Home is now on the 20th floor of a city hotel. Not at all what I'm use to, looking down upon busy streets. High up in our cocoon, we set out establishing new routines. We all have our hobbies; like to keep busy. There's Kindles loaded with books to read, crochet hooks and wool, a new Nintendo Switch. But we need exercise, I exclaim. Why? I'm asked. Because we can't walk outside. We finally agree on the skipping challenge on the Switch.
It dawns on me - we won't need to prepare meals for 2 whole weeks 😀 3 times a day there's a knock on the door; a brown paper bag awaits on the threshold. Inside, our meal. It's okay. Not fancy, but it's fresh and there's enough that we won't go hungry. As for any physical human contact beyond our little unit, there's none. Deliveries are left at the door, no one in sight. Though the phone has rung a number of times. Are you okay? Anyone struggling? Anything we can do? Such kindness; we know we are not forgotten.
We're all rather tired; internal clocks not yet adjusted. The flight's a familiar one; we've flown it enough times now, but it was different this time round. Flying during a pandemic is a surreal experience - people in masks, social distancing, orderly queues and airline staff in hazard suits. Shops are shut; there's a lot less travelers. The mood more subdued. Few are heading off on holidays; many are probably like us - traveling out of necessity. We experience the 22 hour flight from behind masks, apart from when we eat and drink. But it's not so bad. It's worse when you're walking around a hot airport. Then a mask can feel like a sauna. Arriving and it's health checks, more police, more army, more questions. Our temperatures are taken and we can finally leave.
Outside our hotel room, a man sits in the hallway. I noticed him when we arrived and I suddenly realise he's not going anywhere. He's making sure we're not going anywhere.
