It’s a strange feeling being confined to your house against your will. I’m sure that we’ve had lazy Sundays where we haven’t left our front door but, when this isn’t a voluntary choice, a sense of claustrophobia, resentment and restlessness can start to permeate every thought and action.
We woke yesterday morning to say goodbye to a group of cyclists from Massachussets who’d been staying with us at Casa de Ciclista. They were returning to the US in a bit of a panic. We also woke to find that the Spanish government had put into place emergency measures so that we could only leave the house one at a time and only to go shopping for food and medication or to go to work. We had thought the measures would not be put into place until Monday 8 AM, but a scroll through social media revealed that cyclists were being sent back to their hotels by police.
That put paid to what we had thought was going to be our last day of freedom. We’d planned to visit Ellie’s brother who lives in a small house overlooking Cala Deia on the other side of the island. With beautiful spring sunshine forecast all day it seemed like a perfect way to make the most of being able to get in the car and have a bit of a day out, possibly for the last time for a few weeks. But with rumours circulating that the police would be dishing out on the spot fines of up to 2000€ for unnecessary travel, we decided to play it safe and stay at home.
Of course, we had known that the measures were coming. On Saturday night we wandered down to our local restaurant, Sa Tafona, knowing that this would be shut for the next two weeks at least. We were surprised to be the only customers in a place that is usually packed on a Saturday night. All five staff, two cooks and three waitresses were glued to the large screen TV in the corner, waiting for the announcement from Pedro Sanchez, the Spanish President. Wrangling between the Socialist and more left wing Podemos Party about protecting workers’ rights had delayed the broadcast but, in the middle of our meal, El Presidente came on to make the announcement.
Pedro Sanchez announces the lockdown
As we went to bed that night the thought of 15 days’ shutdown didn’t seem too bad. We’re lucky where we live. We have a lovely house and garden. Guests who come here to rent rooms with aspirations to go cycling, rock climbing and hiking have been known to spend whole days languishing beside the pool all day rather than setting off on their more energetic planned outings.
Besides we had stuff to do around the house. Three bedrooms, a stairway and hall still await decoration. And there’s always work to do in the garden. But within a couple of hours of mooching about on Sunday morning we decided to break the rules and take our dog Espe for a walk together. (Under the special measures only one person should take the dog out at a time).
What had started out as beautiful Mallorquin spring day was turning into a dull and grey one. The dark and brooding clouds seemed to reflect our moods and there was a strange atmosphere as we walked through the village and down our usual lane. Espe, still only 6 months old, seemed to pick up on it all and she became uncharacteristically troublesome, pulling on her lead and being quite wilful about where she wanted to go.. It was then that Ellie’s brother called to say that he’d been able to get a flight to London but it was leaving within a couple of hours. Desperate to avoid lockdown because of work commitments in the UK, he had to go. Would we be able to to pick up his car from the airport and bring it back to our house?
Dark and moody skies reflect our moods
So within the space of a few hours of the first day of lockdown, not only would we be breaking the dog-walking rule, but the driving one too! The drive to the airport is only about 40 minutes and most of it on a motorway. I was convinced that there’d be all manner of roadblocks and checkpoints, especially around the main town of Inca where we have to join the autopista. But there was no sign of either Policia Local or Guardia Civil. As we joined the practically empty motorway the neon traffic announcements declared “Coronovirus: only authorised travel allowed.” With each kilometre we went, the less and less likely it seemed we’d get stopped. And as we got closer to the airport the volume of traffic picked up too. Not so much of a shutdown after all. It was the same story on the return journey. Very light traffic but no police presence or checkpoints. We got home feeling slightly bemused: are we in lockdown or not? Luckily we were blissfully unaware of another new rule which stated that only one person is allowed in a car at any one time.
I mean, who makes these rules and where is the rationale for that. I later read of a single mother who was forced to take her six year-old to the supermarket for provisions only to be told that she had to leave her son outside the store. “Increible!,” as they say in Spain.
Being in lockdown immediately brought out the anarchist in both of us. While we were hugely supportive of the approach taken by our adopted leader Sanchez on Saturday night, the rushed introduction of the lockdown on Sunday immediately flipped the ‘rebel’ switch. This is going to be a long 15 days...