The week our world shrank…

In the modern age of global travel, ‘the world is your oyster’ has become a well-used phrase, conveying a freedom to be able to go anywhere and do anything. When we began our travel expedition in late 2019, we certainly thought it was true for us (well, in Europe at least). However, as we left the shores of England, it transpires that COVID-19 too was stretching its legs beyond its suspected homeland’s border and was destined to turn our journey upside down, stopping us in our tracks. Suddenly, we found ourselves a world apart from going anywhere and from doing anything.

In early March, as we began to explore southernmost Spain, COVID-19 was (to us) nothing more than a smallish news story whose focus moved from China to northern Italy. As we discussed our plans to travel to Gibraltar and Portugal before returning to the UK in May, the virus simply wasn’t a feature, not with us nor other travellers we’d befriended. Yet, in a matter of days, it was to become not just the headline topic of conversation, but an unseen jailor that would close the door on the world beyond our doorstep.

As with other world-changing events, such as the fall of the Berlin Wall or 9/11, I’m sure that many people will always remember where they were when they went into lockdown. I certainly will but I will also remember the days preceding it too, as they were just as (if not more) significant for our family.

We’d spent a delightful few days celebrating mine & Bella’s birthdays at the pretty and well-appointed Camping Cabopino (located between Marbella and Fuengirola). We were drawn to the area by a church in Fuengirola (Ark Church) and to this specific holiday park with all that it offers, in particular the soft play that was Bella’s birthday wish. After making some great new friends at the site and making a connection with the church community on the Sunday, we dwelt here for a few days, and arranged to meet up with some of the church leadership the following week. As we’d ‘planned’ our tour through Spain, a trip to the historic city of Ronda had been mentioned a few times but we’d all but written it off until our new friends sold it to us, based on their visit. To us, Ronda had just been a picture of a Lord of the Rings-styled bridge crossing a deep gorge, posted by many a motorhoming traveller and, albeit intriguing, this was not enough to draw us there. However, our friends’ stories of this walled city with its sieges, bullfights, stunning views and unusual water mine (a what?) inspired us to take a mid-week trip before returning to meet with Ark Church again on the Sunday.

I’ll save the details of our three days in Ronda for another post but suffice to say, we loved the place and were so glad we went. Although it’s only a 90-minute journey from Cabopino, it is about 750m above sea level and therefore an epic climb up a twisty mountain road that resembles an over-stretched Slinky toy! I’m sure we were distracted by the fascinating city sights but it was only on the Wednesday did we begin to be properly aware of COVID-19. Looking back, the significance of Italy going into lockdown, cases growing in Spain, the Ark Church cancelling its Sunday meeting and even the panic-buying of toilet roll in the UK should have triggered more of an alert in us but somehow these things all felt far removed from our little world, somehow blurred out in the background of our lives. Even on the Thursday, when we learned that the Spanish government had ordered the closure of schools, we didn’t twig that things were about to become more severe. It was only on the Friday lunchtime, following an eye-opening visit to Ronda’s famous Bullring, when a friend messaged me asking, “How is the virus outbreak affecting you? Are you in Spain? Announcing a state of emergency from Saturday – I immediately Googled it and our world began to unravel…

What do we do? Should we stay here? Or go? Go where? Having no idea what this might mean for us we reached out to friends to pray for guidance and wisdom – and we began to consider our options. We could stay in Ronda on this cheap camper park (essentially a glorified car park but with plenty of shops nearby and places for the kids to play), we could see if Camping Cabopino had space and go there early or we could…? While we waited and considered our decision, we went to buy groceries. The small Mercadona supermarket we’d visited just days before felt very different, busier - and empty of toilet roll, kitchen roll, fresh meat and handwashing products. Now, this isn’t a very big store and I can imagine that its stock had been emptied by people shopping on a Friday early afternoon, having just discovered that their kids were going to be at home for the next two weeks. There wasn’t a sense of panic but there was definitely one of uncertainty, that something unusual was going on… and nobody quite knew what it was. So, we stocked up – which is about a week’s worth with the space we have – and yes, we bought slightly unusual meat, napkins and bars of soap because stocks of our usual items were sold out and we didn’t want to be unprepared for the unknown. As we walked back with heavily-laden bags we reflected on other things that were already changing around us; shopkeepers wearing facemasks, the children’s playparks which our kids had enjoyed the day before now roped off and the unusual, daunting atmosphere that the city streets had around them…

