It feels like Sunday, it felt like Sunday yesterday too. It'll feel like Sunday tomorrow. The relentless chainsaws, jackhammers and breaking glass of the past few days has gone. From the street, hardly a car goes by. A turtle dove coos somewhere on the roof. Some birds sing. Later a murder of crows will gather, quiet, on the roof of the adjacent hotel only to vanish into the night. The large grey green parrots that are taking over the trees will swiftly swoosh past in the evening, chattering as they do so.
This summer saw Italy in the hands of Lucifer, a devastating heatwave. Those who could closed shop, walked out of their offices and headed beachwards. Others sweated in their apartments and sales of air conditioning units received a boost.
Lucifer brought a spate of fires in its wake. It seemed the whole country was burning. Fires in Sicily, in Sardegna, in the Marche, on the banks of the Tiber, in the pine groves around Ostia, up to the North of the capital past Morlupo, in the woods around Tivoli, hardly a day went by without a dark cloud appearing somewhere over the city dwellings.
And then came the news that some fires had been started deliberately. For the price of the cleared land, in some cases, and for the overtime in other cases, as a voluntary firefighter was caught in the act of setting fire to land. In Sicily, firefighters had got family to call in fires. All for a bonus.
Then at the peak of the sweat ACEA, the company that supplies water to Rome, announced that water was drying up. Spring rain had been sparse and aquifers were thirsty. Lake Bracciano, one of Rome's water 'tanks' was emptying and no one could say when the next big rainfall was coming.
There was talk of rationing - 8 hour water cuts a day were mentioned. There was growing irritation as it became clear that one of the causes of the water shortage was the poor condition of the water supply network with its old pipes and thousands of litres of leaks.
The mayor of Rome closed down some of the permanently running drinking water fountains. Small vendors upped the price on water.
A small grocery store near where I work decided to hike it's water price.
"That's 80 cents."
"But it was 60 yesterday."
"Well, it's 80 today."
There was no discussion possible. He was just responding to demand but failing to understand that with a shop on the outskirts by so doing he risked alienating some of his customers.
The water rationing hasn't happened yet.
Instead, the city has emptied. More and more people have loaded their cars and departed. All of a sudden the streets are full of parking spaces. Parking shortages have now reached small seaside towns.
All the newsagents have closed despite the fact that in any given area one must remain open (there's a law regulating this). On the local market there are no food stalls. In fact, there's not much of anything. Public transport is in its second (or is it third) holiday phase to accomodate the fact that the drivers are away. Just to make commuters even happier, this summer a tract of the A-line has been closed to allow for work on the developing C-line at its junction with the stop of San Giovanni (A-line). I have decided to avoid Roman public transport for a month.
This is not the week for a medical emergency or an accident as junior staff take care of the hospitals while the senior members of staff enjoy their holidays. Most vets have closed so animals cannot fall ill. Plumbers and electricians have vanished. A repair will have to wait. This after all is Ferragosto.
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