By Stuart Ramsay, chief correspondent
In March, our aim was to get to the Italian alpine city of Bergamo, by far the worst affected place by coronavirus on the planet at that time.
They called it the 'red zone'.
I'm used to going to dangerous places, but nobody in 100 years has actually covered a global pandemic. It adds a certain piquancy to your fear levels.
We also didn't know what a pandemic looked or felt like. In essence our job was to try and show the world.
The roads were empty as we drove into the heart of the red zone for the very first time.
It is different now of course.
The motorway to Bergamo is busy, Italy is out of lockdown, but we have returned to see what a recovery looks and feels like.
Over 6,000 people died in Bergamo.
The scars of that terrible loss are still raw here. There is a recovery for sure, but it's a wary melancholic recovery. There are no street parties here.
Bergamo is out of lockdown but the wearing of masks is mandatory, social distancing in bars and restaurants is strictly observed.
Temperatures are regularly taken in shops and restaurants. No alcohol can be drunk on the streets after 7pm.
The shopping streets of the modern Bergamo bustle with people, everyone going about their business in masks and regularly cleaning their hands with sanitiser.
But the real heart of Bergamo is the Upper City.
An ancient beautiful medieval town that towers over the modern city, perched on a craggy mountain top.
A funicular railway connects the old and new towns, as do narrow roadways that snake up the mountain through beautiful cobbled streets and into a magnificent central square, Piazza Vecchia, dominated by the Santa Maria Maggiore Basilica.
It's slowly returning to normal, although it is much quieter than it would usually be at this time of year and there are virtually no foreign visitors.
In March it was silent.
We had come to see what a total lockdown looked like. It was beautiful but eerie.
We saw maybe four people during our whole visit. One of them was a frightened Francesca Cassinelli, wrapped up in a heavy coat and scarf. She didn't want to stop, she had come out to buy some essentials and was rushing home.
But she briefly spoke to us. She broke our hearts with the authenticity of her remarks. In a few moments she summed up the fear and the pain of the virus outbreak unfolding as we spoke.
On our return, we tracked her down and met in the main square.
She is still scared, she hasn't really recovered, but she is getting stronger as each day passes.
"It is painful you cannot say goodbye. It is painful that they are on their own. I feel very sad. There is sadness everywhere."
"Honestly, many are still scared starting with me. I can see that among young people. They sort of underestimate the issue and that is scary really, very scary."
This city and its inhabitants are far from getting over what happened here.
Trying to navigate a way forward is the job of the mayor, Giorgio Gori. He imposed the lockdown and is now overseeing its unlocking.
In March, we drove to the centre of town and came across a small group of people silently standing in line to register the deaths of family members at the city's council offices.
We asked where the mayor was and we were directed across the road to a magnificent baroque mansion that houses his office and the council debating chamber.
Simone Baglivo, our Italian producer, asked if we could talk to the mayor. By pure chance he had met the political adviser to Mayor Gori.
In the courtyard we waited until the mayor, an urbane, handsome 60 year old appeared. He looked exhausted but was happy to speak.
He explained he had brought his two daughters home from the UK, to the most dangerous place in the world, because of the British government's failure to lock down.
His comments went viral and were splashed across the front pages of the UK newspapers.
"When I saw what the English government was thinking about this problem, I decided to bring them back because I think that even if we are at the centre of the epidemic they are probably more secure here than in England."
"I thought several times about my choice... to have my son and my daughters in our house in those weeks has been the best thing for us in a very awful period."
Today he is still battling the virus. Society, he says, has to learn to live with it, as we can't seem to beat it.
"I think that one part of our difficulty comes from the uncertainty that we have to face about this new enemy, because after six months more or less we don't know yet exactly what kind of enemy we have in front of us... and it's the same thing I say to my citizens, is that we have to be ready to face co-existence with the virus."
Back in March, as the mayor and I chatted after the interview I asked if he could get us permission to enter the city's main hospital, Papa Giovanni XXIII. Until that point all entry was banned.
He agreed it was important and began making calls. Within minutes it was agreed. Our appointment was set for the next day.
We arrived at the hospital and were met by Vanna Toninelli, the head of press for the hospital. I don't think she was awfully pleased to see us.
"Remember inside I am in charge. Don't touch anything," were pretty much her first words as she led us inside to change into our protective suits.
It was the first of many times over the coming months we would don and doff our gear. The first time was actually terrifying.
We were led through vast empty corridors to the emergency room.
It was like a field hospital in a war with people lying on gurneys and slumped in chairs. There was no blood. They just couldn't breathe.
I couldn't believe my eyes. One of the richest, most well-equipped hospitals in the world, was on its knees, all but overwhelmed.
