It was not long after I arrived at the hospital in Brescia I smelled something that I know well. Jobs often smelled as a photojournalist in conflict zones. I do not care if the odor of death, or the smell of a sterilization product or something like a mixture of both. I ‘a smell that I’m not used to, when I hear people around me speak my language, Italian. A security guard me I am in front of an input error says, then goes away. I am perceived as dangerous: he thinks I’m sick and how many people are looking to the hospital, arriving every day. From a distance, I can not hear what he says behind his mask for me. Every word is heard recognition of distorted beyond. If I’m no longer considered a threat, I am taken to a room with 20 beds. I wear a hat, protective clothing and eyewear and shoe covers. I heard a buzzing hiss. And ‘oxygen, they tell me. Each of the patients head looks as if it is enclosed in a glass globe. I can not say if these people are aware of it until a man his face instinctively tried to touch but not to this degree. About the beds, you can see their names and dates of birth. Often it seemed that the oldest of our country have been targeted by the crown. But here is a man my age, 37 are not immune. I see me take some pictures, but there’s nothing I want to record. I do, however, to try to justify my presence in this place to others. To justify me. I want to believe that it is important to the story. But what the story is this story teach us? I do not know much about the virus in China thresholds if I belong in January. Only after it had spread to Italy, and the northern region of Lombardy, the European epicenter that I realized how much we can feel secure in our little bubble – and what happens when this protective shatters. The pandemic shows us that we are all closer and more connected than we think. The purpose of this trip was to tell the story of how, in a few weeks Italy had become unrecognizable. When I died across the border in Lombardy on March 13, crossed hundreds. By the middle of April, more than 20,000 people had lost their lives. I went by the virus, small and large ruined cities. In Seriate, I saw lined up on the floor of a chapel with coffins. Nembro, a town of 11,000, where local volunteers have told me that more than 120 people died by the time I was visited, residents made their own masks in the back of a factory, then distribute them to others for free . Ravenna and other places have been the courage of our doctors and nurses, many of whom gave witness firsthand their lives to treat the discomfort. I saw the way the sweat and hard work, and I saw tears for lost colleagues. work every day, it is a double layer. I also went in the busiest cities to see how she was gone from semi-desert bowls. From empty Piazza del Duomo in Milan, Piazza San Marco in Venice, the lawn next to the Leaning Tower of Pisa in the streets around the Colosseum in Rome, the crowds were gone by tourists. Instead, you can use the police, the military, guardians, several ambulances and hearses Italian, coming and going constantly see. The silence in the streets of the city scared me. For Italians, the square symbolizes our culture and our social life. And ‘where we should go together. Now there is no noise. How to photograph the silence? I’ve heard this a “war” called – that we are in “the trenches” and health care providers on the “front”. My friends from Syria, Libya, Iraq and Yemen asking how I’m doing and how my family – and for once not vice versa. But for me, this is not a war. There are parties, and there is no alternative to victory. We will overcome this virus only if we do it together.
squares in silence, and the smell of death: Scenes From Italy prostrate Crown
