This is one of those “small world” stories.
Last week, in writing about life under COVID-19, I described a memory from happier times — a vacation in Cefalù, a beautiful city of about 14,000 on the north coast of Sicily.
My thoughts often drift to Italy these days, because it’s a country I love and one that has been hit terribly hard by coronavirus.
The very day that column was published, March 28, I got an email from a couple I know who are now stranded there.
Mary Smyth and Fred Hollingshurst wrote a well-loved Telegram column, Along the Trail, for eight years ending in 2009, and they have a new book, “Hiking Newfoundland,” coming from Boulder Books.
They were vacationing in Cefalù in February when coronavirus began to spread southward through Italy, and the island of Sicily cut itself off from the rest of the country.
Mary describes their early impressions of the city.
“The first night we arrived we walked to the piazza in front of the ancient Norman cathedral. It was Carnavale. Children were dressed as Disney figures and other whimsical characters; devils and angels a plenty. Parents and grandparents sat and watched the scene from the wooden benches all around the square. Carts and wagons with colorfully decorated horses and donkeys carried merry-makers throwing confetti at the crowd. Sicilian flutes played. It could not have been more beautifully Italian. I was moved to tears.”
Five weeks later, things are radically different, as Fred explains.
“At first people were more casual, as if it was a problem in the north but not here,” he said. “You would see cheek kissing and handshaking, but no more. Masks and gloves are the order of the day. There is more police presence and we are obliged to carry an official form with us when we venture out. We call them our ‘walking papers.’ Only one person per household is allowed out at a time.
“I did see the police questioning a man out walking his dog. We are only supposed to go out for food, meds or to drop off garbage at a depot.”
They were vacationing in Cefalù in February when coronavirus began to spread southward through Italy, and the island of Sicily cut itself off from the rest of the country.
The beautiful restaurants with views of the Tyrrhenian Sea, and the charming cafés that would spring to life at midday along the cobblestone streets, are now closed. Mary and Fred take turns going on grocery runs, where the lineup can span 30 minutes.
They have a kind landlord who had no problem extending their stay in the third-floor apartment on via Spinuzza, but they miss their family and home and naturally have concerns about getting sick there.
“There is a hospital in Cefalù, but would we be passed over for a respirator because of our age? A worrying question,” Fred said via email. “The thought of getting ill, even dying cannot be dismissed. Still, we remain positive.”
“In times like these our kids are top of our concern,” said Mary. “None of our four children live in N.L. My girls live in Calgary and Holland. Fred’s daughter and son are in Victoria, B.C. and Toronto. Without social media, especially WhatsApp, we would have been frantic to find out how they were/are coping, and of course with us being so close to the red pulsing epicentre, their concern for us is heightened as well.”
MARY SMYTH PHOTO
Once they are able to leave, the trip back home will involve a bus, a train and three flights. For now, they are hunkered down and hoping for the best.
“Our salvation from cabin fever is our large terrace with a view of the sea, the beach and the red-tiled rooftops,” Fred writes. “It is our ‘back garden,’ our outdoors.”
“We can wax poetic, but the truth is we are captive in a little piece of paradise,” Mary adds. “Our little house in Musgravetown with all our stuff around us in the dead of winter seems like heaven right now.”
In Cefalù, the narrow streets that I remember ringing with the sound of children’s shouts and laughter are eerily empty now.
Mary says that every day at noon, the church bells play “Ave Maria.”
Stay safe, Mary and Fred. We hope you can come home soon.
Pam Frampton is The Telegram’s managing editor. Email [email protected]. Twitter: pam_frampton
