If last week was one of those weeks I would like to file in a box, firmly shut the lid, lock then hide the key on the top shelf of my bookcase, this week I have wanted to throw the key away.
At the beginning of January I made the conscious decision (NYR): not to listen to the news, read newspapers or Facebook to follow COVID deaths and new infection rate etc. I was also fed up of people still promoting COVID as a hoax, refusing to wear masks or respect the social distancing rules.
But as with most New Year resolutions, by the third week of January I succumbed to curiosity after a chance conversation on WhatsApp with the family who reported COVID figures here were rocketing.
I had a quick peep at the FB Groups: SafeCommunitiesPortugal and CORONA VIRUS UPDATES – PORTUGAL and was horrified by the number…
For the past couple weeks, I’ve been extremely nostalgic about my travels, especially my trip to South America a little over 3 years ago (which I still need to blog). I’ll admit while I can accept having to stay home because of this ongoing COVID-19 pandemic, I’m frustrated and saddened about being unable to move about – leave the country, travel solo, quench my thirst for history, relax somewhere else other than home. And yes, exploring locally is an option… but for me, it isn’t the same, especially when so many places are still closed.
So it’s a coincidence that this came to me a few days ago. It hasn’t completely gotten rid of my frustration and sadness about having to stay put, but it can help put things into perspective. If you feel the same way, maybe it can help you too.
I don’t know when I’ll travel again. It’s bad enough I’ve not properly traveled since Algeria (still need to finish that series of posts…). I’m resentful/annoyed/pissed that I can’t travel. I had plans to go back visiting (to my other) home. I wanted to take a vacation just to relax… one of those rare vacations in which I’d maybe just lay on a beach or in a hammock and read and/or sleep, and not go off the beaten path at all (like I usually do and wind up coming home, needing a vacation from the vacation). I wanted to explore a few new states and check out some things off the beaten path. I wanted to see a few loved ones – spend time with them. Hug them. Normal human contact things… things we seem to be forgetting.
I’m not going anywhere for a good long while. Am I happy about it? Absolutely not. Would I like to stay alive and healthy for a good long while? Absolutely.
So there you have it – gonna continue to mask up, stay home (except when necessary), and stay healthy/safe. (Maybe this will give me time to finish up a few blog posts on here for once, in between pandemic stress management and baking as part of said stress management. Time will tell…)
I booked this flight about 6 months before departure. Accommodation sorted. At least 1 tour sorted. Basic foundation was already set.
But since this is me we’re talking about, nothing goes smoothly. So of course, bulls*** started just a few hours before my flight. Money, of course, because why not. But I wouldn’t let it deter me. It’d been almost 2 years since my last proper vacation (and I still have to finish those blog posts from that trip… so ashamed of myself.). Yes, there have been a few short jauntsin between, but nothing as long and far away as this. So no matter what, I was leaving. I needed a break from work, from life.
From New York City to Paris, France; a 5 hour layover there; then from Paris to Algiers, Algeria. I know that going through customs in a different country is annoying, but it’s to be expected everywhere and I deal with it. However, I wasn’t expecting to be interrogated by Algerian police.
You read correctly. I was interrogated by Algerian police.
I handed over all of my travel documents at the customs desk and thought that all was well, until I was told to “hold on for a moment”. I knew that some bulls*** was bound to happen because again, that’s just my luck.
Here we f***ing go…
Along with being exhausted, tired/sleepy from limited sleep, and in some pain, I was also angry and kinda scared. My French language skills are very limited, despite my attempts to practice before I left for this trip, and I don’t have any Arabic language skills. So while an officer was telling me that I’d be fine, my face clearly showed that I knew otherwise.
(As an aside, it “helped” a bit that another American woman – a government worker at that! – was also being interrogated. She said to me, “This is terrible, isn’t it?” I nodded with a scowl on my face.)
They opted to interrogate me outside of the officers’ quarters. A female officer who spoke English interpreted & translated for her fellow officers, and asked surprisingly specific questions about why I was in Algeria, what I do for a living, who I see and the age range of the population, etc. ad nauseam. Thank goodness, I didn’t have any reason to lie and was also smart enough to have access to certain things on my mobile phone to prove myself.
