Chronicles of the Virus Day 33. Pricey Things.
Today is cloudy, and the forecast is for showers with heavier rain in the late afternoon, and slightly cooler weather. Apparently, there's a low pressure area near Lisbon that is sending its spit of rain north, towards us. The forecast is supposed to perk up next week, but this being spring, we'll see.
There's a lot of discontent among farmers and others in the primary sector. Apparently, aside from not being able to hire cheap labor, they can't sell to the restaurants, which are closed. Who knew eating out was such a large business in Spain? I mean, I knew there are a lot of restaurants, but the immense volume of fresh food in supermarkets made me think that was where the bulk of our farms' food went. Now I understand why some fruits and vegetables in season are imported.
Yet, why are supermarkets still importing produce if local and national farms are struggling to sell theirs? Perhaps they have contracts they can't break, perhaps the imported produce is cheaper (which beggars the question, how? if included in the final price is the cost of transport).
I haven't noticed large variations in the prices of the fruits and vegetables I've been buying. I've also been buying to keep things in stock without looking much at prices, and I haven't been able to make the rounds of the different supermarkets to keep my final expenses down. But my daughter has noticed the money flying. She bought a piece of broccoli that weighed approximately a half kilo (that's about a pound) and some other things in the supermarket the other day, and was astounded when she looked at the receipt to investigate why she had paid so much. The broccoli, for which she usually pays just over a euro, cost €3.99. Somebody is gouging someone else, and the final customer is always the most gouged.
That brings me to face masks. Before this all erupted, my husband bought a packet of five masks of the good kind, FFP2, at the hardware store. The packet cost him seven euros, the usual price. Now, those same masks might go for twelve to fifteen euros each, online. I say online because you still can't find them in any physical store. And even online, they're out of stock. You can still order them (and pay throught the nose), though you might not get them till summer. Yesterday, our baker left, along with our loaf of bread, a bag with four surgical masks on our door. Inside was also a note, telling us to disinfect them before using, by putting them one minute in the microwave at the highest wattage. They're homemade, with material I've seen used in the sewing industry to stiffen waists and collars. Entretela, it's called in Spanish. It's a nice way of thanking customers in these times.
With the return to work for a lot of non-essential workers on Monday, the government also decided to hand out masks at various points of the transport system in large cities, subway and bus stations. But masks aren't obligatory yet because they're still not available for everybody. Hospitals, clinics, and nursing homes remain the principle customers. And they need them continuously, so the general public will probably have to wait a while longer.
In news from the outside world, there continue to be people with less than half a brain that don't want their doctor neighbors to continue to live in their apartment block. A gynecologist in Barcelona went down to the garage to get her car and go to work, when she found someone had spray painted "rata asquerosa" (disgusting rat) on her car, and slashed two tires. She and her husband reported it to the police and posted on social media. After that, she started receiving messages of support and encouragement. There are still more decent people out there than people with less than half a brain.
On a lighter, yet stranger side, a man who went to the hospital on Tuesday, in Girona, because he was feeling unwell, was admitted. He didn't want to be admitted, and insisted on returning home, but he was told in no uncertain terms that he had to stay in his hospital room. A little while later, they discovered he was gone. A special protocol was put in place, and he was quickly found at his home. He said he had gone home because he was hungry and wanted to eat dinner, that he would return to the hospital the next day, Wednesday morning. I assume the police who went to pick him up explained what a hospital kitchen is for.
An even lighter story comes from France. In Champigny-sur-Marne, to the east of Paris, neighbors were asking themselves why there was a zebra and two horses galloping through their streets. Apparently, they escaped from a zoo.
Life continues. Slowly.
There's a lot of discontent among farmers and others in the primary sector. Apparently, aside from not being able to hire cheap labor, they can't sell to the restaurants, which are closed. Who knew eating out was such a large business in Spain? I mean, I knew there are a lot of restaurants, but the immense volume of fresh food in supermarkets made me think that was where the bulk of our farms' food went. Now I understand why some fruits and vegetables in season are imported.
Yet, why are supermarkets still importing produce if local and national farms are struggling to sell theirs? Perhaps they have contracts they can't break, perhaps the imported produce is cheaper (which beggars the question, how? if included in the final price is the cost of transport).
I haven't noticed large variations in the prices of the fruits and vegetables I've been buying. I've also been buying to keep things in stock without looking much at prices, and I haven't been able to make the rounds of the different supermarkets to keep my final expenses down. But my daughter has noticed the money flying. She bought a piece of broccoli that weighed approximately a half kilo (that's about a pound) and some other things in the supermarket the other day, and was astounded when she looked at the receipt to investigate why she had paid so much. The broccoli, for which she usually pays just over a euro, cost €3.99. Somebody is gouging someone else, and the final customer is always the most gouged.
That brings me to face masks. Before this all erupted, my husband bought a packet of five masks of the good kind, FFP2, at the hardware store. The packet cost him seven euros, the usual price. Now, those same masks might go for twelve to fifteen euros each, online. I say online because you still can't find them in any physical store. And even online, they're out of stock. You can still order them (and pay throught the nose), though you might not get them till summer. Yesterday, our baker left, along with our loaf of bread, a bag with four surgical masks on our door. Inside was also a note, telling us to disinfect them before using, by putting them one minute in the microwave at the highest wattage. They're homemade, with material I've seen used in the sewing industry to stiffen waists and collars. Entretela, it's called in Spanish. It's a nice way of thanking customers in these times.
With the return to work for a lot of non-essential workers on Monday, the government also decided to hand out masks at various points of the transport system in large cities, subway and bus stations. But masks aren't obligatory yet because they're still not available for everybody. Hospitals, clinics, and nursing homes remain the principle customers. And they need them continuously, so the general public will probably have to wait a while longer.
In news from the outside world, there continue to be people with less than half a brain that don't want their doctor neighbors to continue to live in their apartment block. A gynecologist in Barcelona went down to the garage to get her car and go to work, when she found someone had spray painted "rata asquerosa" (disgusting rat) on her car, and slashed two tires. She and her husband reported it to the police and posted on social media. After that, she started receiving messages of support and encouragement. There are still more decent people out there than people with less than half a brain.
On a lighter, yet stranger side, a man who went to the hospital on Tuesday, in Girona, because he was feeling unwell, was admitted. He didn't want to be admitted, and insisted on returning home, but he was told in no uncertain terms that he had to stay in his hospital room. A little while later, they discovered he was gone. A special protocol was put in place, and he was quickly found at his home. He said he had gone home because he was hungry and wanted to eat dinner, that he would return to the hospital the next day, Wednesday morning. I assume the police who went to pick him up explained what a hospital kitchen is for.
An even lighter story comes from France. In Champigny-sur-Marne, to the east of Paris, neighbors were asking themselves why there was a zebra and two horses galloping through their streets. Apparently, they escaped from a zoo.
Life continues. Slowly.
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