Monotony and Masks

It’s been six weeks now since the UK went into lockdown, so seven for us with the extra week in Spain, and the world and her husband seems to be writing about the experience. Never has the word “unprecedented” been given such prominence.

Somehow most people seem to be making the best of this new reality and we’re no different. There are times, usually in the darkest hours of the shortening nights, that the very real fear of what we are all facing becomes a personal threat. Mainly though, we get by on routine.

As day follows day and the difference blurs, the calendar remains empty. We have video calls, something new for us, with friends and family. We’ve even tried to get in on the trend for group calls and conferencing apps (we’d never heard of Zoom before all this) but with abysmal results. Why do these things never just work for us? Everybody else seems to be managing and it makes me feel like a dinosaur, doomed for extinction.

We’re lucky enough to have a country park in easy walking distance and a lockdown policy that allows us to use it once a day for exercise. The wisdom of the UK government’s, shall we say, more casual approach to the management of the pandemic has, I feel, in this instance worked in our personal best interest so far. Just writing that feels like tempting fate.

The big day out is the supermarket shop. Ideally, we’re told, this should be as infrequent as possible but in practice we rapidly run out of fresh food and the basics. We just don’t have the cupboard, fridge or freezer space to store much and we can’t seem to go much longer than 4 or 5 days. If we could bake our own bread we would probably be able to extend that time but flour, yeast and baking powder remain the most difficult to get supplies. Otherwise the whole panic buying and hoarding seems to have stopped. Toilet paper is plentiful although handwash is scanty and hand sanitiser not on the shelves.

The next big issue is going to be face masks. Everybody not blinkered by government propaganda briefings knows we are going to need them. I was finally convinced after a trip to a different supermarket.

Our usual shop is very organised. Everybody queues, two meters apart, on painted lines around the outside of the building before being handed a trolley with a sanitised handle and let in through the entrance at a controlled rate. A one way system is then in force around the aisles with marks on the floor and loudspeaker announcements reminding shoppers to stay two meters apart. Finally, there is another queue to pay and someone allocating an individual checkout as one becomes available. This is screened off to protect the staff operating the till. It may be illusory but it does feel very safe.

It was a different experience when, for various reasons, we went to a different supermarket. The two meter marks were there but the organisation wasn’t with public cooperation near to non-existent. Suddenly it brought it home to me how sheltered we’d been during this time, how lucky and privileged we are to live on the edge of a small town and aren’t dependent on public transport to get about. If, as every Government spokesman and scientist seems to be saying now, this is the “new normal”, masks, or “face coverings” as there’s no way the general public will get their hands on sufficient medical grade masks in this country, are going to become de rigueur.

A quick glance at the prices being charged on Etsy for a couple of layers of stitched cotton was enough to have me hacking at an old t-shirt. The thought of any sort of needlework is enough to bring me out in hives so this is no casual impulse. I’ve watched the ubiquitous videos and read the research, even had a couple of trial runs and think I’ve finally come up with something that should serve the purpose.

Basically it’s a folded piece of t-shirt, hand stitched up the sides, a changeable folded square of thick, absorbent kitchen roll inserted in between, the layers taped together, a wire bag tie taped to the top for a nose clip and a couple of lengths of elastic to attach it around the ears. It’s not pretty, it’s hot and potentially stifling but if the idea is I Protect You, You Protect Me it should work and it’s something I could probably get used to. 

I’m considering adding a layer of cut up old cagoule which would be more protective but might make it more uncomfortable. I can see it becoming necessary if face coverings are treated as an optional extra rather than a requirement as and when the lockdown is relaxed.

In the meantime, we wait. We try to stay healthy and sane. We don’t make plans. But we survive. Please, God, we survive.  

 

 

Oh, Happy Day

Saturday, 21st March

Our bags were packed and loaded into the car. Preparation for the journey had been made as well as we could. Enough food and drink for a family of four should get us through the two day journey. If we could get there. I’d even written out some key phrases in Spanish to explain where​ we were going and why in case we were stopped by the police. It still seemed like a good idea to allow an extra 4 hours for delays.

Leaving Jávea was so very different from previous years​, no fond farewells or see-you-next-time except by phone, the uncertainty palpable. So it was fitting that the day dawned dark and damp. Cloud obscured the mountains and misted the mostly deserted roads.

On the motorway the lorries were on the move, unsung heroes transporting the vital supplies to keep the country going. Signs over the road warned of checks on unnecessary journeys and we fretted about the rule only allowing one person in a car. The police presence was most evident at service stations where we stopped for comfort breaks (another worry allayed: would the toilet facilities be open?) They left us alone, though and gradually we gained in confidence. It must be obvious that a foreign vehicle, loaded to the gunnels and heading north must be leaving the country we reasoned.