Two doctors, Roberto Cosentini, the emergencies director, and Lorenzo Grazioli, an intensive care anaesthetist, explained to the world through us, what was happening. Nobody had seen it before.
Months on they are still working. Still preparing for the virus to return. Determined not to get overwhelmed again.
"It's a very severe pneumonia, and so it's a massive strain for every health system. Every day 50 to 60 patients come to our emergency department with pneumonia, and most of them are so severe they need very high volumes of oxygen."
"We feared being overwhelmed by patients... but fortunately the social distancing and lockdown... started to be effective and the following day we started to see a slow progressive decrease of patients, and that was the reason why we didn't fail as a hospital."
Papa Giovanni XXIII Hospital, Bergamo, March 2020
Papa Giovanni XXIII Hospital, Bergamo, July 2020
"I have never felt so stressed in my life... but when you are at this point you realise that you are not enough. We are 100 anaesthetists, we are doing our best, but maybe it's not enough."
"The trauma you feel for this kind of pandemic, [it's a] kind of thing that is very similar to post-traumatic stress, that you can imagine getting in a battlefield."
We knew this story was hugely important. We knew it had to be published immediately. Normally that would have been our job done for the day.
It was exhausting and exhilarating and I wanted to write it immediately, our London bosses were waiting for it - but we had another hospital visit organised for the afternoon.
I can't quite believe it now but I did the two most important stories of my life on a single day.
Just as we did in March, we left Bergamo and drove the hour or so to the city of Cremona and its main hospital.
Today we visited the Intensive Care Unit in Cremona to meet the doctors and nurses who showed us the growing disaster back then.
I will never forget the exhaustion and the fear in the eyes of Dr Leonor Tamayo as she described the situation in the ICU. "It's a disaster, it's a tsunami," will stay with me forever.
"It's very dangerous, it's a disaster, it's a tsunami, and we are here 12 hours a day."
"Now it's different. It was a disaster, it was like I said last time, it was a tsunami, now we are trying to return to normal working."
The hospitals are all quiet now. There are few coronavirus patients at the moment. But the fear of a second wave is a constant. These doctors and nurses still plead with everyone to stay safe, wash hands, keep apart and crucially to wear masks.
One of the most striking features of the Bergamo lockdown was the willingness of people to volunteer to help the most vulnerable.
Food boxes and medicinal supplies were taken around the city by people who just wanted to help.
Valentino Tribbia builds high-end summer houses and fits retractable sun blinds.
In March, his business was closed and we met as he delivered medicine to an elderly lady.
I asked why he did it. This tough man broke down. It was all overwhelming.
Even now he is traumatised and fearful for the future.
"We hear that many people are in trouble. You go crazy if you stay home. I want to do my bit to help."
"The virus is always on my mind... Wherever you go now from a bar to a restaurant... there is always that fear that keeps worrying you."
The remarkable cemetery in Bergamo is an ancient monument to the city and its citizens. Sculptures by the country's most famous artists line the boulevards, intricate grave stones and huge sculpted mausoleums are a striking reminder of the past.
But the present loss dominates now.
In total silence, families tend the new graves of loved ones lost to the virus.
It's a daily ritual now. A collective ritual.
Thousands upon thousands were locked down unable to say goodbye to their relatives and friends.
The cemetery is a place to come and mourn and remember together, because everyone died alone.
The graves of the COVID-19 dead are often positioned near each other.
They are simple and poignant; the final resting place for the old and the young. The coronavirus didn't discriminate in the lives it took.
As with Britain there are calls for a public inquiry into the government's handling of the disaster, but here they have gone a step further. Legal action has been launched by families of the dead.
Armando Invernizzi died in March, he was 66. His body is buried in a huge wall in the Bergamo cemetery.
His wife Monica and their son Nicolas want answers. She is part of what is basically a class action known as Truth and Justice for COVID-19 Victims. She is on the steering committee.
We met at their new home, a modest flat in the centre of town. They were about to buy a new large house but the pandemic and Armando's death has scuppered that.
They insist they don't want money or compensation. They just want an acknowledgement that mistakes were made.
"It's against everyone. It's the prosecution that has to investigate also because as far as we are concerned almost everybody made mistakes, in fact the court case is against unknown people. The only ones we don't want to blame are the doctors, we saw the tsunami they found themselves in."
Their action is already going through the courts.
Amid fears of a second wave of the deadly virus, Bergamo remains a cautious melancholy place.
They won't forget what happened here but they will move on, slowly, at a distance, with clean hands, and a mask.
Credits
Reporting: Stuart Ramsay, chief correspondent
Field producers: Dominique Van Heerden and Simone Baglivo
Pictures: Richie Mockler, Dominique Van Heerden, and Garwen Mcluckie