Spain recently ended an eight week period where citizens were allowed outside for only three activities - buying food, picking up medicine, or... walking the dog. Walking the dog!?! The most dangerous trip is perro-less. If I were in Spain, I would have (1) meekly complied until it was safe enough to (2) move out. And I guess this means my parallel universes of Spain and Boston would converge here, given how I recently concluded that if I were moving Boston would be my top choice. Bienvenido, Senor Timo! Have you read El TOA?
But in lockdown, I'm not so sure. My list sought criteria that made life good, but I ended up with a list of what makes life easy. Sure, running by the river is great, but sometimes I prefer running the streets. I'm sure wherever I live I'll find space for running because a good life is my responsibility. It would have been wiser to consider the opposite - what makes life bad? The answer is hardship, and in the context of place, that means hardship contributed by the location. Often, you don't get a sense of this until times get tough, and the place responds by lending a hand, or not.
I think the dog walking exception reveals something important about the country, something I wouldn't have understood on my own during fiesta times. I'm not sure what it means, exactly, that I have to stay inside while the dogs walking past wake me up from my third siesta of the day. All I know for sure is that if I were in that position, there is no chance I would stick around long enough to find out what happens next time.
