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A year ago around this time...

I don't know how the world is today, I don't know what we've learned, what we've unlearned, nor how truly affected we were by all this madness that #CoronaVirus caused. I just know that for sure we will look at everything that happened, at everything we were until then, and at what we have and how we are today in a different way... always searching for the next Sweeping Curves. But in these days a year ago things were more or less like this...


In the Czech Republic nudism continued to be allowed in designated places, as long as... with a mask. A different way that the Czechs found to start gradually lifting the restrictions imposed by #CoronaVirus.



In Reguengos de Monsaraz, there were those who set to work to give more volume to a national Gin. An initiative that aimed to help #Covid19 first responders which needed alcohol to disinfect.


Less noble, horrendous, in New York, the city that suffered most from the pandemic in the United States, the unclaimed dead were buried in mass graves... Something no one thought possible in the 21st century in the "Land of the free"!


In opposition, in Svalbard, well inside the Arctic Circle, the only Portuguese to live in the Norwegian archipelago with his family, reported what it was like to live isolated, but without #CoronaVirus around. It was "okay, the sun outside and... -19ºC"!


Meanwhile, motorsport left in limbo more than 13,000 km of competition between postponed and canceled races in Formula 1, World Rally Championship, MotoGP, Endurance World Cup and Formula E, just to mention a few. A clearly unusual year for motorsport lovers.


At the same time, all over the world, the planet took advantage of the general shutdown and recovered a little. With more than half of the world's population in social confinement, restricted from moving around, or severely limited, pollution levels are plummeting everywhere. Even Mount Fuji became more visible.



Around here, past the door of my house, mine, yours, his, hers, all of us, closed, prevented from playing in the street, or at school, with friends, the children asked for help. Some with tantrums, others, unfortunately more fragile, called the SOS Criança line, doubling the flow of calls.



Next door, in Spain, we received the news of Luís Sepúlveda's death. A skilled storyteller, born in Chile but living in Spain for a long time. A writing that holds, that is addictive... The books remain, one of them, my first, the Patagonia Express... What a trip! The first of a few with Sepúlveda and which I now do with the same pleasure.

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