84 Travel Bans in Times of Coronavirus

The coronavirus has marked a before and after moment in the lives of people throughout the world. As reflected in various posts in www.timesofcoronavirus.com, one thing that has drastically changed is the simple act of traveling from one place to another.

After a three-month confinement period, travel between different countries very recently became possible within the Schengen Area (including the UK). Now, in July, Europe will be opening borders to a group of countries outside the Schengen Area. To decide who can enter, the EU has made a list and is checking it not twice (like Santa) but rather 26 times (number of Schengen countries).

This selective opening of borders is receiving a great deal of media hype because more visitors are urgently needed in Europe. The Eiffel Tower, Alhambra, and Coliseum are in urgent need of foreign admiration and currency. Southern EU countries (especially Spain, Portugal, and Italy), which are prime tourist destinations, evidently need solvent visitors so that their faltering economies can recover.

However, it is a Scylla and Charybdis choice because visitors from those countries where the coronavirus is out of control could re-spark a second wave of Covid-19 in Europe, like the one in March. In Spain, an influx of visitors from Italy triggered the exponential growth of the virus in Madrid, which then rapidly spread throughout the whole country.

This type of swift, large-scale contagion is something that only people in New England can understand.

A high school friend of mine, who still thinks that the flu is worse than Covid-19 (and keeps posting this opinion on FaceBook), has never seen hospital hallways filled with people waiting for an ICU bed and ice skating rinks filled with cadavers (and yes, two of my children actually have been there and seen and dealt with all that). However, I try to make allowances for her blinkered perception of reality. Some people have no understanding of the seriousness of an event unless it directly affects them.

For all of these reasons, the EU travel ban is a difficult decision. Europe wants dollars, but at the same time, needs to be careful. Two months ago, Europe was not a place where anybody wanted to be.

And to make matters worse, there is still no vaccine. Warp speed has slowed down to wimp speed. The only medicines are a few stopgap drugs that only work if the patient is at death’s doorway. The most effective measure against Covid-19 is still confinement (of the monastic variety). That is what finally stopped the spread of the virus in Spain.

The inclusion criteria for the European travel list are thus not political since Europe would love to welcome American tourists. The criteria are medical. The 15 countries on the magic entry list all have a Covid-19 infection rate similar to EU countries. The primary metric used is a measure of the average number of new cases per 100,000 people over the last 14 days. The EU bloc has an average of 14 cases.

Countries with a similar average are Algeria, Australia, Canada, Georgia, Japan, Montenegro, Morocco, New Zealand, Rwanda, Serbia, South Korea, Thailand, Tunisia, Uruguay, and even China (if China reciprocates and allows the entry of EU visitors).

This list, which will be approved on Wednesday, is memorable not so much for the countries that are on it but for those that it excludes. The USA, Russia, and Brazil (along with all Latin America except Uruguay) have been deemed too risky because their coronavirus outbreaks are poorly contained. The US score is 107, while Russia’s is 80, and Brazil’s is 180.

These are numbers, which are still not even close to 14. However, this list will be revised every two weeks. If numbers go down, then the ban will be lifted. It is as simple as that.

I have friends in the USA at both ends of the political spectrum. A few have mentioned their surprise at the travel ban, and seem to think that the reasons for excluding the USA are political. I can only gently point out that on 12 March, in an uncharacteristic display of good sense, President Trump placed sweeping travel restrictions on EU countries to combat the spread of the coronavirus in the USA. In my opinion, this is one of the most sensible measures that he has ever implemented because at that time, the coronavirus was out of control in Europe. That was what had to be done, and I can only applaud.

Since these restrictions have not been officially lifted, the EU ban is no big deal. The only difference is that the shoe is on the other foot because now the ban is mutual. In June, the EU is displaying the same good sense that President Trump did in March. It is a little unfair, of course, because this means that people living in states with low scores are placed in the same category as those with huge spikes in coronavirus cases.

For example, in Florida and Texas, there are cities (e.g. Houston, Miami) that are running out of hospital beds. Republican governors in Florida and Texas have even obliged the population to return to decaffeinated confinement. In Jacksonville, Florida, the mayor has mandated the (indoor) use of masks to stem the rising rate of infection. The GOP has said that if the requirement is still in place in August, convention delegates will also wear masks. (It will be interesting to see whether the president complies with this mandate.)

Things must indeed be getting serious because last Sunday in Dallas, Vice President Pence implored Americans to wear face masks, practice social distancing and stay away from senior citizens to protect them. He even praised Texas Governor Abbott (a Republican) for scaling back some reopening measures because of the surge in patients in the state’s hospitals.

This seems to indicate that there are traces of intelligent life in the White House. Perhaps Pence will also be able to convince President Trump to follow this advice though I would not hold my breath.

83 Statues in Times of Coronavirus

In Times of Coronavirus, we are waging many wars. Undoubtedly, the most important is the war against Covid-19 though we do not seem to be doing very well. Our forces are not coordinated, and each army seems to have a different strategy. Victories have been few and far between, and in some places, there have been no victories at all. So, the outlook is gloomy (even without considering the possibility of another invasion in the coming months).

