Boundary changes

We were in a traffic jam this last weekend. A proper traffic jam. A traffic jam that kept stopping and starting and which we took half an hour to clear. I felt quite sorry for the bloke in the Porsche Cayenne Coupé. He was originally alongside as we put on the hazard warning lights and slowed to join the tailback. He was so pressed for time though that he had to dodge from lane to lane. It worked. He was at least 100 metres in front of us when the traffic started to move again as the RM19 motorway, the one we were on, merged into the A30 that skirts Murcia city. 

I seriously don't remember the last time I was in a similar traffic jam here in Spain. We don't have traffic in the countryside. We really don't. Sometimes, where the Monóvar road meets the Yecla road in Pinoso, there's a police officer to make sure that you don't have problems turning left across traffic but that's only around the time the industrial estate kicks out. On the main roads in and out of Pinoso it's quite likely that you'll only see one or two cars, or none, in every couple of kilometres.

The traffic jam was important only in a lateral thinking sort of way. There was so many cars because, for the first weekend in ages, most of the Covid travel restrictions had gone. A few regions tried to maintain the border controls but the courts were having none of it. We've still got a midnight curfew in Valencia which might have been important if we'd been making our way home three or four hours later but we weren't so it wasn't. 

We didn't go far. About 100km from Culebrón but only 3.3km over the border from our home province. We were near Lo Pagán with the salt pans, the mud baths, the flamingos and the Mar Menor. Hundreds, nay thousands, of people had the same idea. Hence our difficulty in parking at the Port in las Salinas and the traffic jam later. 

When in Rome as the saying goes.

The way it goes

Over the weekend the wind blew lots of branches off our fig trees and uprooted a two metre high aloe vera plant that I've never much cared for. It took me three trips with the wheelbarrow to haul the remains away. At least the wind means that it's not quite as cold.

When we first bought the house one of the few good things about it was the tree lined drive. We still have the trees despite the sport practised by so many visiting vans and lorries of reversing in to them - usually serially. In fact, rather as you would expect, they are somewhat taller now than when we first moved in. I was listening to the two big pointy ones nearest the house creaking in the wind. Culebrón, like Skegness, can be bracing.  The tree alongside the house is at least 10 metres tall, a plumber warned us against it. Roots under the house, blocking up the drains, he threatened. The tree a bit further away, possibly a larch, is even taller and heavier. They probably won't blow over but they might. I can imagine the interrogation from the insurers about our tree care regime.

I suppose of more immediate concern is the virus. A very pleasant chap who worked in one of the offices in the town hall in Pinoso, a bloke in his early fifties, died of it the other day, in some ways his was a more public death than the others in our little town. Our municipal cases per 100,000 figure stands at around 1,300. 

Spain's health service, like those in so many in other countries, is creaking as much as our trees. Every day on the TV and radio there is a procession of medics saying how the hospitals are at breaking point. It's as repetitive as the pictures of police breaking up some after hours party with an apparently incredulous newsreader pointing out that the young people involved were not wearing masks and not keeping apart. The measures to try and keep people from spreading the virus keep changing and tightening as much as they can given the rules of the current State of Emergency. Here in Valencia all the bigger towns and cities will be sealed off each weekend and all bars and restaurants are now closed. Ours were some of the last to go. At home the rules say that you cannot have visitors and out in the street only two people can get together unless they are cohabitees. I presume that means that the Ladybird Book family of mum, dad, daughter and son can go out for a walk together but, if they meet Uncle Billy, then only dad, or mum, or daughter, or son can go to greet him. Then again it may be that the cohabiting group counts as one person. Not that the detail matters much unless you want to have an academic argument and maintain that the virus is a hoax, that the figures are distortions, that it's all a terrible attack on our civil liberties, that the constitution guarantees freedom of movement and that you're not going to put up with a boot stamping on a human face—for ever. Otherwise, keeping yourself to yourself as much as possible seems a remarkably sensible thing to do.

As you probably know I like going to the pictures and, amazingly, the cinemas are still able to open. Lots of them have closed because they have no audience, same with the theatres, but they can, legally, stay open. I presume that's because not a single outbreak has been linked to them. Again, not that surprising as the audiences are tiny. We went to the pictures on Sunday. The shopping centre where the cinema is was locked shut. We had to ask a security guard to find the one remaining open entrance. A completely deserted shopping centre is a surprisingly eerie place. Sepulchral comes to mind as an adjective to describe something there but I couldn't think of a good way to use it.

