Life in the Time of Corona Part 6
Friday 27th March was a tough day.
I think we have both felt, towards the end of the busy week, that the situation is getting on top of us. We have no doubt it is momentary dip, and we will get over it, but if anyone thinks that weeks of lock down are straightforward could not be more misguided.
In such surreal circumstances, it is difficult to keep a grip on reality and to try and carry on as normally as possible. We live in a bubble: the walls of our house, our garden, the limited boundaries of our walks with Alfie, and we can manage with that. It is when exterior elements penetrate the membrane that surrounds us that we get a stark reminder that forces beyond our control shape our immediate future.
As of today (Friday), nearly 5,000 are reported as having died from Coronavirus here in Spain. When the President of the Spanish Government, Pedro Sánchez, stated last weekend that this week would be extremely difficult, he was not wrong. Italy’s figures make terrifying reading and there are moments when we genuinely feel completely powerless to do anything about this parallel life that we find ourselves in.
Friday was a quiet day, and it is the quiet days that present the problems. When we are busy, the days pass quickly and it is more difficult for the outside world to gain access. However, when momentum drops, the clouds descend. It is strange, but our close friends seem to have the same wall, just for today. I am sure tomorrow will be better; I hope it will.
This afternoon, we received a message from one of our neighbours (I won’t use names) informing us that her sister was seriously ill, in hospital, with Coronavirus. Up until today, Coronavirus was a distant enemy, somewhere over the horizon, far enough away to be of minimal threat. We had heard of another villager being admitted to hospital in the early days of the lock down, but knowing the person affected lays the danger, concern, fear squarely in the doorway. We wanted to go and hug our neighbour and provide assurance that everything will be OK, but we can’t do that. The 2 metre enforced distance, the width of our street, feels like a fortified prison wall.
I took my usual afternoon walk with Alfie, just before raindrops began to pit the earth, and came across the shepherd with his mixed flock of sheep and goats. For the past two days, I have seen the flock working its way through the almond trees, cropping the fresh grass under the watchful eye of the shepherd lying on the meadow. Today, as I walked past the flock, the shepherd came to wish us a well-separated good afternoon, and in his arms he cradled the tiniest of lambs, born probably within the hour. The lamb had been abandoned by its mother, the shepherd had it wrapped in his jacket and the poor mite shivered in the chilly March air, but it was beautiful to see this new life, this tiny and vulnerable orphan. Hopefully, the lamb will be nurtured; the sheep and goats continued to graze between the trees and nature just carried on around us while elsewhere the unimaginable encroaches on this beautiful corner of the world. We don’t want it to touch us; we don’t want it to come anywhere near our children, our families and our friends. I feel angry today; feeling bullied and harangued by some invisible thug and I resent it.
Saturday 28th March
I woke up earlier than usual, at around 05:00, with all sorts of things running through my head. Once I’m awake in the morning, I find it difficult to go back to sleep so after about an hour or two of in-bed faffing I inadvertently made sure that Andrew was awake.
We should have been very excited this morning, as Casa Higueras was featured in two national newspapers as a result of our initial publicity launching our #MyTravelPledge campaign last weekend.
The Daily Mail: https://www.dailymail.co.uk/travel/travel_news/article-8161725/The-travel-companies-doing-bit-lift-spirits-amid-coronavirus-outbreak.html
Both articles should give us momentum for next week, as this is a story that should continue and is aimed to give us some hope that people will start to travel again once this wretched Coronavirus crisis starts to calm down. Some of the messages we have been receiving from NHS staff have been really heartwarming, and if we are able to give them something back for their incredible dedication then that is the very least we can do.
“Thanks so much for your email and doing such a kind thing. The things people are doing really lift our spirits. It's not really so much the actual things that people do its the fact that people care so much which is lovely - for example on ICU on day we got a bundle of pictures from a local primary school, some hand cream from the body shop, and a local takeaway sent a free delivery. In a really tough time I can't tell you how much things like this, showing people are thinking of us, helps.
Thanks again for your kindness in offering this. I hope you all stay well.”
However, instead of a sense of excitement, it has been another strange day with little room for such self-indulgence. There is a very weird sensation of being stuck between two opposing worlds: a world being played out on social media, where individuals are putting on the bravest of faces, and sharing the minutiae of life in lock-down, and another world that is dark and anonymous, waiting beyond the front door.
The list of fatalities here in Spain increased by a staggering 832 people in the past 24 hours, and the total number of deaths had reached 5,694 at the last count*, although these are believed to be estimates given the numbers of people who have died at home or in care and without testing. Such numbers almost become meaningless; just numbers rather than lives and thoughts like that are too grim to bear. Messages on Twitter from people who have just lost a relative become transient memorials lost in a sea of social media noise.
(*As of Sunday 29th March, the figures had increased to 6,528 with the highest increase in reported deaths over a 24 hour period).
One great piece of news is that our neighbour’s sister is improving in hospital, and she no longer has a fever.
We will all have days that get too much, and the tsunami of awful statistics will wash over us. We will have days where the smallest of things will trip a fuse and we will get angry, upset or irritated. By far the best way to overcome those moments is to immerse yourself in the above mentioned minutiae of life; lives within 4 walls where we all find something trivial, fun, diverting to pass away another day.
I am making a sourdough starter, following the step by step instructions posted by Nomadbakerdavid (winner of this year’s Great British Bake Off), which is extremely satisfying. Slow, but satisfying. In the absence of chocolate, I baked a rather delicious Somerset Cider Cake, crammed with apples and sweetened with brown sugar.
We have more accommodation providers wanting to get involved in the #MyTravelPledge campaign, and more to be done to spread the word next week. Getting individual emails from NHS staff, appreciative of everything that everyone is doing to show their support, with whatever they are able to do, pierces that dark film of statistics, those anonymous numbers that blur into the thousands.
The way we will get through this is to drown out the noise with the increased volume of our own bits or trivia, fun, and diversion. Don a wig, sing a song and post it on Instagram, bake a cake and share it with everyone on Facebook, share the good news, rejoice in the small achievements and who cares if you spend all day in your pyjamas?
As Scarlett O’Hara said, “After all, tomorrow is another day”, and the figures will subside, and everything will get better, and we can leave the confines of our homes and see our much-loved friends and our families.
But for now, can you pass me another slice of that bloody good cake please?
Somerset cider cake