The morale of the troops is low. And, human nature being what it is, what better way to bolster spirits than to look around for another weaker foe?

An easy victory would certainly cheer everyone up. Nevertheless, this new adversary must be chosen with care. A few months ago, we underestimated the coronavirus because we thought that it was like the flu. This time we cannot make the same mistake. The opponent must thus be an easy mark. He should be a sitting duck to ambush, a total zero at retaliation, and a klutz that will be much simpler to beat than Covid-19.

The chosen opponent should be a statue.

As any dictionary will tell you, a statue is a sculpture in which the figures of persons or animals are carved or cast in a durable material such as wood, metal or stone. Statues adorn public squares and parks, where people can admire them. By placing a statue at a public site, viewers are expected to honor and respect the person represented.

One would think that the life of a statue would be easy, but it is not. A statue is not only fair game for pigeons, extreme weather events, bored university students, and graffiti artists; it is also easy prey for angry crowds and governments desirous of editing national history.

A statue’s only self-defense mechanism lies in its size, accessibility, and the durability of its materials. So, as an enemy, a statue is a pushover (no play on words intended).

In Times of Coronavirus, waging war against statues is a win-win deal.

As we all know, people do not destroy statues because of a pathological aversion to stone or bronze. Nor do they necessarily hate the sculptor that created the statue. Their thirst for destruction is motivated by what the statue stands for or what they think the statue stands for.

In Spain, we have a lot of statues. In fact, the country is virtually littered with them. They represent several hundred years of history, and each figure is memorable for one reason or another. Each city, town, and village has statues of famous people who were born or lived there.

For example, in Granada, there are about 80 statues of people, such as Charles V, Federico García Lorca, and Washington Irving, who are part of the history of the city.

In Spain, there used to be even more statues. However, a few years ago, the government ordained that all of Franco’s statues should be removed. During the statue removal process, Franco was unceremoniously carted off, usually at night. He was then entombed in storehouses, museum basements or other places where he would be out of sight and out of mind. He was not toppled or defaced (as he probably deserved).

Now, in Times of Coronavirus, because of the death of George Floyd, people throughout the world are attacking statues of historical figures that they believe symbolize racism, slavery, and colonialism. In the USA, the toppled statues are of Confederate officers, Spanish explorers, Miguel de Cervantes, and even Christopher Columbus.

In fact, Columbus is now regarded as the father of all racism, and his statues are being toppled, beheaded, and defaced all over the world.

In the center of Granada, we also have a statue of Columbus. On a very high pedestal, there is a bronze sculpture of Queen Isabel on her throne with Columbus, groveling at her feet. He is evidently trying to persuade her to finance his expedition to the unknown ends of the Earth. This memorable event occurred in Granada.

At the time, however, Columbus was the least of Queen Isabel’s problems. She and King Ferdinand, who as a husband was a real piece of work, were more worried about expelling the Arabs from Spain. Columbus was an afterthought. She only gave him the money so that he would stop pestering her and leave her in peace. She probably hoped that he would sail away and never come back.

Columbus had few if any thoughts of colonialism as he sailed off in a fragile vessel that resembled a nutshell. His fate was either (probable) death or the discovery of a new spice route to the Indies. He was just as surprised to see the inhabitants of the New World as they were to see him. He established colonies because that was what explorers did back then.

During his subsequent voyages to the New World, it is true that he was not nice to his new subjects but then in the 15th century, subjugated people were universally not treated well. Back in Spain, the Inquisition was just beginning to ramp up. So torture was the menu of the day. Judging Columbus by present-day morality is a bit like processing William the Conqueror or Attila the Hun for murder.

Now all over the world, statues of Columbus are being toppled. Surprisingly, his statue in Granada has not (as yet) been attacked. Although it would be nice to think that this is because citizens in Granada know at least as much history as a fifth grader, the real reason is probably because the statue is too large, and its pedestal too high to reach. That is a statue’s greatest defense.

For example, despite a (false) FaceBook photo to the contrary, no one in the USA has as yet vandalized the Washington D. C. statue of Lincoln, which is also very large. (For statues, size matters.)

This is despite the fact that in 1858, Lincoln stated that he was “not in favor of bringing about in any way the social and political equality of the white and black races”. In fact, in 1862, his idea was to send freed slaves to colonies in Africa or Central America.

Things have gotten so bad for statues that President Donald Trump, fervent defender of the downtrodden, has recently signed an executive order to protect them. In fact, the situation must be critical because he even canceled a golf trip to New Jersey for this purpose.

Statues are easier to save from angry crowds than Americans from Covid-19. Statues have the virtue of being more tangible than the coronavirus, whose danger he still refuses to acknowledge.