An email from Camping Cabopino sealed it; they had plenty of room, we could just turn up. So, we headed out from the mountains via a fuel stop (where we also obtained toilet and kitchen roll) on a journey we’ll never forget! Driving down this road is like sliding down an oiled helter-skelter, and the descent is fast (despite keeping our big motorhome well within the speed limits). About halfway down Charlotte cried out, “Jessica’s being sick!” Now, none of our family are prone to travel sickness (otherwise an extended travel expedition in a motorhome would never have been a good decision!) but perhaps the use of screens, the heat and this spiralling ribbon of tarmac conspired to cause the upheaval in Jessica’s tummy. By the grace of God, moments later a viewing point appeared, and we could pull off the highway (there are few places to stop on this road) and, thankfully, a motorhome is fully equipped to deal with such a situation! Credit goes to Jessica, who kept things to herself, to Rachel for calmly taking care of her and to the rest of us for keeping our cool as well. Given our already uncertain situation, this was not what we needed – plus with the light fading, it was all we could do to keep our mounting concerns under control and drive carefully to our destination. With digital road signs telling us not to make unnecessary journeys, we felt increasingly uneasy and were grateful we would at least be spending the night in a familiar place. Arriving at dusk, we pulled into our parcela (de camping) and breathed a huge sigh of relief, thankful to be able to rest our heads but wondering what the next day would bring.

Saturday was a strange day of privilege. By this time, we knew that the Spanish Government was deliberating its response to the virus’ spread, and we were in a weird limbo. It was a beautiful, warm, sunny day and the holiday park was almost business as usual. I say almost because, unlike the previous weekend, there were few Spanish people onsite – and only a handful of kids. This, therefore, was bliss for our girls, as they had the on-site activities all to themselves. With the site experiencing a calm like that which precedes a storm, they go-karted, clambered over the soft play centre, crafted, ascended the climbing wall, swam and played to their hearts’ content. Late afternoon, Rachel made a suggestion that I believe was truly inspired – wondering what the week ahead might look like should we go out for dinner? Never have I been so glad that we chose to do something in the moment rather than putting it off. To celebrate her upcoming birthday, we all put on our glad rags and took the short stroll to Andy’s Beach Bar, on the stunning beach. Going all-out and choosing the seafood paella as a special treat, we sat and feasted as the sun went down, making memories that will stay with us forever. Yes, there are photographs, but they are a washed-out copy of the images that are imprinted in my mind’s eye of the joyful family time we had that evening.

The next morning, everything had changed.

Late that night, the government had ordered bars and restaurants to close, and announced that on Monday morning the country would enter a national state of emergency (State of Alarm) for the next 15 days and people’s activities would be severely restricted.

I can usually tell when there’s about to be a snowfall, the cloudy sky turns an odd sort of yellowy grey, the air becomes thick and has a particular smell to it – not unpleasant but different. Sunday was like this. With the emergency conditions unclear but likely to be highly restrictive (and knowing that Italy and some parts of Spain were already locked down) we took every opportunity of freedom that was still available to us. The site’s bars, restaurants and kids’ activities were now closed but we went swimming, used the play park and went for a walk along the beach. The beautiful beach where we’d toasted Rachel’s birthday less than 24 hours before was almost unrecognisable. Gone were the people. Gone was the laughter, the music and the welcoming, open bar areas. Instead, we walked alone along the deserted beach, our journey framed by closed shutters, stacked sunloungers and emptiness; the soundtrack a stunned and fearful silence. As we walked back through the small harbour and residential complex I felt a loneliness I’ve never experienced before… this wasn’t a seaside town closed for winter, it was deserted, devoid of life and warmth, as if it’s inhabitants had simply upped and left, perhaps never to return…

Our world had begun to shrink.

How far and how fast our world had begun to shrink became clearer on Monday morning. The reception had social distancing barriers in place and notices about the State of Alarm and its conditions were placed up on site. We hadn’t really known what to expect, and not speaking Spanish, we weren’t able to keep up in real time with the announcements the Spanish government was making – we were totally reliant on English-speaking newspapers, social media and the holiday park to keep us informed about the situation. I guess we’d hoped that, as we were on a private site, our restriction of movement would be within it – honestly, I felt numb, and sick when we learned that we were confined to our ‘accommodation’. Our ‘accommodation’! To be clear, our ‘accommodation’ is defined as our ‘parcela de camping’ (our pitch) which is about 90m2 – enough room for our motorhome, awning… but not a lot more. No room for the kids to run around or play outside… nowhere to go – no space.