Repurpose, reuse and recycle

I have been trying to think of something to blog about for days. 

I wondered about having a go at Spanish politicians and their inability to agree about anything, ever. It drives me to distraction but it's something to do over a stiff drink, in company, rather than in dodgy prose.

I could have done something on Brexit but my thoughts on islanders lusting for a lost Empire may not have meshed with everyone's so why antagonise people over lost arguments? 

Covid is something we all share. I wondered about tales of border crossings and the differences between Tier 4 in the UK and the situation here. Boring as porridge. Actually, because you may be vaguely interested, apart from the obvious lack of cultural and economic activity our Valencian Community has done remarkably well. There may be curfews and trampling of individual rights but, on a day to day basis the people who still have jobs to go to have been going to them and although the shops, bars, restaurants, cinemas and theatres are well strange places, full of people wearing masks and bathing in hand gel, they are still open. 

Old blog standbys such as language, the cinema and my radio listening have all had recent outings. 

I was left contemplating the void.

Christmas is far from over here though. We're still in holiday mood. The problem is that the things that make up Christmas like concerts, shows, parades, the Royal Pages in the streets etc have virtually all been cancelled (that's a pun!) so there have been no little incidents to use as the stuff of a blog. Being attacked by a flock of geese in the Christmas parade, watching the egg and flour fight in Ibi, seeing the Devil in Caravaca or even the Pinoso Christmas theatre may have given me room to weave an amusing little anecdote but sitting at home with a bottle of scotch and a microwave chicken lasagne doesn't. Even eating a typical Norwegian Christmas Eve meal surrounded by toy Santas and excited dogs isn't the stuff I set out to write about. 

It was worse. When I had a quick scan back through past entries I have done the lottery, prawns, turrón and red underwear so often that I simply couldn't do it again. So I decided to do what the BBC does. 

Repeats it is. Just click the links below.

And some lemons for the prawns

Seasonal Snippets

Rather Reassuring

The Goose is Getting Fat

Jingle Bells

Drawing to a close

Christmas begins

Fat Chance

They think it's all over

Underwear, grapes and bubbly

Doctoring up

I don't go to doctors much. I don't particularly care for them. Nice enough people I'm sure but I often find that I feel unwell when I talk to them. My habitual worry is that they will tell me that I'm worse than even I imagined. I've been feeling a bit rough recently. Rough enough to go to the doctor. Of course getting to see a doctor at the moment isn't the usual process. The normal routine involves a few key taps on a phone application and then sitting around in a health centre for a long time after your supposed appointment. Not at the moment though, the app only offers phone consultations, so I booked one up. 

I think phone appointments with medical people are a good idea. Nobody has to travel, probably the doctors can deal with more people than usual in the same time and, to be honest, I see no reason why the conversational exchange that leads to a diagnosis shouldn't work just as well over the phone as in person. If a show and tell is needed then at worst talking to a doctor on the phone is an efficient triage system. The problem, for me is that doctors in Spain often speak Spanish. Phone calls, unlike face to face, offer no explanatory gestures, no pointing, no visual examples and no word negotiation. All you're left with is the spoken word. 

The doctor didn't ring at the agreed time. In fact she was 80 minutes late and I'd half given up on her. Fortunately I wasn't naked in the shower or half way up a ladder when she rang but I was raking leaves. Now forty years of sucking down cigar smoke have taken a toll on my lungs and, sometimes, I find myself panting and gasping for breath after the least exertion. Leaf raking must count as exertion because the first twenty seconds of the call didn't go well. Being unable to breathe is detrimental to dialogue. Respiration resumed the call went well. As a process it went well that is. Outcome wise I'm not so sure. Having dismissed the possibility that I may be at all ill she suggested over the counter medicine. All a bit of an anti climax really.