82 Cicero in Times of Coronavirus

When I went to high school, I took five years of Latin, not because I was particularly interested in the subject, but because I liked the teacher. When I later began to work in Linguistics, all of the years of Latin finally came in very handy. However, that was a stroke of pure luck and had nothing to do with any foresight on my part. In high school, adulthood seemed worlds away.

In my sophomore Latin class we translated the writings of Marcus Tullius Cicero (106-43 B.C.). As everyone knows, Cicero was the greatest orator of the late Roman Republic, and one of the leading political figures in the era of Julius Caesar and Marc Antony. He wrote a great number of speeches, letters, and treatises that have survived into the modern era and are a testament to his greatness as a philosopher, politician, and orator.

When we translated Cicero in high school, we learned that he was a man of strong principles and convictions. He had great affection for his daughter, Tullia, and greatly mourned her death. He was unhappy when his son chose a military career. His feelings toward Marc Antony rapidly shifted from friendship to hatred. We read about his utter abhorrence of a senator called Lucius Sergius Cataline, who conspired to overthrow the Senate in Rome.

In one of his most famous speeches against this perfidious senator, Cicero uttered the famous exasperated exclamation, “O tempora, o mores!” [Oh, what times! Oh, what behavior!], an expression still quoted today.

This speech was something of a revelation for all of us. It made us realize that, even back in ancient Rome, everyone was convinced that the world was rapidly going downhill.  Cicero had been complaining about the deterioration in moral values back in the First Century B. C. and now in the 1960s, our parents felt exactly the same way though in regard to our generation.

This signified that the world had always been going to the dogs, but never quite seemed to get there. Indeed, going to the dogs was like an endless road trip.  That meant that the woes of the world were not our fault because the past had been just as messed up as the present.

Oddly, for some reason, many people believe that their ancient (anonymous) ancestors managed to crack the code and discover the magic key to the art of living a supremely virtuous life. It was only after this one perfect righteous time in the misty forests of the past that the secret had been lost, and morals had begun to irreversibly decline. Translating Cicero showed us that this belief had at least a few holes in it.

We also learned why Cicero was regarded as one of the greatest influencers of all time. He had mastered the art of oral communication. Part of the secret lay in his rhetorical devices, many of which are still used by politicians today in Times of Coronavirus.

One of the most interesting is apophasis (from the Greek "to say no"). Speakers use this device to bring up a subject by either denying it, or by stating that it should not be brought up. In this regard, apophasis is a (rhetorical) first cousin to irony. In this way, orators call attention to something by specifically saying that they will not mention it. This is one of the most frequent devices used in politics today.

Common phrases in apophasis include the following: I need not mention …; It goes without saying …; I don’t mean to suggest …; I don’t have to remind you that …; to say nothing of …. So, for those who wish to be rhetorical (as well as politically correct), that is an excellent recipe.

For example, though hardly as eloquent as Cicero, President Donald Trump frequently uses apophasis in his Tweets. In 2016, he tweeted of journalist Megyn Kelly, “I refuse to call her a bimbo, because that would not be politically correct." In 2017, as president, he tweeted of the leader of North Korea, "Why would Kim Jong-un insult me by calling me 'old,' when I would NEVER call him 'short and fat’?" This only goes to show how useful a bit of Cicero’s technique can be when the pot wishes to insult the kettle.

Now, in Spain, in Times of Coronavirus, we are also getting a daily dose of apophasis in the news. It is becoming increasingly evident that the coronavirus is whirling out of control again. The djinn seems to be once more escaping from the bottle, and governments throughout the world are unable recapture it. Spain is no exception.

This is not surprising. According to Google, where all arcane knowledge is stored, there is no possible way to entrap an escaped djinn. They are creatures created by Allah made from “smokeless fire” according to the Koran. They have their own societies and can move through the atmosphere but are limited from traveling beyond the earth's atmosphere (sort of like Covid-19).

So, every day with increasing frequency, the Spanish Minister of Health, Salvador Illa (better known as Mr. Deer-in-the-Headlights), is mentioning confinement though without really mentioning it. He says that even though there have been numerous outbreaks throughout the country, he is not going to talk about confinement (even though he is actually talking about it). He adds that it is not a question of imposing restrictions and that this will certainly not happen. He denies saying that restrictions will return. But if that is so, why is he constantly bringing them up?

Other ministers also refer to the re-imposition of a State of Alarm, only to say that this will surely not occur (unless it does). They reiterate that they never said that the State of Alarm would be reinstated unless the situation drastically worsens…. but, of course, this will not happen. In all of these cases, the speaker always mentions confinement or State of Alarm by saying that it is not necessary to mention them. 

If Cicero were still here today, he would no doubt be enchanted to see that after so many centuries, his rhetorical devices remain popular. It would almost compensate for his being beheaded by Marc Antony’s soldiers and then having his (lifeless) tongue repeatedly stabbed by Antony’s wife, who doubtlessly envied his way with words. But then, extreme eloquence is not always appreciated, as it should be.

