Pandemic Travel in Italy

In late January 2020 I booked a trip to Italy, for the month of May. This was going to be my first big trip in years. I don't typically book non-refundable hotels but given that the trip was just around the corner, I figured, what could go wrong?

So that didn't work out.

By the end of March, it was apparent we would not be going because no one, worldwide, was going anywhere. The airline gave me a travel credit, and I sheepishly reached out to the hotel. Given the global nature of the crisis, they graciously offered us a credit to use a year later.

We spent much of that year in and out of lockdowns which gave me extra time to daydream and plan, and most importantly, it gave us something to look forward to.

However, as a year approached, it was evident that we were still not ready. Canada maintained a two week quarantine and we weren't vaccinated yet. But there was a promise that the vaccines were coming. And in a second attempt, I hedged my bets that by fall we might be coming out the other side. I contacted our hotel again and asked if we could postpone for October, a comparable shoulder season, and they agreed.

The strategy worked! We were finally vaccinated over the summer and quarantines were magically lifted. 19-months into the pandemic we were going to the airport. It felt somewhat clandestine, and like a reward, all at the same time.

Italy required us to fill out a ton of paper work ahead of time, registering us into the country and verifying our vaccination status. We would have to show proof of this on the other end. The gate agent came around the line at the airport to make sure everyone's paperwork was completed. Several groups had not fulfilled this requirement, as I pulled out our completed check list. These are the moments when Pablo loves me just a little bit extra.

Being on an overnight flight after not really leaving our home for a year and a half was truthfully, odd. We wore masks, but did take them off to eat and drink, and gave dirty looks to anyone who dared to sneeze. Basically we plugged our noses and got through it.

Arriving in Fiumicino airport in Rome was a kind of beautiful chaos. No one checked the paperwork that I had spent hours preparing. We were spit out of the secure area of the airport after picking up luggage. We then found our way to the shuttle train that connects with main train station downtown.

I had booked us on a train from Rome to Naples, where we would be connected with a driver to bring us to Positano in the Amalfi Coast. Because one can never be sure of travel delays I had left an ample amount of time to make the connection. Jumping off the airport shuttle I didn't initially recognize the area. During my trip to Italy in the 90s, we used the train station in Rome, but this looked different. We went inside and walked around as I tried to get my bearings. We turned a corner and found an indoor food market. The waft of coffee and cornetti grabbed me. I wheeled my bag up to high top table and went up to the bar to order breakfast. I could feel my sparkle igniting. At this point I realized Pablo was not feeling so sparkly.

This was Pablo's first trip to Europe. In that moment he was hungry, jet-lagged and feeling unsure of his surroundings. Under his breath he quietly hissed, "Is this safe?" I looked around at the tables full of Romans casually enjoying their morning coffee, pinching myself. "Yes, it's fine. Let's have breakfast." Two coffees and two cornetti's later, I was ready to take on the day. Pablo was doing a little better but still seemed nervous as we gathered up the bags. On our way out, I noticed a pizza kiosk, and stopped to order a couple of slices for the train. She cut them with scissors. Beautiful.

Shortly thereafter I realized that the main train station was in the next building and we made our way. I could see 22-year-old me walking the platform with my enormous backpack in tow. We still had an hour or so to wait and found a quiet corner, taking turns to go for walks and to find the bathroom. After Pablo returned from his walk, he was quiet. A few moments later he blurted out with disappointment, "I thought Italy would look like the cover of a magazine. But everyone is dressed like a regular person." The man needed a nap.

We finally boarded the train, where our vaccination papers were properly checked. Pablo promptly fell asleep as the train roared south. When I initially took this train in the 90s the journey took about three hours. Now it's a high speed train, that takes just over an hour. I stared out the window in anticipation. Partway through the ride, Pablo woke and we snacked on pizza, chatting about the week ahead. I still didn't really feel the wind in his sails, and was getting a little nervous. Would this be a bust?

Next stop Naples, and we were picked up by a driver, who would take us to the hotel. The first twenty minutes or so, the road winds out of Naples, and through tunnels. It's not particularly pleasant. Slowly the road became smaller, beginning to twist. The landscape slowly grows prettier.

And there there is a moment when the car turns onto the coastal road. The sea is on the right and the mountain is on the left. This is the Amalfi Coast, and it is spectacular. We sat in beautiful silence and as we drove towards Positano.

The driver pulled up to the Hotel Savoia, our hero, who let us defer our stay, not once but twice, and the rest is magic. We stayed for five glorious days. The room was a stunner; what an absolute treat. I will write a separate blog about our time on the coast.

On the return we retraced our steps to Rome, where we checked into an uneventful hotel on the Via Condotti (the Rodeo Drive of Rome). The hotel was nothing more than a place to crash, with only a small window overlooking a back alley. But the bed was comfy, the shower was hot and the breakfast was fantastic. For me, Rome is kind of like being in New York. The room is for sleeping. It doesn't need to be fancy.

The next morning it was time to have our PCR tests done in order to fly home. Rome had set up medical tents all over the city. You could go in, register and have the test done on the spot, with the results to be sent to your email a couple of days later. So that is what we did.

At breakfast on the morning before the flight home, Pablo looked at me with a sigh and said, "Well I guess we are going back. We passed." The results came back negative. We could travel. In the 10 days since we'd left home Pablo had transitioned from being nervous to falling in love with this culture that had captured me since my early twenties. I could feel the lump in his throat as we took a taxi to the airport on a quiet Sunday morning. The driver had the local radio on, and Pablo noted that he understood what they were saying, somewhat wistfully. The leap from Spanish to Italian is a natural one.

We flew home and walked through the airport with our negative tests and stepped out into the world. The storm had passed, or so we thought.

About a week after we returned the omicron strain revealed it's ugly head and life came crashing back down. We went back into the weeds with school lockdowns. Anyone returning to Canada had to obtain PCR tests both prior to their flight, and upon arrival at the airport. You couldn't leave your house until the second PCR test cleared. I know this because we traveled to Mexico to see Pablo's family over the New Year and it took 5 days to get our test results.

Our Italian vacation was the eye in the storm of a hurricane. There still weren't that many people travelling, due to the pandemic, and the time of the year. As a result we didn't experience crowds in the way I so often see online. It was a beautiful moment of calm, in a wild couple of years. Grazie!

That first Italian coffee was glorious!