paranoia

 

quiet streets of La Paz

At the supermarket there's a member of staff in a face mask who stands by the

the local sex shop prepares for Covid-19

entrance and squirts anti-bacterial gel onto my hands.  She then sprays the trolley handle and wipes it down with a paper wipe.   I'm doubtful as to whether this will protect me from contracting Covid-19 but at least the trolley handle is clean.   At some point in my shopping I discover that I'm pushing the wrong trolley.  Some idiot has taken mine and walked off with it.   Oh, hang on a minute,  I'm the idiot who walked off with someone else's.  I hurry back to swap them over before anyone discovers the mistake.  In the tinned beans aisle a woman starts coughing.  She makes no attempt to cover her mouth.  I do an emergency u-turn and move into another aisle.  But the woman is following me.  And she's still coughing.  At the checkout there are stickers on the floor to indicate where each shopper should stand in line, 2 metres apart.  An old man with only three items asks if he can jump ahead, and I nod yes.  Now he's stood in the no man's land between me and the woman at the till.  He twists his head to read the words on the sticker on the floor "Sana distancia".  Healthy distance. He looks around, bemused.

Gayle has met a friendly American in the supermarket.  She is with her husband and daughter on their sailing boat, moored in a marina and awaiting some navigational equipment that had to be sent to the US for repair.  She has texted to ask if we would like to meet for coffee at the marina, socially-distanced, of course.  

an infusion of hibiscus leaves, known as 'jamaica' in Mexico

We ride out to the end of the bay.  The marina is part of a hotel/beach/golf course complex.  There's a gated entrance.  We can get take-away drinks at the cafe and sit apart and chat with Joanne and her English husband Paul.  We don't talk too much about the virus but more about our respective journeys.  They have sailed down from Washington.  We have a really enjoyable chat, interrupted by a young couple from California with children who tell us they came down to Los Cabos for a wedding and have decided to stay on, since California is now under lockdown.  And it will be here too, soon, we say.  Oh, but we'll still be able to do what we want here, the wife replies. It'll only affect the locals.  Even her husband looks askance at her. 

Anna and Adrien have returned from their boat-buying trip.  Without the boat. The deal is off. They are staying with Tuly again.  Anna is learning to play the charango and Adrien is practsing his accordion.  They come over for a visit after first checking on our isolation status.  Are we isolating self-isolating or just self-isolating?  It appears there are different levels of isolation. 

isolating self-isolating or just self-isolating?

Marie and Juan have had a visit from an American couple who they met cycling in Alaska back in September.  Jake and Linden have just arrived and are paying a visit before moving into a rented appartment for a month with their dog.  Having just arrived they seem to be unaware of just what a shitshow is about to befall us.  Or are they still in denial, hoping optimistically that all will pass quickly and they will be able to continue on to Argentina?  Linden's parting comment "Now we've all met we can get together and hang out"  leads us to ask Juan and Marie, are we isolating self-isolating or just isolating? 

Each time I read some detail about the virus I begin to identify possible symptoms.  Last night before going to sleep I had a dry tickly cough.  (We had the air-conditioner on to cool the room down a bit but it also dries the air out.)  However, in the night I woke in a sweat.  (At this point the air-conditioner was off, the windows still closed and the room was stuffy.) This morning I fetch a refill of our 19 litre water bottle from the water purifcation place.  (It's only a five block walk but I have to carry the full bottle using both arms to balance it on my shoulder.)  And now I feel a bit weak in all my limbs.  

(thinking about) updating the blog

 
Apart from the risks of physical illness is The Virus impacting my mental health?

phoney war

Having a bit of space to think about our situation isn't necessarily a good thing.  Have we made the right decision?  Absent-mindedly we find ourselves mulling it over at all times of the day.  Weighing up the pros and cons, best-case scenarios (back on the bikes in June) and worst-case scenarios (the zombies are coming!) 

shops still open

We take a walk past the cathedral and down to the malecon.  It's quieter than before, but still a few locals and tourists taking their exercise.  The seafront gets breezy in the afternoons - the seasonal winds they call 'las coromuelas' blow into the bay and across the town.  They're named after a British pirate who used to sail in these parts, Samuel Cromwell.  I guess he sailed in on the winds and raided the place........solid British traditions. Probably what some Brexiteers are harking back to - when Britannia waived the rules......

