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.  

 

 

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?