I don't really have an opinion

This is a post about Covid. First though one of our cats has been missing for nearly three days. Bea, Beatriz, was the cat that I most expected to die of old age; a bit of a homebody, an easy going girl that gets/got on with all of the other cats. We have no idea where she is - gone walkabout for some reason, carried off by an eagle, poisoned by a wicked witch or squashed by a car. Nothing is too theoretically outrageous because we know nothing. Cats can disappear for days and then re-appear, that's what we're hoping for. Generally though ours don't come back.

I know very little about Covid 19. I have no idea why it is that Spain has incredibly high case figures and Burundi, the Seychelles and Laos have next to none. I've heard lots of "explanations" as to why we're in such a pickle from regional pride and too much hugging to irresponsible young people and an inability to count. I've read how the Swedes handled it well and how the Swedes got it completely wrong. Ask on Facebook or Twitter and you can take your pick from the answers to suit your point of view.

There are obviously lots of ordinary people who know much more about disease control and social planning than I do. They keep telling me little factlets. They tell me the Chinese started it. They tell me it's only winnowing out the weak. They tell me that more people die from falling off step ladders than die from Covid. There is another bunch who tell me that wearing a face mask is tantamount to being beaten on the soles of our feet with sticks and think Human Rights Watch should mobilise. I realise that I'm teetering on the edge of senility, just ask Maggie, but I think I remember that in Catch 22 Doc Daneeka reminded Yossarian of the hundreds of medical conditions that could kill people. I appreciate that, I know that car accidents tear bodies apart and kill and maim thousands each year, I know that measles and bad drinking water kills and kills and kills.  But it's not a comparison is it? People get killed all the time but that doesn't mean that men killing their partners is any less wrong. It's not that the cost of a nuclear submarine would pay for clean water in Mali; it's that killing machines are not a good thing to buy.

We have new figures for Pinoso from 26/10/2020. They say that there have been 211 positive tests in Pinoso since time began and that 54 of those positives were in the last couple of weeks. Two people have died - again since it all began. That means the cases in 100,000 figure is 678. The last time I did the primary school sums necessary to work out the infections per 100,000 number and posted it on Facebook in response to someone else's post somebody laid into me for scaremongering. They said that Covid wasn't anything. Flu - the sort of flu that you take Lem Sip for not the sort of flu that lays continents to waste. Donald Trump got over Covid in 25 minutes after all. So, this time, no comment.

We have a curfew from late evening through to early morning all over Spain, meeting numbers are restricted, the manufacturers of Christmas specialities may as well file for bankruptcy now as the politicians fight over a six month long State of Alarm or a parliamentary scrutiny every two months. It's the sort of stuff that's going on all over Europe. For some it's democracy under attack with ridiculous and pointless controls faced by an intractable enemy and for others it's politicians scrabbling to do their best to keep people alive and save their economies.

Maggie just told me as I came back into the living room that Murcia, the Region just ten minutes up the road from us, is going to restrict movement between municipalities. Live in Jumilla and you have to stay in Jumilla. Lots of people from the three Murcian municipalities that border Pinoso come into Pinoso for their shopping, banking and social life. I wonder if they are going to be turned back at the border? 

Fireside chats

If I'm going to blog anything this week it has to be Covid again so if you're fed up with Covid stop now.  

Pinoso is a small town. Just under 8,000 inhabitants. Over the time of the Covid alert there have been 68 cases with 40 of them being reported in the 14 days to 14th September. As it's now the 16th the figures are lagging behind the reality. Today, for instance, there is news of a pupil at one of the local junior schools testing positive so that the whole class is now in quarantine.

In the week beginning 10th August there were no reported cases in Pinoso, week beginning the 17th August just 2 cases, 24th 6 cases, 31st 17 cases and the 7th to 13th September 39 cases. The progression is obvious enough.

The figure that seems to be being used to compare how bad things are is the number of cases per 100,000. My sums convert 68 cases in a population of 7,966 to 853 in 100,000 with that number having increased by 502 in the last fortnight. The town which borders Pinoso is Monóvar and their cumulative figure since the start of the pandemic is 221 cases per 100,000. The big difference is that, in the last couple of weeks, their numbers have risen by just 3 cases. Monóvar is also substantially bigger with a population of just over 12,000 people. Mind you a bigger town over the border into Murcia, Jumilla, was closed down last week because of the increase in infections there.