The weather even reflected our growing optimism. Soon we were wearing sunglasses and opening windows. Hawks flew over the empty roads and seemingly deserted towns around Zaragoza By the time we reached the coast between Bilbao and Santander we found ourselves wanting to explore the many holiday resorts signposted as if these were normal times.

That they weren’t was reinforced when we reached the port. Staff and the many Guardia Civil were all wearing masks and gloves. At check-in we were instructed to read a notice informing us that we must remain in our cars until boarding and go immediately to the cabin where we must remain until instructed to return to our car on arrival.

Neil had received an email en route to inform us that the ferry would be an hour late departing and we now had five hours to wait before boarding. Visits to the toilet block were permitted but woe betide those tempted to linger to enjoy the sea view or exchange pleasantries. The Guardia were having none of it. Thankfully, they were more tolerant of stretching legs by the car or taking items out of the boot as long as we kept a distance of at least a meter from anyone else.

Boarding took much longer than usual to ensure no overcrowding on the garage decks or stairways and to allow for only two people in the lift at a time. It seemed to work better than usual, to be honest.

Thus we’ve made it onto the ferry and are underway. We’ve even been provided with complimentary cold snacks delivered to the cabin at meal times. So we now have enough food to feed a family of six.

Panic!

 

Friday 20th March 

 

The first thing I do on waking is check the ferry company’s news site. It has become routine to check several times a day. So far the less than comforting message that all services between Spain and the UK had been cancelled from the 22nd of March. With a crossing booked for the 21st it at least gave us hope.

This morning however the only message that appeared was:

“Currently all passenger services between the UK and Ireland to France and Spain have been cancelled until 13 April 2020”

Now, how would you react? Me? I stormed into the lounge and tried not to scream at Neil “They’ve cancelled our ferry!” I like to think it came out in a calm and collected voice.

Neil immediately emailed them, phone lines not being open until 9:30. As there’s no response by then, he gives them a call. “Due to the high volume of calls we are currently experiencing this enquiry service has been suspended until further notice”

So what now? Flights are still leaving at present and friends have already decided to take that option leaving their car and most of the other belongings they brought with them ​in Spain. As we only have the one car and I tend to pack all our worldly goods into it, that was a none starter for us. That leaves the channel tunnel. Eurostar are still running but France is in lockdown, too. So how is that going to work? Thanks to the brilliant social media community on Jávea Connect I discover it is possible by downloading, filling in and printing a form, one for each of us and for each day to be shown to the police. They even posted the exact phrase, in French, we would need to write on the form. With breaking up the trip difficult to say the least; it would not be a journey most sensible people would choose to do in peace time but it is an option.

Meanwhile, Neil had the inspired idea of ringing the actual port in Santander. Miraculously he got through to someone who spoke excellent English and patiently reassured him that our ferry was “definitely” still running tomorrow. Panic over but this constant state of tension is doing nothing for my blood pressure, I can tell you!

A New Reality

How things have changed since our last blog. Suddenly, we all have to accept a new reality.

Back then, we had just left the boat and returned to the UK with lots of plans for further travel. We cruised down the Rhine, visited cities and countryside, went to theatres, art galleries and museums as well as doing a spot of house hunting. Neil returned to the boat to “put her to bed” before we headed off to Spain for our usual winter sojourn.

Daily life was a pleasant routine of socialising and relaxing, opportunities to explore and learn, share a meal, sample the local vino. It wasn’t all idyllic as we anxiously watched the flooding in the UK and a storm battered the seafront of Jàvea to such an extent we feared it would struggle to recover. The talk was of climate change along with the difficulties of becoming Third Nation citizens in the wake of Brexit. But life went on much as before here with seafront businesses rapidly refurbishing and reopening.

The news started to fill with reports from China of a new virus on the rampage, of its spread to neighbouring countries, the Middle East and Europe but the warnings seemed to be going largely unheard. We knew it had reached Madrid and surrounding areas, that odd cases were popping up closer. Then it was here.

The Chinese owners and staff of the many “Bazaars” were the first to pick up on what was happening, wearing masks and closing down. We all joked: “What do they know that we don’t?” We can’t kid ourselves that we didn’t know it was coming but it seemed far-fetched, somehow an overreaction.

So it still seemed sudden when the town council shut the bars and restaurants, shut all shops except for supermarkets and pharmacies and told everyone to stay at home. Still we didn’t quite get it. Then the whole of Spain was in lockdown. From midnight on Saturday, 14th March, we weren’t allowed to leave home except to buy food, fuel or medications, use cash machines or to attend to the needs of those too frail or vulnerable to care for themselves. Generally, only those in essential services were allowed to go out to work. The Guardia Civil were patrolling the streets to enforce the law.

