There are many unprecedented aspects of the times we are living through, one of the the strangest is the fact that covid-19 may be the first pestilence in human history to be spread by statistics. In the absence of mass immunisation the only weapon we have to suppress the spread of the pandemic is to reduce contact between carriers and the rest of us. Data analysis of the who and where of the virus, summarised in charts, graphs, interactive maps and animated graphics fill our news apps on a daily basis. Test track trace is the mantra of the moment. As a self confessed big data nerd I look forward to presentations by Chris Whitty or Jonathan Van-Tam, or analytical commentary by experts such as Neil Ferguson or David Spiegelhalter. Today we had a scientific warm-up act before Boris reveals his latest three tier plan to see us through the gathering Covid second wave. Sattting in a van far away on the shore of an Umbrian crater lake I made sure I was tuned into the live feed from the BBC. Sad, but true!
I spent half my working life staring at performance data trying to improve educational attainment on the basis of whatever the numbers revealed. I became expert in the intriguing relationship between data and the human behaviours which sit behind them.
Science may lay out the facts, it's quite another matter to get people to accept them never mind change their behaviour in response. Can we really countenance a world where we are admonished if we shout or sing? There are good reasons why silent discos are forever doomed to be a distinctly niche events.
Right now for us Covid data babble is not a purely academic matter, as I mentioned in the previous post we are at the point where we need to decide whether we head home to a place with three times the Covid infection of Italy, or catch the ferry to Greece with less than half the rate. To assist with the stats, last week Google maps introduced a Covid feature which gives the cases per 100,000 for any country at the click of a button. This is what it told us today:
On the face of it should be easy-peasy - catch the ferry to Patras on Friday. Sadly it's not so simple. The first thing is that the virus is on the rise everywhere, and all countries will start to introduce new measures which might restrict travel. At the moment at a push we could get back to the UK in less than a week, and if we went through France there are only two international borders between us and home. Greece is a different proposition, much trickier to make a dash for home from the Peloponnese.
Another consideration is the simple fact that overall infection rates are not really a good indicator of how likely you are to catch the virus. You need to be in close proximity to someone who is infected, the more you mingle, the more at risk you become. Consequently it must be the case that no matter how inconsequential local infections rates are a campsite is a relatively risky place as it's full of people who have been mingling with many others for days or weeks. Shared sanitary facilities increase the risk further. Conversely, even if infection rates are through the roof back home, if you live a fairly isolated existence the opportunity to catch the virus is minimised. We don't have friends in Buxton, our children live hundreds of miles from us, we may pass the time of day with neighbours, but from a distance. It's only when we go shopping that we are in close contact with others.
So, the logic of all this means we should head homewards directly rather than attempting to consult the oracle at Delphi en route. Yesterday we hung on in Castiglione della Pescaia for one more day as the temperature was forecast to hit 24° in the afternoon. I had a final dip in a slightly choppy Med aware that the forecast looked increasingly autumnal for the coming days.
This proved to be the case, the drive from the Maremma to Trasimeno was grey and wet. Temperatures plummeted by 15°, reaching single digits as we jiggled along the pot-holed dual carriageway between Siena and Perugia. Lake Trasimeno looked steely and cold, but camping Kursal was as welcoming as we remembered it.
It's an unusual take on glamping, situated in the front garden of a boutique hotel by the lakeside. Even better we bagged a water's edge pitch, a tad bracing with a stiff breeze, but a fine view from the windscreen.
Next day was a bit sunnier in the morning. We managed to wile it away doing laundry and cleaning. It was not until after lunch that we walked into town, by that time it had clouded over and the cold wind had returned. Even so, Passignano is an attractive little place and the light on the lake was dramatic.
The 1960s style ferry terminal took on a quirky Thunderbirds look.
The lake front itself is dotted with bizarre public statuary. An eccentric and slightly caricatured figure of St. Francis...
What appeared to be a small group statue dedicated to the local blood transfusion service with a slightly sinister Nosferatu inspired epigram...
Then a very ugly bust commemorating Eduardo Acton.
It took a bit of Googling to find out who he was - a local communist politician from Socialist Party of Proletarian Unity who was mayor of Passignano from 1946 - 50. Mysteriously the item stated that he was born in Messina in 1904 but where and when he died is unknown. Pleasingly intriguing.
By the time we walked back to the van the clouds had lifted, it was still chilly though.
Tomorrow promises full sun, but 4° overnight. We swapped to our winter quilt. As if auditioning for the morning, the sun put in a brief appearance as evening gathered. It resulted in a spectacular sunset over the lake.
Maybe tomorrow we will find a pizza place for lunch, by this time next week we will be in Switzerland, homeward bound. Across Europe the virus is making a comeback, rampant in France, Spain, Belgium and the UK. A grim winter looks to be in prospect. We need to make the most of this moment of relative freedom.
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