Today, the 16th September, the national average for Spain is 281 cases per 100,000 population. The equivalent figure for the UK is 55 per 100,000. Bolton, which is I understand the hot spot in the UK, has 196 cases per 100,000. Obviously all these figures are a bit dodgy in the sense that I may not be using them properly, that they are dependant on the different percentage of tests amongst a population, that there are different reporting cycles and heaven knows what other unknowns of statistical trickery. The point is obvious enough though; Pinoso is not doing so well at the moment.

You may remember that the Spanish Government wanted to extend the state of alarm a couple of weeks more but they are a minority government and they couldn't reach a consensus with the opposition parties. Rather than lose a vote they gave way and let the emergency controls lapse. Since then the controls have been in the hands of the regional governments. One of the most often quoted reasons for Spain being in its current pickle is that the State of Alarm was ended too early and that the de-escalation was piecemeal.

During the State of Alarm, when we had to stay at home, the local mayor, the head of nursing services in our health centre and the chief of the local police did a weekly "fireside chat" on the local radio. Those talks were discontinued when the state of alarm was lifted but the triumvirate was back on the radio this week. They sounded more concerned this time than they did when the hospitals were overwhelmed and the death toll was high. Then it was "together we can beat this thing", "Pinoso is responding magnificently," etc. This week's report had a clear subtext that we were on the verge of disaster because most of us were not taking it seriously any more, that we were meeting who we liked and being lax about hand washing, disinfection, keeping our distance, wearing masks and particularly that lots of us were presuming that our friends were somehow safer than strangers. The tone was very much of a strong telling off - get your act together now or suffer the consequences.

It could be an interesting few days to come.

Please wash your hands

We went to a concert by La Habitación Roja last night. When I bought the tickets, only a week or so ago, the event was scheduled for the Teatro Principal in Alicante - all green velvet and gold leaf. Theatres have, obviously, been hit hard by the Covid thing and one of the reasons I bought the tickets was to do my bit for a local institution. A few days later I got an email to tell me that the venue had been changed to the bailey of the Santa Bárbara Castle in Alicante. Safer they said. Fewer viruses in the open air.

The castle in Alicante is on top of a big hill. Although it's a fair drag you can walk (or drive) to the castle on a road that starts from near the Archaeological Museum. On the seaward side you can get to the castle by using a lift that is accessed through a long tunnel. Along with the details for the change of venue the organisers said that the car parks behind the castle would be open and that the lift would be working. Yesterday, a few hours before the concert was due to begin I got a second email to say that the lift and castle car parks were now closed. There would be a minibus shuttle service. Covid certainly keeps organisers and rule makers on their toes.

The message said that it was still possible to drive to the two small car parks half way up the slope to the castle but that the police might close the car parks if there was too much mingling going on there. I suspect that had a bit of a hidden message. Young people in Spain have a fondness for impromptu gatherings which are called botellones (from the word for bottle). Often botellones are linked to parked cars and their music systems. Youngsters take the vodka, gin and mixers to the event in a plastic carrier bag, poorer young people take cartons of wine ready to mix with coke to make the disgusting but knee buckling calimocho. Obviously enough there is no set recipe but basically a botellón is an open air knees up with booze, snacks and music. The talk, amongst we older citizens, is only ever of booze, we never mention anything smokeable or poppable. Botellones, like discos, have been taking a lot of the heat for the recent increase in Covid numbers amongst young people. Well, that and family get togethers.

We have to wear masks all the time when we're in the street and in all public places. Given that eating or drinking whilst wearing a mask is counterproductive we can remove them to eat and drink, for instance outside a bar. We are supposed to pop the mask back into place between sips or whilst we're waiting for the pudding to arrive but most people don't. There are regular stories of police getting physical with someone who says no to mask wearing and the fines can be ludicrously high.

So, on the way to the concert we stop off for a drink. Our route to the terrace is clearly marked. No bar service, just table service. Gel at the entrances, limited access to the toilets following a marked route. A reminder about 40 second hand washing. Variations on a theme but the usual sort of stuff to try and check the spread.

After the bar we join the queue for the minibus shuttle. People aren't exactly careful about keeping 2 metres apart but it's a forgetful rather than defiant proximity and the line is much more widely spaced queue than normal. Nobody kisses, nobody hugs and nobody pumps hand on greeting friends. The minibus is an anomaly though. It smells very strongly of something ready to go hand to hand with viruses and bacteria but, nonetheless, we ride sardine like.

