I’ve reached the end of the road. And I need to say it out loud. I’m not sure who I think I’ve been kidding, other than myself of course, but I’ve been hanging on by a thread for a while now. Treading water. Staying present. Keeping an eye on possibilities. Exploring options. But, when all is said and done, the time has finally come to head back west. Thank you, corona.
I’ve had this realisation from time to time over the last few months. And at those times have felt more or less resigned to the fact that travelling, at least in the way that I was travelling, was over. But up until now, those resignations have only been temporary. Because hope, or perhaps it was simply obstinance, always seemed to win the day. Although it wasn’t a joyful kind of hope. But more an uncomfortable, hope-against-hope kind of hope, that maybe, just maybe, I could squeeze a tiny bit more out of this.
I was feeling hopeful when I applied for an extension to my visa just last week. The clock was doing that thing it does sometimes and speeding up as I headed into my twelfth month away from home. So I thought that with a visa extension, I might buy some time. I had imagined a year away would be my lot when I first set out from London but I feel so cheated by the skids brought about by COVID-19, that the idea of eeking things out a while longer consoled me.
But now, with the recent resurgence in New Zealand, it looks like my goose is well and truly cooked. On Wednesday, after a 24-hour warning period, Auckland went into a region-wide Alert Level 3 lockdown. Whilst the rest of the country is living in the limbo that is Alert Level 2. We’re set to stay this way for at least two weeks.
From what I can gather, this wily virus managed to find its way into an unfortunate Auckland resident via an international frozen-food storage company. And then completely unaware, he and his family went on quite the tiki-tour in and around Rotorua and Taupo. Those towns with the geysers and thermal springs that I had visited just a few weeks ago. It is disheartening, but a second outbreak was not altogether unexpected. Despite the previous 102 days without any community-based transmissions, the message from the government over the last few weeks made it clear that the question was not if, but when.
So with this news, the chances of a Pacific Island travel-bubble are scuppered. And there’s no amount of hope, or obstinance, that can get around that. So here I sit contemplating a flight to Athens and a short hop to Crete. I’m thinking of it as a bridge back home. It seems I’m still not willing to completely give it up.
In the meantime, whilst I’m mulling over these things, sweet Jimmy Dee and Ed are being beyond generous. The home they have welcomed me into is the absolute epitome of style and comfort. And I’m full to over-flowing with delicious cakes and pastries and full-bodied New Zealand wines. I’m still enjoying my twice weekly forays into the world of garden maintenance (I was let loose on a rose bush with a pair of secateurs last week and felt very accomplished), and have also discovered, Love and Core, the local yoga and Pilates studio. It’s such a lovely community, set amongst the vineyards, and they’re making this Lockdown Lodger feel very welcome. This morning, I crept out into the dark and to my first sunrise class. The air was crunchy and fresh and the sky was beautifully clear. Venus shone brightly and the moon and the stars were also doing their thing. I was the first to arrive so found a spot near the heater at the back of the studio hoping I’d get the feeling back in my toes before our first sun salutation. Slowly the room filled up and after the initial smiley good-mornings and greetings, the chatter turned to farming and lambs and pregnant cows. And the feeling of ‘what am I doing here?’ made me smile deep down inside.
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