Life is a rollercoaster: Part III: The beginning of the end.

It was March 16, 2020.The world had been in turmoil for several days because of this virus that had broken out in China. Personally, I saw it—perhaps like many others did in the beginning—as something happening far away from me. At work, however, I noticed that something was amiss. Suddenly, the Austrian guests were called back to their country because Austria was about to close its borders... And so the building where I worked at the reception desk emptied out.

Not long after, Germany and Switzerland followed, and we were left with no guests in the appartment complex. This was serious. As the only foreigner among Canarians, I was the first to be let go.

The moment I read my termination letter, the world stopped turning, and time stood still. I was sad, because this was the first job i got with a permanent contract, something very rare in Spain... Like many others working in the tourism sector, I had to go on unemployment benefits—something I hadn’t done in years. In Belgium, I had never collected unemployment, though in Spain, I had done so briefly between jobs. At the same time, my boyfriend also lost his job as a taxi driver because the island was slowly being deserted by vacationers. It was unsettling. Suddenly, restaurants were closed, all shops shut down except for supermarkets and pharmacies. The streets were deserted. The hotels we used to pass by, where music once boomed from the speakers, had fallen eerily silent. It gave the place a lifeless feeling, like a ghost town. Strange, eerie, and abnormal.

At that time, I had been living in my apartment in Las Palmas for just 9 months. In the northern part of Gran Canaria, there were fewer tourists, so you could still see some people out on the streets. My boyfriend was renting a room from a friend of his. Unfortunately, the Spanish government had imposed a ban on traveling between provinces, so we lived apart in quarantine. On the one hand, that may have been for the best...During those six weeks of confinement, I hardly got bored. I went for a daily walk and also walked to the supermarket, which was a little over a kilometer away.

Until we received a timetable with the designated times for going out, categorized by age groups. The elderly could take their walks in the morning, the youth in the afternoon, and us adults in the early evening. It all felt very strange, as if you had to stay in line, and I found it all excessive. In Las Palmas, you could always spot someone walking their dog, no matter the time. After all, the poor things had to do its business too. The world had truly been turned upside down, and I wondered how far this would go...

After six weeks, in early May, the provincial borders reopened. I immediately hopped on my scooter and rode to the south to pick up my boyfriend. He had packed a backpack, and we returned to my apartment, with me riding the entire 53 kilometers as a passenger. It was exhausting, of course, on the highway, but I didn’t care—I had to have him with me after all that time. Meanwhile, the paperwork had also been taken care of—all digital, which was a huge step for this laid-back, slow-paced island. So, I received a kind of monthly basic income (less than €700) to cover food and bills. Fortunately, the bank had suspended my apartment mortgage payments for a year. If that hadn’t happened, it would’ve been a disaster, so I was grateful that it was all arranged automatically. My boyfriend moved in with me, and we actually enjoyed living together—something I’d never really done before. I had once helped a friend who needed temporary housing for a few weeks or a month, but living with a partner was new to me.

Of course, it came with its challenges. Neither of us was working, and we were in each other’s company 24/7. Sometimes that was really fun and amusing; other times, we got on each other’s nerves, and he’d go for a jog or I’d take a walk. After a few months, he asked if I’d consider renting a room to a colleague of his, a taxi driver who had ended his apartment lease and was preparing to return to Colombia. After thinking it over and meeting his colleague, I agreed. Walter lived with us for two months, which was nice but brought its own dynamics. The man loved to talk—we had constant discussions about all sorts of topics. He also taught me how to cook a typical Colombian dish, lentejas, which I still make occasionally.

This period was challenging in some ways because I had always valued my privacy, and suddenly I was sharing my home with two South Americans. But oh, how enjoyable that time was. Walter often went out for walks to give my boyfriend and me some privacy. They’d drive to the south once a month to pick up food from the food bank and returned with supplies like rice, pasta, eggs, milk, and more, enough to get us through the month. We shopped together, which I liked. Walter also contributed to expenses and paid the rent for his room on time. The two months flew by, and he eventually returned to his family in Colombia, leaving just the two of us again.

After a while, arguments resurfaced, and our finances became strained since I was always the one paying for groceries. When the last basic income payment arrived in mid-October, I had to find a solution to make it through the following month. The thought of returning to Belgium crossed my mind, but I didn’t want that—especially not with winter approaching. There had to be another way. I tried applying for the minimum income after my unemployment benefits ended, but it was denied. I also registered to qualify for food bank aid, but the municipality never got back to me (I later found out they’d forgotten to return my call).

Job prospects were bleak at the time, especially for a foreigner. The locals, the Canarios, were given priority, which I understood. With a heavy heart, I decided to sell my scooter in November, on my boyfriend’s birthday. I would’ve liked his help with this since, although my Spanish is very good, I wasn’t confident about the technical terms for the scooter. But he left me to handle it alone, and it worked out fine. I submitted the paperwork, and voilà—I had enough money to buy food for November through mid-December. My boyfriend didn’t always go to the south to the food bank at the beginning of the month, partly due to a lack of a car, so it would have to be up to me.

This situation led to more arguments, and by the end of November, he moved back south to rent a room from someone else. He did qualify for the minimum income, probably because he has a son (albeit in Madrid). And so, there I was in December, a month I’d always found the most depressing of the year (although on Gran Canaria, it wasn’t so bad). I realized I’d probably have to return to Belgium. But stubbornly, I decided I wouldn’t leave in December. So, I stayed in my house in Las Palmas that month, deeply reflecting on my life and my next steps, while my savings slowly melted away like snow in the sun. To be continued...

Photo: Meditation at Amadores Beach halfway March 2020.