81 The New Coronavirus Carnival

When my children were small, I used to take them to the carnival, which would come to Granada each year in June. In the 1970s, the carnival site was still within walking distance from where we lived, although later on, it was moved to the northern part of the city.

My husband never went with us because he always had a lot of work to do. Not that I was all that keen on carnivals either, but I still remembered what it was like to be a child. And so I would take the children there to see the sights and to have an adventure. There were large crowds, plenty of dust, and music blasting at 300 decibels. I usually wore earplugs, but my children enjoyed all of the noise and hullabaloo.

They would walk around with helium balloons tied to their wrist as they became progressively stickier from eating cotton candy and popsicles. Sometimes they would become so engrossed in the exotic carnival scenario that their balloon would become untied and fly away into the sky. I would then replace it with another. A carnival is not a carnival without a balloon.

The carnival was filled with set of fairly lame sideshows, which people (including me) actually paid money to see. There was the occasional calf with two heads, a midget reported to be the strongest (midget) in the world, and a bearded lady, who resembled one of my neighbors. My children, of course, wanted to go in and see all of these wonders.

One sideshow advertised a “mujer en cueros”. “En cueros” [in leather] is slang in Spanish for “naked”. People, of course, paid to go in. However, instead of a glamorous Venus in her birthday suit, they found a lady completely encased in a kind of leather cocoon with no skin visible except for her face, which had become quite red because of the intense heat. The audience felt deceived and somewhat disgruntled, but linguistically speaking, it was not false advertising.

There was also a show late in the evening, which I never had the opportunity to view. It was thought to be overly risqué for ‘good’ women, who had to be protected from all of the evils of the world except cooking and housework.

The show was called the Teatro Chino [Chinese Theater]. It was where spectators could enjoy a number of vaudeville acts as well as visually savor the talent of a burlesque dancer called Manolita Chen, a Spanish lady, whose Chinese husband helped her organize the acts and theater entertainment. In the early 1970s,

Franco, though gradually progressing towards mummification, was still marginally alive and thus able to safeguard the moral values of the populace, who were all too eager to forget about said values whenever possible. For that reason the Teatro Chino was regarded as pretty racy stuff even though by then, Manolita was in her 40s and a bit long in the tooth.

There were also carnival games. One of them consisted of a board with a series of openings. When a mole (or whatever) popped up out of the hole, it was necessary to whack it to push it down again. A high IQ was not necessary to play this game. One only had to have good reflexes and sharp eyesight to obtain a reasonably good score. Needless to say, it was one of my sons’ favorite games though they never won any prizes.

In Times of Coronavirus, we are now strolling through the carnival, and playing carnival games……though in this new carnival,  there is no Manolita Chen, who long ago went to that great burlesque theater in the sky.

In this new Coronavirus Carnival, everyone in Spain is celebrating the New Normal while pretending that it is like the Old Normal. The weather is hot and sunny, just the right temperature for ‘botellones’ [outdoor drinking parties]. Travel is now possible. People have fled to the beaches. They wish to forget about confinement and make up for lost time. And who can blame them? It is summer and everyone wants to be on vacation, exactly like in the Old Normal.

As of yesterday, we have also begun to get tourists back. Everyone in the EU and the UK, as I predicted, can now come here to roast on the beach without having to quarantine. This agreement, however, is not as yet reciprocal. Spaniards entering the UK are forced to spend 14 days in quarantine. However, we are desperate, and many Britons have vacation homes on the Costa del Sol. Spain needs them (and their pounds sterling). The restaurant and hotel industries here are in dire straits.

Meanwhile, the Mayor of Madrid (who despises the current government) has been crying out in the desert for the last three weeks, requesting an effective protocol as well as money for personnel to identify tourists with Covid-19. 

So far, the only measures are a form that everyone fills out on the plane, a temperature screener (when available), and a visual scan by a healthcare professional (when and if such professionals are ever recruited) or by someone else who hasn’t a clue what to look for (it is enough to gaze fixedly at everyone that walks by). The mayor’s exasperation is understandable because if there is a new outbreak, she will be blamed for it.

Unfortunately, all of this opening up has already started to have its downside (and we haven’t even really begun with the tourists). So far the Spanish government has dealt with 36 recent outbreaks, 12 of which are currently active. They are uncontrollably popping up all over the country in various provinces from north to south. 

These outbreaks are occurring in hospitals, factories, birthday celebrations, ‘botellones’, nursing homes, and even a convent. A few days ago, there was even a small outbreak in Granada. In Huesca, there are a few that are so bad that three regions of that province have been expelled from the New Normal and have been demoted to Phase 2 (which, as you may recall, is really Phase 3).

So, the Minister of Health, Mr. Deer-in-the-Headlights is now being forced to feverishly play Whack-a-Virus. And like my sons when they were small, he is making a praiseworthy effort but so far, has only obtained limited success. Like them, he is trying to outguess the mole/virus, but right now, he is not doing so well. And it is obvious that he is scared again.

