On vacation in Italy: the San Marco Square is empty

At Schiphol, I grab the first flight attendant in familiar blue. That face masks are not required for those under twelve? From thirteen, then? She nods. But why do I receive an email a day before departure stating that everyone over six must wear a mask? She nods understandingly. Because the plane is full, she says. Then they want to be extra careful. I say I understand that, but that I need a bit longer to prepare my autistic child to get her to comply. “But then she doesn’t have to do it. If you have a letter from the doctor or something similar, there’s nothing to worry about.” Well, I couldn’t find that letter anymore, but I have enough evidence pointing to her special condition, so it will be fine. I tell the flight attendant that I can kiss her, but that I will keep it corona-conscious with a deep bow and hop onto the cityhopper.

Venice was the idea because it probably would never be quieter than now. The other times I was there, I was stuck in traffic. Now we wandered through deserted streets. St. Mark's Square was empty. Except for a brave tourist and a pianist. Surreal and sad too, that corona has chased the soul out of the city, although the original Venice is now more on the surface. We walked until we had blisters between our toes, dreamed while looking over the Grand Canal, and dangled our feet in the seawater. If Venice is still on your wish list, I would say: go now. We are moving on to the next station. What is that? Dove ci porta il vento. In other words; where the wind takes us. You will hear from me.