady?

That’s when he saw one of the old lady’s eyes flutter open for a brief moment. He knew what he had to do: run away. He’d heard about water zombies in comic books, and he didn’t want to stick around to see her turn into one. At that moment, he felt dizzy, and the pink light once again engulfed him.

When he re-opened his eyes, he was lying down in a puddle of water in his bedroom. What had just happened? He looked around and saw his toys scattered across the room. His racing track lay upside down on his bed, and his toy bridge was stuck underneath his pillows. Next to it lay his five soldier figurines, the water zombie card. Then when he turned his head, he saw his cat sauntering across the room. index

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FLORENCE BENEATH MY FEET

by Allegra DiFlorio, age 11 “Bang!”

We all take off.

I dash out, in front of the others, neck and neck with my primary competitor. The race has just begun. I run past the red Assi jackets of my coach and teammates as they cheer me on. Suddenly my feet lift off the ground. A smile creeps up on my face as my race ritual begins.

I start to fly. The wind takes me down the hill towards the Boboli Gardens. I take a deep breath as vital oxygen from all of the plants fills my lungs and I gain speed. I start to zip around the different gardens, when I hear a faint ringing, like a loud whisper in my ear. I am immediately drawn towards the sound and it calms my nerves.

Bong! Bong!

It gets louder and louder the closer I get. I soar towards the sound.

I match my pace and my breath to the swinging bells of the Campanile di Giotto. The rhythm helps me pace myself so I don’t exert too much energy. In, out, in, out.

I fly over to the Duomo and I think about how determined all of the builders and Brunelleschi must have been. I recognize that in myself. I think about how much I have worked for this.

And so, I push on.

I am suddenly aware of my feet pounding on the ground and my labored breathing. I glance over and see another kid (the same one from the beginning) running next to me, head to head as the finish line comes into view.

My lungs are burning, I have a sharp stitch in my side, and my legs have been pushed so far, they feel numb. I think about determination, the rhythm, the oxygen pumping in and out of my lungs... but, I don’t think I can make it.

Before me, I see the David. He beat Goliath. I realize that if I want to conquer my own beast, I need to have grit and focus too. I put all of my attention on the finish line. I am focused. The outside world disappears. A spike of adrenaline courses through me. I pull ahead across the finish line.

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My sweet quarantine

by Vincenzo D’Angelo

#iorestoacasa is the signature hashtag for this quarantine.

Italians are using it on social media to share videos, photos and thoughts from their houses. I’m experiencing this surreal time alone in my apartment and I’m keeping myself busy: teleworking, chores, lots of TV shows and books, improvised living room concerts and frequent updates on my social media. Here’s my “top of the posts”. #iorestoacasa day 5 Me: So, since I got a subscription on every single streaming service available online, let me find something new to binge-watch. I also got wine, yay for me!

Streaming service: A TV show you should like “The American TV show ‘Containment’ follows an epidemic that breaks out in Atlanta, leaving a section of the city cordoned off under quarantine and those stuck on the inside fighting for their lives.”

Me again: Ok, time to clean the windows. Where’s my Traminer? #iorestoacasa day 12 A Skype call that was supposed to be a meeting that could have been an email. I love smart-working. #iorestoacasa day 14 This quarantine alone at home is going great! My flatmate Wilson and I are doing lots of fun things... Oh wait. #iorestoacasa day 15 This is an emergency, 911, go call the police, go call the governor: I ran out of wine. #iorestoacasa day 18 Me: They say “Marzo è pazzo!” (March is mad) and this year it’s been downright crazy, but it’s April, Spring has sprung and everything’s going to be alright #thinkpositive April: “We are visitors. We always come in peace.” #iorestoacasa day 23 Just how interested am I in your IG live? Zero.

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Making pasta in lockdown

by Emiko Davies

Cooking has been keeping my family grounded. It has been my remedy for any problem for a s long as I can remember, from avoiding a deadline to driving away heartache, and right now it is keeping the entire family not only nourished but relaxed, and even entertained.

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e structure the day around the question, “What are we going to cook today?” The sourdough starter has been revived and pasta or baking has become a daily activity that my children (seven and two) adore. I personally have been turning more than ever to Tuscany’s comforting, frugal cuisine for inspiration—it just feels right. Not because we can’t get ingredients or are rationing, but maybe just because it feels right to be using what we have on hand, skipping that trip to the supermarket in favour of staying home.