Television is a caustic medium, which amplifies traits that would otherwise remain hidden. Mr. Deer-in-the-Headlights has the same problem that François Mitterand used to when he was President of France. When he speaks, it is evident when he is not at ease, because his eyes keep blinking as though he were flashing the headlights of his car. The number of blinks-per-minute is a measure of his nervousness. Lately, he has been blinking quite a lot.

In a way, it is understandable. The game board is the whole Iberian Peninsula. All over the country, insidious little moles/viruses are sticking their heads out of the holes, and Mr. Deer-in-the-Headlights is trying to stop the disaster from spreading. Right now, it is a difficult if not impossible task. When there are elections again, perhaps he will be able to blame his lack of success on his hammer.

80 The New Normal

As everyone is doubtlessly aware, we are at the dawn of a new era, known as the “New Normal”. On 21 June, all phases and confinement will have ended. We will only be obliged to wear a mask, hopefully one covering our face and not dangling from our wrist. Domestic travel restrictions will disappear and we will be able to venture outside of our cities and our provinces. In the next ten days, airports will be open to international travel as well.

We will be able to go out into the world again though perhaps with somewhat more caution for ourselves and hopefully with more consideration for others. Nonetheless, anyone with a half a brain can see that countries are opening up, not because it is safe to do so, but merely because they cannot remain closed any longer. The number of recent outbreaks throughout the world indicates that we will have to continue to play it safe (or at least try to). Though Europe has been given a breather, cases elsewhere in the world are skyrocketing.

It is evident that the coronavirus is not going to vanish in the near future. Covid-19 is more powerful than anyone had ever dreamed. It has infected ministers in Spain as well as a prince and a prime minister in England. It has even killed government leaders in Nicaragua. It has annihilated at least 500,000 people throughout the world. In all likelihood, this is not even an accurate estimate because, as we all know, governments lie and never more so than in Times of Coronavirus.

Covid-19 is so powerful that it has bankrupted Argentina. It may eventually lead to the fall of the president in Brazil or to the loss of an election for the president of the USA. Doubtlessly, the coronavirus felt offended because it was originally reported to be a hoax invented by the Democratic Party or a “little flu” that could be easily survived with a sufficient dose of ‘manliness’. It never pays to underestimate an enemy.

In Spain, to stop its deadly progress, the government had to shut down the country and cause everything to come to a halt. Everyone had to remain inside. These three months of confinement have taught us a great deal about others. For example, we now have a clearer idea of which world leaders are more intelligent than a fifth grader. We also know that almost no one was able to outguess the virus, which turned out to be smarter than the whole world. The few people who saw how the pandemic would play out and were courageous enough to voice their opinion were laughed at and/or were labeled as alarmists.

These three months of confinement have also taught us things about ourselves. We now value healthcare workers over soccer players. Those of us with job security have become accustomed to working from home. Most of us are now kinder and more patient with each other. All of us have reset our priorities because we have been affected by the sadness of being separated from the ones that we love.

It is now a question of profiting from these lessons and permanently engraving them in our long-term memory. We have spent three months within our coronavirus cocoons, and it is now time to emerge, either as a dazzling butterfly or a befuddled worm. It is our choice.

I began writing www.timesofcoronavirus.com as a creative way of remaining sane and not surrendering to craziness. I decided to write a post every day until confinement was over. There were days when I thought that I had nothing left to say, but then an idea started to germinate and a text magically appeared.

Needless to say, I have had a great deal of fun with this, more than I had thought possible. Fortunately for our friendship, the Neanderthals and the Sitting Bulls are not digitally literate. Nor do they have any knowledge of English. I am also glad that Professor Clairvoyant is not among my FaceBook friends.

However, now that confinement is ending, real life is beginning to intrude. On Monday, I will be able to physically return to my office in the university. I have been reminded of abstruse papers that I have promised to write, an even more arcane book that I must edit, a course to plan, translations to do, and other obligations that only those in Academia would appreciate.

Originally, I had planned to end the blog when the coronavirus had ceased to rule our lives, but now I find that the blog has acquired a life of its own. I have become caught up in the little world that I have created. So that means that I will continue to post, though not every day unless, of course, we return to Square One, and then the game will begin all over again.

79 Body Fluids in Times of Coronavirus

As many of you might recall, my neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Neanderthal, live across the hallway. Despite being in the vulnerable age group, not being digitally literate, and having a dumb phone as their sole means of communication, they had managed to survive confinement with relative success. However, in Phase 3 during a visit to the house of one of their children, Mrs. Neanderthal fell and broke her leg. The last time I mentioned her, she was in the hospital, another indirect victim of the coronavirus pandemic.

A week ago she was released from the hospital to recover at home. Her hip has not healed well and she is not mobile. Her daughter came from a northern province for a week to take care of her. This was both good and bad. It was good because for one week, Mrs. Neanderthal received the care and attention that she felt that she richly deserved. However, it was bad because she expected this attention to go on forever. It is easy to become used to the good things in life.

