Drum roll please. The magician removes the tablecloth; miraculously the plates, cups and saucers all remain in place and everyone applauds. Except this time Corona removed the tablecloth and the only clapping is for the medical profession. Everything still looks the same. Almost. But it’s not actually the same.
This is how I feel about Barcelona, the city I have called home for the past four years, a city which has been ‘the’ destination for decades. The beach is still inviting, but there is rope to cordon it off to ensure that we sheep can be counted onto the sand, to ensure social distancing. The tables and chairs are out, just a little further apart, and the waiter is masked, as much to protect the customers from seeing the pain of the past few months etched upon his face, as to protect the customers from any virus threat.
We can often feel disconnected from the real world, never more so than in lockdown. Even with lockdown lifted I can’t help but feel somewhat of an observer and as if it’s still not quite real. I can go through the same actions, even if it is whilst wearing a mask, and yet it isn’t the mask that disconnects me or is unsettling; it feels like a charade.