Exactly one year ago, on March 15, 2020, a long period of confinement began in Spain.
The curfew in Corona España is six months old this month. And it remains firm and strong – until the next bimonthly government decision, due to the number of contagions and the occupation of hospitals.
From 10 p.m. to 6 a.m. (or from 11 p.m. to 6 a.m. depending on the province), the “touch of autumn”, as it is called here, taught us to make our lives reign earlier, perhaps more frugal.
At first it was difficult. Then, like everything in life, we adjust.
And there is a punishment for the unwary. In Catalonia, anyone caught giving soup at prohibited times can earn a minimum of 300 to 6,000 euros (or R $ 2,000 to R $ 40,000), depending on the severity and the people involved.
Excellent argument for us to obey bunitinho, of course.
Over the past six months, we’ve gotten used to putting the end of the day ahead. Stores close early, tours end early, meetings are limited. At this point, and for at least the next two weeks, bars and restaurants close at 5 p.m. and from there they can only work with delivery.
I have already got used to the silence of the early hours of Barcelona. How wonderful, I think – I don’t deny it. The noise became unique: on the sidewalk at night only the noise of garbage trucks, the occasional sirens and the whistling of Glovo’s bicycles (yes, now you can hear them) and so on, allowed until 11 p.m. .
I also got used to the relentless and necessary negotiations for meetings. Combining an occasional vermú (the national name for midday tea, recently re-admitted into our daily lives) has become an act of head-cutting.
“What do you mean, you haven’t called anyone?” “It didn’t work, there were already six of us”.
Six is the maximum number of people allowed in a group, at a table, during a family lunch. Just think of liters of pain relief, questions about degrees of blalbabl friendship.
((I can’t help myself: every time I hear this ulular phrase from the age of six, I remember Maria José Dupré and her eponymous fudigoonda work which presented me with one of my first childish existential depressions. At least I got the samba collection puppy to save me))
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In January, 15,500 people were fined in Catalonia alone for breaking the curfew. Did I mention obedience and silence? So so. The whole of history accumulates its stones.
Recently, for example, the police organized seven illegal parties in hotels in Barcelona. Simple strategy: people rent rooms and have a uniforobodó inside. The hotels, jointly responsible for maintaining order, are fined along with dishonest customers. Today, the government is conducting an awareness campaign among the hotel sector.
Festive exploits sometimes take to the streets: in February, a “botellón” was reported with around a hundred young people in El Prat, in Greater Barcelona. The classic “practice” – buying bows at the market and going out onto the streets to fill your face with a colleague – reached its peak of popularity in the middle of last year, when all bars and restaurants were absolutely closed.
As for illegal private parties, the pandemic score records a lot. At the start of the pandemic, a year ago, he even had an orgy in an apartment in the upscale and upscale Eixample district.
And there are the creatives. The other day a guy was caught outside of authorized broadcast hours and left on the news. Reason: he borrowed the backpack from one of those home delivery services to disguise himself as a delivery man. This way, I could walk freely around the naked city, while we were all locked in our homes.
More than one will have thought: well, how is it that I did not have this idea.
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We are getting used to it. Exercise with a yutubi video and dance in the living room – the health of a ballad. Zoomed mimosas, to make you miss your beloved compatriots. Saudade is even sensing the vacancies in this largely tourism-based economic town (something it’s time to change, mayor Ada Colau rightly questioned at a recent momentum).
On the other hand – and the conflict, the conflict – there is no desire for international tourists who, timidly, as if they were bandits with an image of looking for themselves at each post, begin to reoccupy the streets of Barcelona. Trade is grateful. I mean, those who haven’t closed the doors forever.
These are complicated times, and they will be for another time. We here, although far from the cataclysmic situation in Brazil, we still walk very carefully. Tired, like you. My parents, far from the ocean, ask me: and you, vaccine for when? I do not know. The forecasts are still vague. Coming soon.
“How was life all these years? Sacrifice and devotion. It’s like watching an afternoon like this, rainy, full of sadness. But I don’t know how to regret it; if I had to start over, I would rebuild my life as it was, of sacrifice and devotion ” [Éramos Seis, de Maria José Dupré, 1943]. Ayay, Dona Lola …