I have known the Neanderthals for a long time. When I first met them, I had been married for about one year and had just moved into the building. At that time, the apartment next door to theirs was occupied by Mrs. Neanderthal’s crotchety parents. The Neanderthals are a primitive species, but their parents belonged to a species so superarchaic that on the evolutionary scale, they have never even received a name.

The Superarchaics expected Mrs. Neanderthal to be their unpaid slave, which indeed she was for 30 long years until both went to their final reward  (to the relief of everyone). For three long decades, Mrs. Neanderthal had been expected to clean, cook, and finally care for her parents when both became bedridden invalids, who lingered for more time than anyone thought possible. Doubtlessly, God was postponing their demise as long as He could because one can only put up with so much, even in Heaven.

From what I observed, the Superarchaics expected this level of domestic service as their due and never once thanked their caregiver, who silently and uncomplainingly catered to their every whim day and night. I have always been in awe of Mrs. Neanderthal’s capacity of sacrifice since it was something that I would never have been capable of.

Over the years, I have reminded her that times have changed and when we eventually fall ill (as one day we must), it would be a mistake to expect our children to be there to wait on us hand and foot as she had done with her parents. She has always sagely nodded her head in agreement, but inside, she was evidently hoping for something quite different.

The other day, when I went to visit, I saw that Mrs. Neanderthal had a very glum face. Her daughter had departed and returned to her family up north. No amount of emotional blackmail had been able to make her stay. Mrs. Neanderthal was left alone with her husband, who has no domestic skills. As the reader will recall, it is his staunch belief that any man who performs household tasks will eventually suffer acute penis detachment. Mr. Neanderthal has always been catered to by his wife in the same way as she served her parents. As the Man of the House, he believes that it is his due.

Nevertheless, the panorama is currently bleak for manly breadwinners because now Mrs. Neanderthal is totally bedridden. She cannot move her leg, much less stand up. She has to wear diapers, which someone has to change. She has to be served her meals in bed.

When I went to visit, Mr. Neanderthal took me aside and told me in a desperate whisper that if only his wife could manage to get to the bathroom by herself, he would be able to manage the rest….maybe. Both Neanderthals suffer from a phobia of body fluids and natural body processes. From what I have observed over the years, the earthy dimensions of the body have always been unmentionable. They rarely talk about ‘those things’.

This is reflected in a story that Mrs. Neanderthal once told me of their honeymoon. After five years of chaste engagement (nothing beyond a few kisses), the Neanderthals were at last permitted to wed. They were finally given the green light to engage in frenetic and rapturous copulation.

So, after their wedding banquet, they boarded a train to Madrid where her virginity would be disposed of and popped like so much bubble wrap. During the trip, Mrs. Neanderthal in her modesty was embarrassed about going to the restroom. If she went to release her natural body fluids (she had drunk a bit at the wedding banquet), Mr. Neanderthal would realize that she was not the ethereal damsel of his dreams. He would see that she was human. As any reader of romantic novels knows, ethereal damsels never urinate much less defecate. It is not part of their job description.

So she did not go to the bathroom during the whole trip, and in the 1960s, there were no fast trains. By the time that she arrived in Madrid, the hotel had to call a doctor because she was in great pain. The doctor came and probably thinking that this was a new landmark in human stupidity, had to use a catheter to empty her bladder.

As a result, their wedding night, which was supposedly going to be the supreme culmination of five years of repressed passion, was just as chaste as their years of engagement.

However, after two days, she recovered sufficiently from her bladder ailment, and married life finally began. She confided to me that she had never understood why people make such a big deal over sex. In her opinion, it isn’t all that it is cracked up to be. She is proud of the fact that in over 50 years of marriage, she has never seen Mr. Neanderthal completely nude nor has he ever seen her in an unclothed state either.

However, in their twilight years, this situation has changed drastically because now Mr. Neanderthal is obliged to cater to her and all of her body fluids. He is thus forced to see (and clean) all of the orifices that he has not had the occasion to contemplate during their five decades of matrimony.

This is a small example of how the coronavirus confinement has changed life for all of us in the most unexpected ways. The majority of us have been able to adapt and become used to contexts that six months ago would have been unsustainable. 

Inflexibility is never a good thing since it makes survival difficult on the evolutionary scale. For that reason, I would not make any bets on Mr. Neanderthal’s ability to evolve. The family will probably start looking for a nursing home.

78 Dexamethasone in Times of Coronavirus

The new semi-magic bullet for the coronavirus is Dexamethasone. Its name has recently appeared in the news because it was found to be effective in extreme cases of Covid-19. The hype is more modest because the study was carried out in the UK. And, of course, the drug is not as flashy, glamorous or profitable as those used against malaria.

Dexamethasone is a boring corticosteroid that has been around for the last 50 years, languishing away on the third row of dusty pharmacy shelves. It has the virtue of being easier to spell than hydroxychloroquine, and is used to treat a wide range of conditions related to inflammation in different parts of the body. It has also been used in cases of severe asthma, and breathing difficulties.