The concert is seated. The chairs are numbered. It's a slow process at the entrance; gel on hands before name and surname, the door keepers find you on the paper list and direct you to the designated seating. I notice that my phone numbers, email and address are alongside my name, presumably in case they need to hunt me down later. Our two chairs are a couple of metres from the four to the left and the five to the right. We are reminded not to wander around during the concert.

And so it goes. I visited someone in hospital yesterday. Masks and gel a go-go. The floor of my pal's room was mopped and his bathroom cleaned twice whilst I was there. There was a reminder from the local town hall about the protocol for funerals after someone died in Pinoso last week. Jumilla, one of our neighbouring towns over the border into Murcia, is sealed off from today because of the increase in cases. Nobody in and nobody out. Procedures and processes everywhere.

2020 is a strange vintage.

These things are sent to try us: five

I got my new Brexit inspired ID card a while ago. I'm sure you read the blog entry! A chum asked me if I'd help him get one too. Actually I can't help him much in that they won't let two people go in to the foreigner's offices together for some sort of anti Covid procedure. Filling in those forms and standing in queues is all a bit of a pain in the bum so I wasn't exactly overjoyed by the idea but I said yes anyway. That's what friends are for and other cliches. 

Then another pal told me that, yesterday in Murcia, when applying for their new card they'd bumped into an official who said that they needed not one but two appointments. One to apply for the card and one for the taking of fingerprints. I'm pretty sure that's not the procedure but, faced with someone who won't let you pass it doesn't really matter how right you are and how wrong they are. The somebody told me they stood their ground and actually got the card. Another example of the inconsistency of rules and procedures changed at the whim of an individual. 

The person who asked me to help him get the card would also have to go to the Murcia office but his Spanish isn't up to arguing his case. I just winced at the potential waste of time of it all.

Update: I went, with my pal, yesterday to get the TIE card in Murcia and I was wrong about them not letting me in. They let me into the building with him and into the waiting room so that he got to the point where I was able to direct him to the correct desk with the correct paperwork in his hand, duly completed and paid for. They didn't let me stay with him for the bit where his paperwork was processed but, at that point, it was basically all done. A few minutes later he came back to the waiting room with the application process completed. It'll be about four weeks until he's able to pick up the card with another appointment in Murcia.

These things are sent to try us: four

Spain, the nation, has all the safeguards on personal freedoms and rights that you would expect for a modern European democracy. The problem is that it also has lots of "authorities" too. These authorities impose various rules and regulations. Most are sensible enough. Some are stupid. If it's a stupid rule most people just grin and bear it but, from time to time, someone is unhappy enough to go to court. Despite the judges being, generally, old, rich, white men the decision usually comes out on the side of modern rights, freedoms and values in general. Basically stupid rules and procedures get struck down but it can all take a while. Covid though is testing some of those rights to the limit as authority after authority comes up with some sort of bright spark wheeze.

We seem to be getting Covid sick again, lots of us. People are dying too but not in the same numbers as earlier this year. As the numbers go up the rules get added to.

A local bar had it's live music cancelled. From having a look through the published restrictions on live music it seems to me that the local police chief has interpreted those rules in a way distinctly different to the majority of people and not in keeping with the spirit of the regulations. The problem is that even if his interpretation is blatantly wrong then not much can be done because, well, he's authority and we're not.

We've all been wearing masks in public places for ages. Obviously opinion on mask wearing is divided but most people seem to think that it's a reasonable enough rule and, the people who don't agree generally have the good grace to go with the majority decision. But the rules are getting more and more bizarre. All over Spain it is now quite difficult to smoke outside in public because, apparently, smoker's spit carries further than your average person's. My guess is that runners and trumpet players are equally dangerous but there is no moral crusade against them so they remain in the clear. For the moment at least.  

In Murcia they have reduced the number of people who can travel in a car. I wonder what happens if you're driving from Andalucia to Catalonia in an overfull car? Do you have to skirt around the Murcia region? That possibility has probably been anticipated in the rules but I don't suppose it stops drivers being pulled over by the police.

More fun to come I'm sure.