Along Came Covid

In November 2019, we still questioned our decision to cross the Atlantic, but by February 2020, as fears of COVID spread in Europe and the rest of the world, our decision to exit in January looked prescient.

Was it intuition that inspired us to leave Europe or something deeper?

Though I loved travel and treasured our extensive European experiences, by early 2019, I felt an increasing sense of burnout. This inner conflict also made me feel guilty. Travel is a luxury, I told myself. I shouldn’t be complaining about a lifestyle others only dream about.

We’d been triangulating between three continents, Australia, Europe and America for the better part of eight consecutive years. There were days I’d awaken not remembering where I was. In the last few years, two new grandchildren had blessed our lives. Their little faces made me long for more time on the ground with our family. I missed our land-based friends as well. After spending so many years in transit, my heart pined for community, for deeper roots. This longing predated COVID by a year.

Despite arriving in the Caribbean in the prime of the season, Kevin and I had already made plans to take a break from sailing. I was grateful he listened to my need for closer connection with family. He kindly organized for us to haul out in Willemstad, Curacao, which put us out of the hurricane belt well ahead of schedule. We made a plan to return to the Caribbean in January 2021 to continue our sailing program and cruise the ABC Islands before sailing onward to Columbia and Panama.

In January, fellow cruisers quizzed us. “Why are you leaving at the start of the season?” They chided our plans to take a break from the rigors of cruising. By February, the same sailors who thought we were crazy for leaving in January were left scrambling for a berth or mooring. By then it was impossible to find a place to haul out. One after the other, Caribbean Island nations shut their doors. We heard horror stories about people getting caught without provisions, without a harbor, without a way out, a way in or a way back home. One young family we met in the ARC+ said without a safe harbor, their only choice was to sail back across the Atlantic to their home in Ireland.

Our decision to end the season in January now seemed to us more like some kind of precognition than a conscious plan. To our fellow cruisers, we looked like geniuses.

By March 2020, some people were dying, others were fighting over toilet paper. Pandemic memes and conspiracy theories proliferated. Australia called its citizens home while imposing a strict lockdowns. Borders to the outside world slammed shut and each of Australia’s seven states closed their borders to each other. Limited entry was managed through a strict 14-day hotel quarantine. The process allowed the government to slow the spread of COVID and keep the death rate to a minimum. At the time, the approach seemed prudent, responsible.

As the end of March neared, news that QANTAS grounded its entire international fleet hit the headlines. My heart raced. I felt a wave of panic. What did that mean for the ticket I held to fly to the US at Easter to see my family? I jumped on the internet to move my flight forward, but wasn’t able to.

Something’s up, I told Kevin. I don’t know what’s going on, but I have the sense if I’ve got to go now or I won’t get out, I said. I opened up search windows to three different US carriers on my laptop. Within the span of five minutes, my options were reduced to a single United flight. I immediately purchased a round trip ticket and considered myself lucky.

By June, lockdowns had largely been lifted and Australian life carried on as if the pandemic didn’t exist. Masks were no longer mandatory. The Zero COVID strategy seemed to be effective. At least for awhile.

Although I had been free to depart in March, I was also subjected to quarantine on my return six weeks later. Having mentally prepared myself, I didn’t consider the solitude an issue. I’d been assigned to the Intercontinental Hotel with a view of the harbour. My room was a generous size and included a mini fridge and a Nespresso machine. I had books, notes from my academic study to cull, the internet was free, and meals were delivered to my door three times a day. Kevin was at home a few kilometers away on stand-by to bring me my favorite Thai meal if I was desperate. I chose to think of quarantine as a 14-day silent retreat funded by my Australian tax dollars. The lack of fresh air drove me a little nuts, but I found ways to cope.

By the end of June, after I was reunited with Kevin, we learned that my intuition had been correct. When Australian citizens were no longer free to exit and re-enter the country, we suddenly lost the freedom to enjoy our nomad lifestyle. Strict criteria had been put in place. An application system governed a travel exemption system. Exemptions were granted on a limited case-by-case basis to those who could prove legitimate family hardship (ie, a dying loved one) or economic hardship (ie, a legitimate job outside Australia). As an Australian citizens, I was bound by the rules regardless of dual American citizenship.

My anxiety skyrocketed. I started experiencing panic attacks. What would we do? Given the debacle happening in the US, traveling there didn’t feel like the safest option. But there, we would be close to family. I feared for the health of my elderly mother. We could lend a hand. We’d have options. If we wanted to see Wild Spirit in the foreseeable future, traveling to the US would give us the best chance.

By November 2020, the Australian Government granted our travel exemptions. We circled the family wagons, hunkered down and held on to each other through the great storm of uncertainty..

We didn’t predict COVID, but the forced break from travel turned out to be the very medicine I needed. I never realized how much I yearned to feel grounded, to be stationary, to slow down, to be still. For others, the long winter’s night called COVID seemed torturous. To me, It was a welcome retreat. Following my intuition paid off dividends.

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Learning Our ABCs Backwards

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Blue Christmas