Pici are a good example, especially dressed in breadcrumbs. It’s a humble and ancient dish, which requires hand-rolling flour and water into long, fat noodles that even children can make, 100 TF266

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and simple pantry ingredients for a most satisfying, comforting carbohydrates-on-carbohydrates meal.

The beauty of this dish lies in the making of the pici. The therapeutic nature of making dough with your hands, of kneading and rolling is an activity itself that is calming and stress-relieving.

There should be no rush to make this meal: it won’t take that long, but why not take your time?

In any case, pici should always be handmade; there is nothing like the charmingly imperfect quality of proper pici, painstakingly rolled one by one, by patient hands. It results in an almost primitive pasta with bite that can support robust sauces like wild boar ragu, or all’aglione, a rich tomato sauce, heavy on the garlic. But to be honest, I love the breadcrumbs the most. All you need is some old bread pulverised into breadcrumbs (the rustic nature of homemade breadcrumbs has a better texture for this dish than ready-made breadcrumbs, but use what you have), a clove of garlic, good olive oil. Anchovies (and if you like, chili) are refinements in this frugal dish.

I can’t help but think, too, that this dish actually resembles Tuscany itself—can you see it? The golden fields dried by the sun, crumbling stone farmhouses and the undulating hills of clay dotted with pointed cypress trees, mimicked in the olive oil-seeped breadcrumbs, the rippling noodles and flecks of parsley. It’s Tuscany in a dish. index

PICI CON LE BRICIOLE (Pici with breadcrumbs) Serves 4

For the pici: 1½ cups / 200 grams of plain flour 1½ cups / 200 grams of semola 1 cup / 200 ml water 1 tablespoon olive oil For the sauce: ¼ cup / 60 ml extra virgin olive oil 2 cloves of garlic, chopped 4 salted anchovy fillets ¼ cup / 30 grams of breadcrumbs handful of parsley, finely chopped grated pecorino or parmesan cheese, optional

RECIPE To make the pici, mix the two flours together on a clean surface, forming a pyramid. Create a well in the centre of the pyramid and pour in the water bit by bit while incorporating the flour by carefully swirling the liquid with your hands. Continue combining the flour and water this way until you have a smooth dough. If you find your dough comes together before you finish incorporating all the flour, stop there; if it is too sticky, dust on some extra flour. You want a ball of dough that springs back when you poke it and no longer sticks to your hands when you roll it. Set the dough aside to rest, covered, for at least 30 minutes.

Separate the dough into two pieces to begin with and on a well-floured surface roll out the first piece until it is about 2-3mm (1/10 inch) thick. Cut long strips and then with the palms of your hands or between your thumb and fingers, roll each flat strip from the center outwards, until you have thick noodle.

Dust with semolina and roll around your hand then set aside. Continue until you have finished all the dough.

Heat a pot of water to boil the pasta and season with 1 teaspoon of salt for each litre (4 cups) of water.

In a wide skillet, over low heat gently cook the chopped garlic in half of the olive oil until it is fragrant and about to turn golden.

Add the anchovies (and chilli if you like) and stir until the anchovies melt. Take care not to burn or brown the garlic. Set aside and cook the pasta in boiling water, until al dente, about 3-4 minutes. Drain, saving some of the cooking water.

Add the drained pici with a ladleful of the cooking water to the anchovy and garlic mixture in the skillet and over a medium heat toss the pasta for one minute adding the rest of the olive oil, the parsley and the breadcrumbs, until the pasta is well-coated.

Serve immediately—fresh pasta waits for no one, especially pici!

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This pandemic, like every pandemic, will abate

Radiant, lethal Italian spring

by John Hooper

When I was a teenager, my parents lived in Rye, a beautiful little port on the south coast of England. It was the ideal place for them. My father was an artist and Rye was full of painters, poets, potters and writers of all kinds.

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mong the latter was a man who became for me a kind of mentor. His name was Eric Whelpton. My father, who had known him in London, judged him “a bit of a bore”. But for me, Eric was fascinating. Every so often, I would go to the house on a cobbled street that he shared with his wife and sit in the garden with a glass of Pimm’s while he recounted stories from his extraordinary life.