A lot of people have asked us how we would cope on our expedition with all five of us living in such close proximity to one another, and full-time, without friends or family to share the parenting, or even just hang out with. Surprisingly, it’s actually been quite a lot easier than we imagined. We believe there is a new grace that we share with one another, one we never had in our former life. For the most part, we love each other’s company and have quickly learned to manoeuvre around one another, physically and emotionally; discovering the shapes of the family jigsaw that we each represent, with edges that fit, rather than grating against one another. And, for those times when individual space has been needed, there have been playparks, beaches to walk on, a bar or coffee shop to sit in. But this was different. All of a sudden, all of those opportunities, places and freedoms that we’d taken for granted had been taken away from us – in a moment.

As our hearts sank, we wondered how far and how deep this loss of our freedom would go? Would we still be able to use the washblock, toilet, showers or laundrette? Sadly, I felt a growing sense of fear inside me; the fines for breaching the rules are heavy and the police and army (cars on site, helicopters flying over) came out in force to ensure that the lockdown is obeyed.

Within 24 hours the Spanish government announced that hotels and short-term campsites must close; ferry crossings were being cancelled and country borders were shutting too. France, Portugal and other countries were following suit… what would come next? I was concerned that we would be asked to leave, and go… Where? Back to the UK, with days-long journey? We left our home in England on a quest, travelling through Europe to find the answers to the questions about our life’s purpose that we’ve been seeking for years – was our journey to end here? If that was to be the case, then we would return but I hoped that it would not be the case. In the meantime, fellow travellers and holidaymakers around us were beginning to pack up and leave. While there was a true spirit of camaraderie, with people helping one another (from a distance of at least 2m and with a certain sense of trepidation that the police might turn up at any point) it also felt like people were jumping in lifeboats and escaping for safer shores. While we were feeling uncertain about our position, we prayed unceasingly about whether we too should head for our only legal option; our UK residence, but having not received any clear instruction to depart, we clung to the rock of our faith to see what would happen.

As the winds of change blew hard around us, the manipulative media seemed to be doing its best to unsettle us and those around us. Fear and confusion were being sown by conflicting messages and downright untruths - like news stories of Brits being kicked out of Spain… and we had to fight through the media, social media and even the word-of-mouth onsite to get to the truth. Thankfully, the British Consulate confirmed that we could stay if we wished. But here’s where we were… the girls were restricted to our pitch and we could only leave to get food or medical supplies, wash, use the toilet or wash up. I recalled an episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation where Dr Beverly Crusher is trapped in a bubble of Space/Time that makes it look like the universe is shrinking around her – but she’s the only one that can see it; people, even parts of the USS Enterprise constantly disappear – but as they go, those left never even knew they were there in the first place. This is how I felt, like our spacious world – our ‘oyster’ was disappearing like a rug pulled from under our feet – and we would be left without the facilities and comforts we’d become accustomed to around us and potentially with nowhere to stay.

Yet I have chosen a life based on faith. Placing my trust in someone greater than me to take care of me and my family is a life choice I make daily. And my faith is being rewarded with a greater truth of security than I could ever have imagined. I haven’t been given a spirit of fear, but of power, love and a sound mind. As I write this, we have been at Camping Cabopino for two months. The washblocks haven’t closed, the onsite shop has remained open and well-stocked (as have our local supermarkets, consistently better than in the UK I might add), there may be no-one living around us but we and the girls have been allowed to use the space to play and exercise in, we aren’t the only people on site (there are many people here; residents, long-termers – even a few short-termers and travellers like us). Our world did shrink. But it didn’t implode. It stopped shrinking and is re-shaping – even re-growing.

As I live through this lockdown, I’m learning a lot about the relationship between freedom and trust in the person who is greater than me – Jesus. Following His lead has led us out here and while where we’ll land up is unknown to us, I do know this - We haven’t been abandoned and forsaken. Far from it. Although our freedom of movement is currently restricted, there are many new freedoms of living we are experiencing – harmonious family life, rich learning and joyful hope – to name but a few. Our life does look very different now and our perspective on living is changing… Living here a different way is giving us a new ‘oyster’ – not a restricted world to explore – but an unfettered kingdom to discover, one that will never shrink nor pass away.