I don't think that's 1.5 metres, is it?

We meet up with Marie and Juan.  They too have decided to stay.  The town is still going on with its business as usual - it's only us who feel like we should be behaving differently - because we've been absorbing all the news from Europe.  Our friends are planning to cycle all the way south to Ushuaia and are optimistic that the borders will reopen once the peak of the pandemic has passed.  The national news is that there are some cases of Covid-19 and some deaths, but cases are relatively small for a country of 130 million.  It's early days.   We have an ice-cream and enjoy the fesh air at the seafront.  If anything helps you to live in the moment it's ice-cream at the beach on a sunny day.

We have now booked the casita til the end of April.  Already we are thinking that our journey has probably ended. Without a vaccine, I can't imagine being able to cycle freely across borders.  And in the meantime countries are going to place themselves and their citizens into economic crisis.  A double whammy. Cor, I'm pessimistic aren't I?

Juan and Marie move into one of the empty casitas, so we are together again, but apart. Socially-distanced.  The weather is good, we can sit out in the sun and read our books, listen to music.  "Update the blog" Gayle suggests helpfully. She has begun to sew a "Quarantine" quilt.  Already she has uploaded all her photos to Flickr.  And we can still wander freely, cycle or walk.  The supermarkets are well-stocked.  It all seems so easy, this self-isolation thing.

looking well-stocked

And then the UK government sends us an e-mail:

As countries respond to the COVID-19 pandemic, including travel and border restrictions, the FCO advises British nationals against all but essential international travel. Any country or area may restrict travel without notice. If you live in the UK and are currently travelling abroad, you are strongly advised to return now, where and while there are still commercial routes available. Many airlines are suspending flights and many airports are closing, preventing flights from leaving.

It rattles us. The language used in the media and by governments is one of war.  We are fighting a war against the virus.  Time to retreat to our country?  It's hard to reconcile the advice our government is giving us now in light of their retarded approach to the crisis in the first place.  Stay or go.  We think stay.
Have we made the right decision?

nothing to do but update the blog swat flies

don't panic mr.mainwaring

Monday morning and we need to pack up the tent and get ready to catch the ferry across the Sea of Cortez to Mazatlan.  Gayle shows me an item on Facebook, a post that purports to come from an Italian doctor, who is unnamed. You know the kind. It looks like one of those classic "fake news"/misinformation/alarmist posts but actually looks authentic.  It describes the writer's alarm (yes, alarm!!!) at the UK's response to the coronavirus, in light of his own experience dealing with it in Italy.  "It's like watching a horror film - one where we already know how it turns out."  Yes, alarmist, alarming.  We are alarmed.  

We have already spent a week immersed in the news reports.  We have watched in great disappointment our Prime Minister appearing as his usual bluff and blustery self.  His advice is to wash your hands for as long as it takes to sing Happy Birthday.  Wow.  In Italy the corpses are piling up.  Boris is suggesting people might not go to the pub for now.

Steve Bell's cartoon from The Guardian, 3rd March

In La Paz they held a Triathlon at the weekend just gone.  Competitors from all over Mexico came.  We saw them registering to race on Saturday morning on the malecon.  There was an enclosure which we could walk around full of stalls selling bike stuff, swimming gear etc.  Coronavirus?  Here, have some antibacterial gel for your hands...........

We decide to stay in La Paz.  We think it would be difficult to continue cycling through Mexico.  We might actually spread the virus.  The responsible thing would be to stop and sit it out.  We like La Paz and we'd rather wait here than get stopped somewhere later in a place not of our choosing.  There's also something preferable about being in Baja California Sur during the pandemic.  We're at the end of a long peninsula - in a low-population state.   To get here from other parts of Mexico you have to take a ferry, a plane, or a very long drive down the highway from Tijuana or Mexicali.  Geography might help reduce the spread of the virus.  At least this is what we tell ourselves.