The implications of all this started to dawn on everybody at the same time. We couldn’t go out for a walk even to areas unlikely to be populated. Shopping for food was not to be treated as leisure activity; only one person at a time was allowed in a car or walking along the street to reach the supermarket, when inside a distance of at least a meter had to be kept from staff or other customers. Of course, panic buying took over. The shops restocked​ overnight but were soon stripped to bare shelves again. Everything returned to being ready wrapped in plastic bags.

Our ferry booking home for the end of March was cancelled. The company was reducing sailings to ensure sufficient staff to operate them but we were offered another crossing a few days later. Then that too was cancelled. Neil spent over an hour on hold trying to rebook as a matter of urgency as everyone had the same realisation: if we didn’t get a ferry soon we would not be going home in the near future.

So now we wait as the situation changes daily, hourly even. The land borders are now closed and there are more ferry cancellations​. As things stand, ours is the last crossing to the UK. How long that will stay the case we just don’t know. We have a few days to pack up our belongings but it’s anybody’s guess if we’ll make it onto the ferry. Will the sea border remain open? Will we be allowed to travel eight hours to the north to reach the port? What then? 

 

Update

It’s been well over a month since my last post. Basically that’s because I’ve found writing this one very difficult. You see, shortly after that post we returned to the marina and did everything necessary to put Desi up for sale. 

We’d already come to the conclusion that we were ready for a change and put up a couple of adverts on-line but now it was time to put her into the hands of the experts. After contacting the agent who had originally​ marketed Desi, it became official. The ‘For Sale’ sign went up. 

Over the next fortnight we cleaned and polished her from top to bottom until she gleamed. Then, bit by bit, all our personal possessions were either passed on, binned or packed into two holdalls leaving only what we thought would be useful to whoever her next owners turn out to be. It was hard and emotional work, particularly in the heat of the long awaited Greek summer. 

But eventually we were on the ferry to Corfu before flying back to the UK. She still has to sell, of course, so it’s entirely possible we may be back. This made it very different from when we packed up Seren Mor for the last time and the sense of uncertainty still lingers. 

Nevertheless it’s good to return to the comforts of a home built of brick in the unpredictable British summer even if we’re struggling to make plans for what happens next. As we’d always intended to be off the boat for two months we do have a few short-term ideas to keep us occupied and life interesting but after that who knows? Watch this space. 

 

Suddenly Summer

 

The weather improved the very next day. At the first sign of things settling down we were off, heading for the nearby anchorage known as Bungalow Bay and then onward to Port Kalamos.

We toyed with the idea of Kioni on Ithaca but preferred to anchor again in a bay near Frikes. It appeared a popular choice but, as the afternoon drifted on, the wind had its usual Ithaca acceleration and the lunchtime crowd disappeared. Eventually there were just the three boats and one of them only stayed for a session of kite-surfing. We’re made of stronger stuff and bounced in the swell all night.

Then suddenly, seemingly overnight, it was summer and we were looking for the cooling winds of Vasiliki and Sivota where we wallowed contentedly, doing very little for several days in each. But with my birthday approaching something a bit different was called for, the plan being to head back up the coast of Lefkada and have another day in Bungalow Bay before sneakily getting into Palairos on the mainland before the chartered boats returned.

Sweltering breezeless even at anchor changed our minds. Even I was tempted into the sea to cool off, my first swim of the year. OK, so the contrast was enough to give me palpitations but I did it. Briefly. However, the experience made us realise we’d be a lot better not tied to a concrete quay radiating the heat like a carpark.

Meganissi beckoned across the short stretch of sea with happy memories of previous years tied back to the rocks in Abeliki and Port Atheni. We picked Abeliki for the short walk to supplies at Vathy but also, the decider, its own pretty taverna. So here we linger. And the sea is perfect for a dip.

Rain, Rain Go Away

The dank, quite chilly and, at times, frankly wet days of May returned and have persisted into June. So we are back in the marina, the convenience of a decent town and shore power with its associated hot water too tempting. But we did get a few days out and about.

After that night at anchor, we had a few days in Sivota, Lefkada close enough for me to hobble to the Family Taverna for some of Yianna’s wonderful home cooking. Then a couple in “Little” Vathy on Meganissi, again convenient for me to get about a little. But the forecast rain took us back to our berth.