TIP: if your mobile phone allows, store your most important documents on something like Google Drive, and make those documents available offline while traveling. It may make a big difference for you in case of emergency.
After what seemed like forever, they let me go. One of the officers hailed a taxi for me and I went to my hotel. But alas, as is my luck, there was more turbulence ahead.
Last month, I visited England for a wedding. I was there less than a week.
Because of the nature in which I left England 4 years ago, I wasn’t sure what feelings would come up for me. England was my 2nd home. I’d begun building some semblance of a life there – building my career, traveling, visiting my 1st home at least twice yearly, trying to obtain dual citizenship, possibly venturing into the world of (British) dating, slowly growing friendships, etc. – when it was snatched from under me faster than the time it took for me to move there in the first place.
To this day, I can’t forget it. And oftentimes, since I left there, the months of August through October are sometimes hard for me because I remember the sequence of events that happened once I got the Home Office letter stating that I was an over-stayer. Time kinda froze.
So with that in mind as I flew to England for the wedding, I expected my emotions to be on the negative side. I got some advice before leaving to go there, from a few people in my small circle, to go with no expectations and cross bridges whenever I got to them. So I tried to do that. And to my surprise, I succeeded.
I had a very nice time.
I recently had medical issues and probably shouldn’t have traveled when I did; therefore, I couldn’t see everyone who wanted to see me, nor could I get around how I wished. But all in all, I truly enjoyed myself. I actually thought about moving back there again… almost. Hell, I won’t even lie… I’m still thinking about it on & off…
Anyway, while there I stocked up on cheese, tea and crumpets.
Although I couldn’t see everyone, I saw a few people whom I was meant to see. I won’t show their faces, but I’ll show some of what we ate. 😐
I had proper henna done for the first time ever, as part of the wedding.
I visited my old neighborhood, twice. The first time, I took a friend there who – believe it or not – just moved to England 2 months ago and wanted to explore a different neighborhood and borough. I took her to the local market I used to frequent.
And the second time was to visit my old flat. My downstairs neighbors still live there – as a matter-of-fact, they took over my old flat and the home is now fully theirs. After my departure, they didn’t want to risk any troublesome tenants moving in, so they took it for themselves. That humbled me then, and still humbles me now. Anyway, approaching my old door – as well as the street and neighborhood – was emotional.
(That’s a new door, by the way. It used to be a red door.)
I ate and conversed with them for a couple hours. Afterwards, I visited my old self-defense class and instructor. I couldn’t participate, but I enjoyed living vicariously through the students. Side note – only 1 of the original students from my class is still there.
(I miss class. It’s just not the same over here.)
And of course, I attended the wedding. I won’t show faces, but it was a nice one.
I appreciate the family inviting me. They’re like a 2nd family to me; I’ve discussed them here once or twice before.
Looking back, the visit was better than I expected. I saw a few loved ones, nervously returned to my old neighborhood, got my hair done, and brought home some very-missed British cheese, tea and crumpets. I couldn’t handle all of the business I wanted, but the major stuff was done and brought back. I’ll handle the other business (hopefully) next year.
I planned to never return to England again because although most of the time there was alright, the ending was horrible. But now, I’m glad I went, and I plan to return again. To visit or to live? That remains to be seen.
(P.S. By the time you read this, it’ll be 4 years since I left England. I scheduled this post like that on purpose.)
By the time you read this, I’ll be in London, United Kingdom to attend a wedding for a few days. As you already know, I left on sour terms 3 years & over 10 months ago, so this will be an interesting experience, to say the least. I’ll blog about it later. See you on the other side.
P.S. Haven’t forgotten to blog about my trip to South America. I still need a proper computer or laptop for my photos. 😒😒😒
So far, I have only 2 weekend trips planned, and that may very well be the extent of my travels this year. (My friend is getting married in England so if that happens this year, that’ll be another trip.) I’m back on my own, so I have to handle my responsibilities first. (American vacation time/annual leave doesn’t help matters either.) Hopefully, 2017 and beyond will be different, but for now it’s time to be an adult. 😐
How about you? Will 2016 be a slow travel year for you too (if you travel at all)? If so, how come? Where are you going? And if you’ll be traveling as much as usual, or more than usual, please share here so that I can be jealous. live vicariously through you.