Life in Aruba. Living on a 12 square meter sailboat that cannot sail at the moment.
With us, too, every day looks like the previous day. We spend most of the time on board. We make lists of what needs to be looked after, maintained and repaired at Sissi. We sweat. It's warm here.
If we want to take a few steps, we usually stay in the hotel complex to which the marina belongs. Fortunately, we can see a lot of animals at work here.
If the epidemic is rampant in the hotel, we will have it anyway. I do not believe that. In any case, the Arubans are very disciplined. When I went to the hotel last night to take a shower, I just got there at prime time. There is a disinfectant dispenser at the exit and the employees have disinfected their hands one by one.
Today the cashier is sitting alone in the supermarket, apart from me there are no customers. I can choose between three different types of toilet paper. After the checkout, the cashier wipes the area around her with disinfectant.
The seagulls don't care, they screeching loudly about the fish. Casinos, shoe stores and all the fashion stores in the city center are closed. That has something to do with government rules only indirectly. The decision to close Aruba to all arriving tourists leads to an absence of customers. It is no longer worth keeping the shops open.
I can imagine that many people would like to have our problems. Get stuck in a beautiful place in the Caribbean, have the whole hotel beach to yourself and can choose between several dozen free sun loungers. The shuttle boat that transports hotel guests to the hotel's own island is no longer well frequented. I am waiting for operations to be completely shut down in the next few days.
Bars and restaurants have to close at 10pm, which is one of the few restrictive government rules.
We can't always stand it on the boat. Sometimes we have to go outside of going to the supermarket. We are better off than our friends from the Roede Orm, who are basically locked up on board in Lanzarote. There is a curfew in Spain, which is also strictly controlled. But we don't overdo it either, foregoing excursions by bus across the island.
Next to our regular butcher is a small sports bar. We visited them once yesterday evening. At a distance from the other guests. It's not difficult because there isn't much going on. Neither in the streets nor in the bars. The barmaid kept wiping the counter. The notebook, on which guests can also enter their music requests, was disinfected by her every time a guest had his fat fingers on the keys.
We met Richard, an Aruban who installs fitted kitchens and maintains kitchen appliances. He has traveled all over the world, was in Holland, Germany and Australia. Richard asked what country we come from. Then he went to the music notebook and selected a title. It somehow suited the overall situation. Richard chose it especially because we come from Germany.
We hope to meet our friends from Chapo again this weekend. They still have 300 miles to go. The honorary consul said to me that the authorities are already biting again and want to steer the Chapo to Curacao or Bonaire. I don't know how much I should pass on to Jutta and Charly.
It would probably be best if Charly drives the Chapo into the harbor at midnight and throws the ignition key into the water.
We read the German and Dutch press on the Internet every day. We are informed. We are fine and yet we are unspeakably lonely. In my opinion, a good column was that of Sascha Lobo in Spiegel-Online Panic of reason. You should definitely read it.