Eric was half-French. He spent his childhood in Paris at the height of the Belle Époque before going to boarding school and university in England. He was perfectly bilingual. “Well, really, quadrilingual,” he once corrected me in his characteristic drawl.

“And with a smattering of Turkish.”

Eric survived the First World War, rose to the rank of captain and commanded­­­­­nine hundred men.

In the Second World War, he had been a spy—an agent of the SIS (“MI6”) in French-speaking North Africa. After the war, and like another adventurous Eric—Eric Newby—he been the travel editor of a Sunday newspaper and written books on France, Spain, Greece, Italy and the Balkans. “The only part of the Mediterranean coast along which I haven’t travelled is a short stretch in Libya” was another of his offhand gems.

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Among the many aspects of his life that fascinated me was that in 1920s he had edited a weekly newspaper in Florence. The Italian Mail was, in a sense, a forerunner of The Florentine. But while produced in Florence, which in those days had the biggest English-speaking readership in Italy, the paper was distributed nationwide.

Editing The Italian Mail brought Whelpton into contact with the expatriate intellectuals, connoisseurs and socialites who lived in, and passed through, the Florence of those days. He knew Alice Keppel, who had been the mistress of Edward VII; Arthur and Harold Acton; Aldous Huxley, Norman Douglas and Ezra Pound.

Eventually, since Eric’s politics were not those of Pound, the impossibility of producing honest journalism in what had become a Fascist dictatorship convinced him in 1926 to leave Florence for Paris. But, as he recalled in The Making of a European, his memoir of his early days, he took away with him rich and fragrant memories.

“When the weather was favourable I often used to invite a girlfriend to take a tram to one or other of the villages on the heights that surrounded Florence,” he wrote. “On reaching our destination index

we would dine very slowly on a terrace overlooking the valley of the Arno with the lights gleaming like a river of diamonds below us. Then we would walk back through olive groves where the fire-flies flickered in the darkness and cicadas chirruped incessantly. By the time we reached Florence the streets were empty save for the clatter of a belated horse cab, and an occasional pedestrian walking in the deep shadow of the narrow streets.�

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Not by design, but purest chance (or is it really?), I too have ended up in Florence, and as a journalist, after a life quite as adventurous in its own way as Eric’s. And since arriving in the city, I have often wondered what it was like to experience a Florence so silent. It has taken a microscopic virus and a modern plague to show me. Yesterday, I walked by the Arno, marvelling at the clarity of the water, and then crossed Ponte Vecchio. It was early afternoon and I was the only person on the bridge.

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Even in the 1920s, of course, at that time of day, Ponte Vecchio and the whole of the rest of the centre would have been throbbing with noisy life.

You would need to go back to perhaps the eighth century, or even earlier, to experience a daytime Florence as quiet and still as that which some of us have experienced in this radiant, lethal Italian spring.

But it will soon all be very different. This pandemic, like every pandemic, will abate. The students will return; the tourists too (though, if the tide really does turn against globalisation, as some are predicting, maybe not in quite such asphyxiating numbers as before). And there will always be people who will feel that they have not done justice to their lives unless they have visited the Uffizi, the Accademia and the Pitti Palace. They will want too to see the dramatic façade of the Duomo. And those more engaged with the history of art will want to go inside to study, among other things, the frescoed equestrian portrait of Niccolò da Tolentino that Andrea del Castagno painted in 1456. They will marvel at how the artist tricks the eye of the viewer and wonder perhaps what this great painter, then in his mid-thirties, might not have achieved had he lived to the age of a Leonardo or a Michelangelo. For the following year, plague swept Florence and among its victims was Andrea del Castagno.

As any good Florentine will tell you, there is nothing new under the sun.

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PHOTO CREDITS Francesco Spighi pgg 4-5, 18-19, 20, 22, 23, 26-27, 29, 30, 38, 40-41, 42-43, 44, 46, 47,49, 50, 52, 53, 56, 60, 62, 64, 68, 72, 76, 78, 80, 81, 84, 85, 104 Mattia Marasco pgg 24-25, 32, 33, 34, 54, 55, 58, 59, 71, 73, 74, 82, 103 Leo Cardini pgg 90, 98 Emiko Davies pgg 100, 101

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