By now it is fairly common knowledge that widespread inflammation is one of the most devastating effects of Covid-19.  Since corticosteroids are often used to treat inflammation, British doctors put two and two together and came to the conclusion that Dexamethasone just might help coronavirus patients. 

At warp speed (British style), they carried out a study that found that this drug reduced mortality by 33% in ventilated patients and by 20% in patients who were only receiving oxygen therapy. However, there was no benefit to patients who could breathe normally.

Dexamethasone has been sold in pharmacies since the 1960s, and is very cheap (though Medicare will doubtlessly find a way to exponentially increase its price). In Europe, a ten-day treatment would cost the National Health Service 39 euros ($43.86).

Even so, it would not be a good idea to wheedle a prescription out of a doctor, run to the pharmacy, and load up on this medication. It will only help you if you are receiving oxygen or are hooked up to a ventilator, and even then, not always. If you take Dexamethasone just for the thrill of doing something really stupid, then your health could be seriously damaged.

Though not as toxic as Lysol, Dexamethasone has a daunting list of secondary effects, which include increased appetite, irritability, insomnia, fluid retention, and increased blood sugar, among others. Fortunately, a prescription is required because the drug only reduces coronavirus mortality when patients already have one foot in the grave.

Nevertheless, the British study on Dexamethasone is great news and may even compensate somewhat for the great hydroxychloroquine fiasco, which called the medical advice of President Trump and his equally learned colleague, President Bolsonaro, into question. The path to a magic bullet is often rocky and filled with potholes.

From a personal viewpoint, the results of the British study did not surprise me. Believe it or not, I have known about the virtues of Dexamethasone for almost 50 years and can vouch for its effectiveness.

In 1971, I was living in Malaga and suffering from a persistent eye infection. I had not been in Spain for very long, and only had faith in American medicine. All Spanish doctors were thus objects of deep distrust. I was still trying to come to terms with cultural differences, and this was just one more thing that made me wonder if I had done the right thing when I decided to permanently leave the USA.

My eye infection was severe and made me feel miserable since it seemed to drag on forever. Each ophthalmologist that I had visited prescribed something different. I felt as though I was being used as a testing ground for a wide range of eyewashes, drops, and ointments. Nothing seemed to work. One very elderly doctor even thought that the infection might be the result of female hysteria and gave me something for my nerves, which knocked me out until the next day.

So, I sought advice from my husband’s aunt, Tía Pilar, who was a pharmacist and knew which doctors in Malaga wrote the best prescriptions. She immediately took me to an eye clinic near her pharmacy. 

Since the head of the clinic happened to be a good ophthalmologist, he had more patients than he could shake a stick at, and had no time for anyone else.  Or so we were officiously informed by his receptionist, a rather plump lady whose hair was an alarming shade of red and who wore gold earrings that were tiny images of the Virgin Mary.

However, Tía Pilar was a resourceful woman, and knew exactly what to do. She quietly slipped a bribe to the receptionist, a custom that I was not familiar with and which fortunately has since fallen into disuse. The bribe ritual involved an offer of money, which was initially refused. This was followed by a second and third offer in which the refusal became increasingly weaker. On the fourth try, the bribe was finally pocketed.

Once the receptionist accepted the money, it was then possible to gain access to the hallowed portal of the doctor’s office.

The experience was curious since unofficial patients, such as myself, who exceeded the daily quota were not supposed to be in the waiting room with the real patients. We were thus obliged to make ourselves invisible.

Invisibility was facilitated by the receptionist who placed us in the hallway, behind one of a series of curtains that strategically covered the wall, (doubtlessly for that very purpose). Unofficial patients were slipped into the consultation between official ones.

As one progressed in the unofficial queue, it was necessary to surreptitiously change curtains without allowing the patients in the real waiting room to perceive what was occurring. It was all very cloak-and-dagger, and even made me forget my infected eye.

After about 50 minutes of sneaking from one curtain to another, I was finally allowed to see the doctor. He examined my eye and prescribed Dexamethasone ointment. After the long string of failed treatments, I had become very cynical, and did not really believe that it would work. However, I went to the pharmacy with the prescription, bought the ointment, and began to apply the treatment.

To my astonishment, it cured the infection and inflammation where everything else had failed. My eye infection was eradicated and never returned.

So, I can vouch for the effectiveness of Dexamethasone. In 1971, it was indeed a miracle drug. But now, in Times of Coronavirus, given its context of use, I only hope that I will never have to take it again.

77 The Memory of Aquarium Fish

There is an urban myth that says that fish memory only lasts from three to thirty seconds. It sounds plausible because how else do fish avoid boredom in the confines of their fish bowl? However, scientists have demonstrated that this is not true.

