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He gestured to his right. “The hotel restaurant is one of the best in the city, I assure you.”
I was too tired to argue, so I walked over to the restaurant. Nobody was inside except for a single host behind the bar. “Buongiorno,” he said. “Unfortunately, our dining room is closed until further notice.”
“But the concierge said this was where I could get food.”
“Our kitchen is indeed open, but only for meals to-go. We can bring your order directly to your room.”
I ordered the carbonara and went up to my room. When the food arrived it was room-temperature and tasted like it was reheated in the microwave.
I had a dozen bottles of wine on the spare bed, purchased in the duty-free section of the airport. I had expected them to only last a couple of nights with the girls, but since my friends were no longer coming I had them all to myself.
“Better get started,” I said as I opened a bottle of red. “I’m on vacation, after all.”
I turned on the TV and found a channel with English closed-captioning. Sure enough, all flights were grounded nationwide. The lockdowns weren’t just isolated to Rome: the Italian Prime Minister was announcing a full quarantine beginning that evening across the country. The borders with France, Switzerland, Austria, and Slovenia were closed. Nobody was allowed in or out of the country.
“Holy crap…”
I listened numbly as they talked about strain variants and spread rates. I didn’t understand a word, even with the English subtitles. It all went over my head. What I did understand was that they recommended everyone wash their hands with soap and water.
“Two happy birthdays?” I muttered while looking at my hands.
The longer I watched, a feeling of dread crept into my chest. This wasn’t just a mild inconvenience to my vacation. This wasserious.
The door to the adjacent room opened, then closed with athud. I heard my hotel neighbor walk through the hotel room, thumping across the floor. Classical Italian music began playing from a speaker, drifting through the wall into my room. A few minutes later I smelled the delicious aroma of food being cooked. Tomato sauce, spices, and pork filled my hotel room through our conjoining door.
“At least someone’s enjoying their stay,” I muttered.
I watched TV for a few hours, then drifted off to sleep. The combination of jet lag and good red wine must have knocked me out, because the next thing I knew, fresh sunlight was streaming through the door to the balcony. It was morning, and I had slept for thirteen straight hours.
“Woo, vacation,” I mumbled out loud.
I turned off the TV and decided to treat myself to a bubble bath. As soon as I sank into the scalding water, all the stress oozed out of my body. After a few minutes, I started feeling more like myself.
I found a news stream on my phone and let that play while I soaked. More information about the virus was getting out. It was respiratory, meaning it spread through the air. There was also a risk of transmitting it through items, like doorknobs or other objects handed back and forth, although experts didn’t know how great the risk was. Everyone was urged to wear a mask when going out in public.
The phraseglobal pandemicwas being used. It felt like the beginning of a horror movie.
And the symptoms of the virus itself… Let’s just say I didn’t want to get it, even though I was a healthy twenty-nine year old.
Ten minutes of listening to that made me glad I was holed up. It was safer to be here than walking around outside, potentially getting infected.
I called room service for breakfast. The bellhop who brought it to me was a skinny teenager wearing a scarf across his mouth. I quickly pulled my shirt up to cover my mouth too.
“I sorry for the food,” he said in pretty good, although muffled, English. “The chef did not come in. The hotel is doing its best.”
“If the chef isn’t here, then who made the food?” I asked.
“The concierge. He is very good, I promise! I helped as well.”
I tipped the boy and brought the food inside. I squirted a little bit of liquid soap into my hand and then rubbed it all over the outside of the metal room service dish. Then I removed the lid on the plate.
“Well, at least it’ssomething,” I muttered. I had come to Italy to eat delicious food. Instead I was making do with cold bread and jam, runny eggs, and lukewarm instant coffee.
My neighbor was making breakfast. Bacon or sausage, based on the smell wafting over to my room. Whoever they were, maybe they should go downstairs to run the restaurant.
I carried my food out onto the balcony so that I wouldn’t have to smell my neighbor’s food. It was also a beautiful day, and my balcony had a gorgeous view of the city. I could just see the top level of the Colosseum over the building to the right, and the plaza outside the hotel was spread out below me. When I had arrived yesterday, the plaza was crammed with people and street performers. Now it was completely empty.
Rome was one of the most visited tourist locations in the world, but now it was a ghost town. The emptiness gave the beautiful view an eerie pallor.
