Escaping Coronavirus in Florence, Italy

I am writing this from the seat of an airplane that I had no idea I would even be on fifteen hours ago. I have spent the past semester (and one month) of my freshman year studying abroad at NYU’s Florence campus. We were well aware of the spread of Coronavirus— one of our classmates was trapped in Wuhan and had to FaceTime in to class— but I think we were oblivious as to how this pandemic would affect our own lives. That is, until last night, at 11:45 pm, when every student studying in our program received an email informing us that we had three days to pack up our suitcases and leave campus. Three. The email claimed that we will be able to return in a month, although most people are skeptical of this. When friends said goodbye to each other, they did not say “see you in a month”, but “see you in New York, in the Fall”. In the meantime, NYU has set up online classes for us to take so we do not fall behind academically.

When I arrived in Florence in August, I knew absolutely nobody, and nothing about the place I would soon spend months in. Imagine at eighteen years old, not only having to adjust to college life— making new friends, living in a dorm, taking different classes— but also having to adjust to living in a foreign country with an unfamiliar language and different customs. To put it bluntly, the transition, for most people, was difficult. Personally, I missed my puppy, Charlie, a lot. I also struggled with learning the Italian language, which is made severely more difficult when one is unable to roll their r’s (ugh). There were other aspects of home I desired as well- my mom’s cooking, the way the roads looked in my town, being able to jog outside, my friends and family…

There was never a sudden shift, but I realized, as the weeks progressed, I not only adjusted to my surroundings, but grew to really enjoy them. The cobblestone streets of the city were no longer a never-ending maze, but a clear pathway to all my favorite restaurants, stores, and cafés. I tried out multiple places to buy panini, or pizza, and had my personal favorites (All’Antico Vinaio for panino, Gustapizza for pizza). The staff members of my campus became familiar faces that smiled to me when I passed them in my dorm building, and I even attempted to speak Italian to some shop owners. However, the most important factor in my happiness was the formation of a tight-knit group of friends, who, after spending almost every waking moment together, quickly became a sort of pseudo-family so far from home. We would spend hours talking to each other at dinner or in my dorm’s common room about our towns, friends, family, and past experiences, that it was almost as if we had known each other for years instead of a few months.

Throughout the last few days of the first semester, I dragged my feet, realizing just how hard it would be to leave for seven weeks for the holiday break. My final jaunt in the city before departure was spent staring at the Duomo, trying to memorize its intricate features. I snatched enough Baci chocolate to last me for a year, never mind two months, and even took a good look around the Tuesday night yoga class my friend and I faithfully participated in, trying to memorize the configuration of mats and the drone of our instructor’s calming music. The last dinner my friends and I shared in our dorm's cafeteria was foggy, viewed through a lens of nostalgia, and I could not help thinking about the hundreds of meals we had shared together, and how odd it would be to eat without them. In Florence, I never had to eat alone.

When we arrived back on our European campus after winter break, we vocalized a list of things we wanted to do and places we wanted to see before the end of the semester, many of which we accomplished. We traveled to Bologna on Valentines Day, and picnicked outside the Leaning Tower of Pisa the day after that. We tried a restaurant a friend had raved about, and toured Milan during Fashion Week, even talking our way into a fashion event. There were so many other things we had planned for the rest of the semester. Unlike the previous semester, we came into school this time around comfortable with our settings and each other, and were ready to take advantage of all Florence had to offer.

I think all the missed-memories is why this sudden departure hurts so much— that and there was really no time to properly say bye to the place I grew to appreciate. Because, who knows when I will be back? Most likely not this year. And, even if I do return in my twenties or thirties or when I am an older adult, it won’t be the same because I won’t be the same person as I am right now; eighteen, with barely any responsibilities, and the life perspective I have at this very moment.

I am not sure how to end this, because the ending result of this semester is still unclear. Will we be returning to Florence? Sent to another campus? Forced to take online classes the entire semester? Secretly, I hope we get an email tomorrow saying we have two days to pack before being sent to, say, New York or Los Angeles, although maybe that is an unrealistic wish. When I first heard the news that we were being sent home I almost had a full out panic attack thinking about what I would do to fill the boredom of the next x months. To calm me down, my friends and family told me not to think about it. “Just worry about getting home”. And, as of right now, there are five hours and twelve minutes until I land, so I have some time to spare.