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!)
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......
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.
And then the UK government sends us an e-mail:
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| 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......
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| 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.
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| 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?
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?
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| nothing to do but |