So we say goodbye to Tuly and move into an Airbnb place - a casita, small house in a quiet spot near to the centre.  There's a kitchen/lounge, a bedroom and bathroom.  After a week of constant conversation and talk of coronavirus it feels like a little peaceful oasis.  Here we can take stock of the situation.

when in doubt........make tea

We go out on our bikes to explore the city centre, down by the seafront.  The modern city sits on a wide bay with several marinas and a nearby port.  There are some good beaches nearby.   Along the malecon is a bike path going the length of the bay.  Touts hang around looking to recruit tourists to the daily boat trips out to where the whale sharks are.  You can swim with these huge fish.  Gayle joins Juan and Marie on an excursion.  I decline, as I get nervous jumping into deep water and I'm a lousy swimmer.  Gayle loves it, of course.

The town is relatively quiet, not too touristy, although there are a fair number of gringo and Mexican tourists about on the malecon.  Elsewhere, the grid formation streets have light traffic and few pedestrians.  At junctions there are taco stands or convenience stores advertising how cold their beer is.  Trees provide some shade along the streets, bougainvillea are in flower.  La Paz feels modern, functional, ordinary and low-key. Tranquilo.

there are a few classic old houses in the centre

Each day we discuss the latest news from Europe.  Gayle goes to the swimming pool with Tuly and her daughter for their morning swim.  Colin is psyching himself up to leave for the mainland - he's been here a week and needs to move on.  Adrien and Anna have arranged to spend some time on the boat they hope to buy with its owners.  They are setting off on Sunday.  We are dilly-dallying a bit and putting off our departure for no other reason than we just want to stop in this quiet city and relax a little.   We're quite good at this.

the town beach

And what do you do when a global pandemic is declared and you're thousands of miles from home?  Put the kettle on.  Juan is from Madrid and is reading the news from Spain with what I can only imagine is some horror.  We have all been in contact with our families.  Everyone is okay.  Video memes from Spain and France lighten the mood.  Laugh in the face of adversity.  The Italians might be the best ones - they've had years of practice I suppose. 

Another cup anyone?

at peace

After about six weeks cycling down the Baja peninsular we have finally reached La Paz, the town from where we can catch a ferry to the mainland.  We are staying with Tuly, a legendary Warm Showers host, camping in her carport with Juan and Marie, who arrived at the end of the same day we do.  There's also Colin the Manxman in his hammock.  You rarely meet travellers from the Isle of Man, so its no surprise that we remember meeting him outside an outdoor shop in Calgary 6 months earlier.   Also staying at Tuly's  are Anna and Adrien.  They first came to Tuly on bicycles and they have kept returning here.  But now they have sold their bikes and are currently in negotiation with an American couple to buy their yacht.  They are thinking about another way of travelling.

Juan prepares soup for dinner

despite appearances, Adrien is not your typical Frenchman

We hang out here in this shady peaceful setting, thinking about our onward route and catching up on messages from home. Sitting around Tuly's kitchen table we talk with her and Juan and Marie about the coronavirus in Spain, in France and here too.  The first case has just been recorded in the resort area of Los Cabos, a hundred miles south at the tip of the Baja Calfornia peninsula. "A British man" Tuly says, raising her eyebrows at us.  I feel embarrassed.  The man had come to a wedding from Florida, it is thought.  

Tuly with one of her pugs

Meanwhile Adrien and Anna seem blissfully unconcerned.  "La Grippe" Adrien jokes.  I'm a little envious of them - they have no smartphone.  We got ours before we flew to Canada and right at this moment I feel like a slave to it - unable to keep from looking at it, wondering what the latest coronavirus news will be.  We are also in a Whatsapp group set up by Mexicans to support cycletourists travelling through Mexico.   Juan told us about it when we first met a month ago.  The group means you can ask about safety on a route, or for help or other information about bikes and accomodation.  Juan has just posted information about Guatemala closing its borders.  The phone now pings incessantly, calling out to be looked at.  It is driving me insane.  I can't silence the pinging.

a shady safe haven

The group administrator posts official government advice about what to do.  We're at the wash hands, cough into your elbow stage.  Foolishly the president is still holding rallies and acting as if everything is normal.  When challenged he shows the journalists his religious medallion worn around his neck.  "This will protect me."  So, he's alright then.  Meanwhile a minister in his government claims the virus won't attack the poor.  It is a rich man's virus.  All the early cases reported in Mexico are of wealthy Mexicans who've picked it up on skiing trips or cruises.  It doesn't bode well.

with Marie and Juan on the malecon