LIMBO IN LANZAROTE

LIMBO IN LANZAROTE

Like everyone else, Jay and I were feeling a bit numb in those early lockdown days in March 2020.

I’m sure you remember how it was. The new rules seemed to pop up at random intervals on line, supplemented of course by Facebook speculators whose authoritarian advice ranged from boring to bonkers. Bottom line was that one of us could go to the local supermarket for essentials. End of.

There were no face masks available at first, so a rather garish T-shirt (not mine) was sacrificed, along with the cord from my (never used) waterproof.

But we had an enormous roof terrace at Mí Casita de la Playa in Arrieta, where we set up a daily exercise routine, waving to a neighbor we called the Polar Bear as, head down, he grimly paced his own azotea in a ritual you could set your clock by.

Going to the recycling point was a bit of a guilt trip, not just because of the number of wine bottles: was this “essential”?

And of course the British media seemed to reflect little awareness of any impending problems. All I recall are scenes of busy pubs in Soho. My friends weren’t worried.

We were in a parallel universe.

But the vans continued to stock our fabulous local store with fresh produce and all necessities every day. Our morning treat was watching them unload and choosing what to have for dinner. There was zero panic buying.

My serious worry was running out of face cream. This was a real crisis, until the lovely lady in the supermarket sourced a Christmas gift set for me with cleanser and moisturiser.

Then the EasyJet webpage went black: all flights cancelled.

I checked with our house and cat sitter in England if she could stay on a few weeks longer.

I rang Yoanna Grimón Martín, my friend and landlady.

Would it be possible to extend our time in the casita indefinitely? I will never forget her immediate reply: “Esta es tu casa. You would do the same for me in your country.”

And we had unlimited loo paper!

Kate Harmond