Research shows that fish can recall the location of a tasty morsel of food up to 12 days after encountering it. Fish are also capable of remembering details for years, and can even navigate mazes. On the animal intelligence scale, fish are below dolphins and rats, but far above cockroaches. As far as memory goes, fish are ahead of the game. So, the memory of the aquarium fish has been unjustly maligned.

I can now no longer say that my neighbors have the memory of an aquarium fish because that would be too great a compliment. I cannot even say that they have the memory of a cockroach because, believe it or not, researchers have also found that cockroaches do have one. In fact, in the laboratory cockroaches have been taught to salivate in response to neutral stimuli in the way that Pavlov's dogs would do. (I had no idea that cockroaches even had saliva.)

For that reason, the most that I can say is that people in my neighborhood and Spain in general are suffering an acute attack of temporal amnesia. They seem to believe that the pandemic is winding down. They are persuaded that life will return to the way that it was before, especially now that summer vacation is just around the corner. The only vague memory of confinement will be the mask that dangles from their wrist, like a charm bracelet.

We are currently in Phase 3 of pretending that the coronavirus has disappeared. It is a very nice phase since now every afternoon, health authorities appear in a veritable fog of self-congratulation to inform us of the relatively low number of new cases and the (artificial) absence of Covid-19 deaths.

The news conference usually ends with a few gentle warnings, telling us to be good, to avoid crowds, and to obey the rules, but health authorities seem to be quite content with the agreeable fantasy that they have created.

Another positive thing is that the death toll has not increased for the last month, largely because of the new and improved counting method used to report cases. As previously mentioned in other posts, this method is very effective because it makes coronavirus deaths magically vanish.

Nevertheless, that might soon end. Yesterday, the Minister of Health, Mr. Deer-in-the-Headlights said that he thought that numbers would be updated by the end of the week though no one is holding their breath until this occurs.

The message that the government is sending is that we have won the war, and that there is no more risk. The danger has finally passed. This belief has been further reinforced by the announcement that on 21 June, Spain will no longer be in a State of Alarm, which in itself is somewhat alarming. 

The lifting of the State of Alarm has lulled my neighbors into complacency, and no one can blame them. From a semantic perspective, when a State of Alarm ends, it is reasonable to believe that there is no longer any cause for alarm.

The government is fomenting this carefree mindset. On 21 June, ten days before anyone thought possible, Spain’s borders with all European countries will open once again. The only exception is Portugal, who (not surprisingly) prefers to wait until 1 July before allowing Spaniards to freely enter their territory. The EU will probably start to allow travel to and from non-EU countries as early as July.

In the last week, de-escalation in Spain (and throughout Europe) has picked up so much momentum that we are now hurtling toward total normality and may even end up crashing into it.  Madrid has even said that they will not bother with Phase 3 because on Monday, the State of Alarm will have finished for everyone.

From an economic perspective, the return to normality is, of course, a necessity. We are in dire need of tourists to help us emerge from recession. Now that the borders are falling down faster than London Bridge, we will be welcoming people from other countries, who wish to spend their coronavirus vacations here. Most will probably be from the UK and northern Europe. They will come to enjoy the good weather and recover from quarantine fatigue.

Of course, we prefer stodgy Germans, who divide their time between drinking beer and roasting on the beach like giant lobsters, or British senior citizens, who peacefully populate resorts and read long novels while sipping wine on lounge chairs by the swimming pool.

But in the current situation, we cannot permit ourselves the luxury of being overly selective. We would even welcome the rowdy tourists, who drink too much, carouse in the streets, and jump off hotel balconies in the wee hours of the morning.

Spain is currently negotiating against the clock with Great Britain. who puts everyone entering the UK in quarantine for 14 days. Our Minister of Foreign Affairs is saying that if the UK doesn’t lift the quarantine for Spaniards going to England, there will be a quarantine imposed on Britons traveling to Spain. She is probably not serious, but she should be because the statistics for England are much worse than those for Spain.

However, we are desperate for tourists and apparently willing to take risks. Desperation, unfortunately, is at odds with caution, and now there is even greater reason to be cautious.

There is a new outbreak of the coronavirus in China. Beijing authorities describe this outbreak as extremely severe and talk about a possible second wave. This outbreak, which also originated in a market, involves an even more contagious strain of the virus than the one in Wuhan. P

art of Beijing has now been sealed off as well as a few neighboring provinces. All sports and entertainment sites have been closed, schools have been shut down again, and travel curtailed. Even though Chinese authorities are in a wartime mode, no one knows whether this will be sufficient to contain the virus.

Chinese authorities mention more than 100 cases, but we all know that governments lie. China is no exception. A more accurate figure would be that number multiplied various times over.

However, China is far away, or at least at the same distance from Europe as it was in January. Starting in June and July, Europe (and Spain) will receive tourists from all over the world with open arms. We will welcome them, and we will also welcome their viruses. That was what occurred five months ago, and history may very well repeat it self.

But people seem to have forgotten. Perhaps if they had the memory of an aquarium fish or even a cockroach, it would be a different story.