Days in the marina soon start to merge with only a few, for me anyway, warm enough for a couple of hours lying around in the cockpit. My ankle is, thankfully, improving enough for the short walk to and around Levkas Town to be possible. At least the poor weather has meant I didn’t get too stir crazy, convenient for days resting down below.

After a night of heavy rain, today is probably the coldest and consistently dull day so far. I’m writing this lounging on the “sofa” snug in a fleece and wrapped in a blanket. Neil, however, is in the cockpit determinedly clad in swim-shorts and t-shirt. And socks.

 

That’s More Like It

It’s a fact that the more time we spend in a marina the less inclined we are to go out. Mind you the inclement weather, Neil being full of cold and the fact that I could barely walk didn’t help. With some improvement in all three, though not what you’d call ideal, we thought we’d better take the chance and actually move the boat. So with all the accompaniments of shore power and a relatively horizontal floor packed away we cautiously edged out of our berth and through the Lefkas Canal. 

The familiarity of these islands can sometimes make us blind to their beauty but it was with the new eyes of a winter away that we chugged the short distance down the east coast of Levkas to the holiday resort of Nidri and into the bay of Vliho beyond. We truly appreciated every minute. The season and the temperature had kept the majority of boats still awaiting their owners​ or clients and the wildlife was making the most of it. We even saw our first dolphins/porpoises of the season – almost unheard of later in the year in these busy waters. I’ve long since given up trying to take pictures of these beautiful creatures, resigned to never being able to capture their extraordinary beauty. It’s so much better to just live in the moment and store the memory away for the days when this is no longer our lifestyle.

We’d chosen Vliho as our first stop for its easy anchoring and all round shelter from the still chilly wind. It’s a popular haunt for liveaboards but not somewhere we tend to spend much time. But yesterday it was perfect. A pleasant temperature to lie around in the cockpit, still water for easy cooking and a wonderfully​ restful night. Neil even took the plunge and had his first swim of the season this morning. Mind you, that says more about him than anything else. I was still in my fleece.

 

 

Feeling Sorry for Myself

It has been very wet

I’m on bedrest.

I was already a bit stir crazy from the, shall we say, inclement weather of the last couple of days. So when it brightened up this morning I was actually looking forward to the short walk into town and a bit of a shop to top up our diminishing food supplies. I got as far as the footbridge out of the marina.

More concerned about puddles and the distinct possibility of more rain, the bridge didn’t strike me as any sort of hazard. The next thing I knew, though, my left foot was sliding forward and my posterior heading for the floor with my right leg twisted under me. The pain even cancelled out the embarrassment and soggy bottom.

My ankle bone isn’t normally that size!

When the endorphins kicked in Neil helped me up and back to the boat. Pretty confident that  nothing is broken, I’m still watching the foot swell up and it’s probably​ going to develop pretty colours over the next few days. Getting on and off the boat is now a non starter. Just as it’s brightening up.

 

 

 

 

 

Grubbing About on Board

I didn’t write much once we returned to Spain in January or at all during the month we spent back in the UK afterwards. There just didn’t seem to be very much to say, to be honest. But now we’re back on the boat I thought I’d better get my finger out.

A very welcome site to wake up to – view from our hotel room

It was only this morning that we came aboard, having indulged in the luxury of a night in a hotel. Neither of us begrudge it, though. The thought of having to somehow access a bed on the boat after a late arrival and a long day of traveling was beyond daunting. You see, when a boat is “put away” for the winter, left to cope with the inevitable bad weather and potential consequences, a lot of work is involved.

Anything that the wind could get hold of – sails, dinghy,  bimini (provides shade in the summer) as well all the loose items like buckets, brushes and soft furnishings have to be stowed below. A cold, unventilated interior is asking to be affected by damp so anything that might go mouldy needs to be protected, usually by wrapping them in plastic bags, and moved away from the walls. These all have to go somewhere and every bit of space is utilised including the floor of the heads (bathroom) and the beds.

If the boat is to be lifted out onto the land every item that might either break or cause damage has to be secured in some way. Electricity is disconnected, water tanks emptied and the toilet flushed through with chemicals to clean the pipes and holding tank.

Neil let’s down the bathing platform so we can board from the pontoon

From all this you can probably gather that the boat is pretty much uninhabitable without a lot of work to put it all back together. Mostly dirty, back-breaking work at that. Bruises, cuts and​ broken fingernails are all par for the course. Even doing the minimum late at night is not to be recommended.

 

So that has been our day today. There’s still a lot of cleaning and provisioning to be done but we’ve both had enough for the time being. It’s T-shirt weather, at least for now, and it’s wonderful to ditch the shoes and get out the flip flops. Plus a little drink is called for.