It’s 2am in Greece. And I’m wide awake. The middle of the night here means the middle of the day after in New Zealand. And because I’ve done all sorts of upside-down and back-to-front cat-napping, my body clock has no idea what in the world is going on. Or where in the world I am, for that matter. The 17,509km journey from Wellington to Athens consisted of four flights, plus all the necessary and unavoidable kerfuffling in between. And there is an additional something about travelling east to west, against time, that is particularly muddling.
I arrived at Eleftaherios Venizelos airport in Athens yesterday at around one o’clock in the afternoon. Local time. Apparently. I walked across the road to the hotel, checked-in, and took a long hot shower to wash off the last 36 hours. And the corona. Because I felt like I must be covered in it. It was fairly anxiety-provoking, having been so cosseted in New Zealand, to cross the threshold into the rest of the world. And although I understand much of that notion to be pure imagination, passing through border control, security screening, and then being handed a mask, a packet of antibacterial wipes, plus a full-on face shield, didn’t make it seem so.
As you might well know about me by now, metaphorical monkeys, and sometimes squirrels, get to work in my mind from time to time and cause me to wobble. And in the days preceding this journey, I was perhaps the wobbliest I’ve been in as long as I can remember. I barely slept a wink on Monday night and then struggled with waves of disquiet all day on Tuesday. So in between old black and white movies on the telly and catch-up sleeps on the sofa, I busied myself with other things that got me out of the house and moving. I even met a neighbour for a coffee and a date scone, and was introduced to Alex Beijin, the mayor of Martinborough. He was a welcome distraction and seemed interested in my story. Such that it is.
The airport at Wellington was quiet. There were very few passengers milling around and all but one of the shops were closed. But that first flight, a short hop to Auckland, didn’t feel too weird at all. Not really. On this flight, only face masks were mandatory and seating was organised so that no one had anyone sitting immediately next to them. Unless, of course, they were travelling together. No food was served and I didn’t use the loo. But I was well aware that I wouldn’t survive the subsequent flights this way. I did have a wave of emotion as the plane took off but nothing that lasted very long at all. In fact, I surprised myself. I had expected tears by the bucketful. Sap that I am.
The layover in Auckland was a long one and, once again, the airport was eerily quiet. Nearly every shop was closed and the few people that were there, kept their distance. I got the impression everyone was at least a little weirded out by it all. I certainly was. But it was at the departure gate when they passed out the face-shields that things began to feel really strange. And added to this, no-one mentioned that we had to peel off the protective coating from the front and the back of our shields, so when I first put mine on, I couldn’t see a thing. And was very concerned about how this was going to impact on the movie watching marathon I had planned. But thankfully, a silent wave of realisation passed through the lounge. I like to think I wasn’t the last to know, but quite honestly, I can’t be sure.
The flight from Auckland to Brisbane was just over three and half hours long. And I managed to squeeze in two excellent films. Motherless Brooklyn and Just Mercy. You might look them up. I really enjoyed them. And I ate. And used the loo. I suppose the whole thing wasn’t so bad after all. But it felt like a very solo experience and did take a bit of adjusting to. Looking down the aircraft and seeing row upon row of face-shielded passengers was just odd. And having everyone regard each other like they may be a potential health hazard, doesn’t create a particularly warm and sociable atmosphere. And that was noticeable. I’ve loved meeting friendly faces embarking on their own adventures whilst I’ve been on mine. Some of those five-minute friendships have been more valuable than I ever imagined they could be. And they’re difficult to come by in times of Covid.
By the time we got to Brisbane. It was past my bed-time. And after an hour and a half in the airport, I was delighted to board my next flight, to Doha, and find not just one, but two seats next to mine were unoccupied. The crying baby in front wasn’t going to bother me either because as soon as supper had been served and I’d watched Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, I put my earplugs in, snuggled down (as much as my face-shield would allow) and was out like a light. It was a pretty good sleep, all things considered. And on a thirteen hour night-flight, a real godsend. I woke up just in time for an unusual but surprisingly delicious breakfast of bread pudding and managed to squeeze in another two movies, Honey Boy (I knew those tears were in there somewhere) and Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri, before we landed.
Ahmad International Airport in Doha was busy. There were still plenty of face-masks and shields in evidence but they seemed not much more than a cursory nod towards regulations in many instances. Masks as chin straps or shields as hats didn’t fill me with confidence and I wasn’t convinced that everyone was taking things as seriously as me. And it turns out that masks worn with noses peeping out really bother me. Social-distancing wasn’t quite what it could be either. So I found a quiet spot and, after I’d updated my nearest and dearest with my travelling progress, I began to count down. I was approaching the last leg.
That last hop was a breeze. And arriving in Athens was a thrill. I felt a huge wave of excitement. And then another of slight apprehension when I found out I was going to be Covid-tested. It was all a little chaotic and no one really seemed to know what was going on. Men in uniforms and army boots shovelled us into a huge snaking line towards a hub of four make-shift testing cubicles. I waited my turn, opened my mouth, and was swabbed. It was easy. 24 hours and I’ll know the results.
It’s been almost a week since I arrived in Athens. My test was negative. And now it’s been four days since I arrived in Crete. To find my tanned and smiling Ma poking her head around the baggage claim door at Sitia Airport. As soon as I saw her, the last year of not seeing one another melted away.
Tomorrow, it will have been a year since I left London. I plan to keep writing because although in many ways it feels like my journey is over, it’s also not quite. I feel like I’m home, but I’m also not home. And still, there is diving to do.
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