After I barely made it back from a trip to the Middle East before borders closed, and the reality sank in it would be months, perhaps years, before I’d be flying again, I told myself I wouldn’t.
Wouldn’t think about how much I missed international travel when so many others are suffering real loss and hardship. Wouldn’t talk to other people about it. Certainly wouldn’t write about it.
Then this past week I went looking for some gift wrap in the spare room and noticed our rollaboards were dusty. Dusty! They looked pretty sad, too. (See photo.)
My resolve broke. Here goes.
The last time Husband had a chance to restock his supply of conditioner from a hotel shower it was still winter. I haven’t enjoyed my usual at-the-airport morning meal of a green tea and scone from Starbucks since March, 2020. It’s been so long since I’ve set foot in my second home—an airline lounge—that I’ve lost my membership card. Which doesn’t matter a huge amount as most of the lounges are closed.
What does a more-than-half-time global traveler do in a world without international travel? In this prolonged season of the virus, it’s been a curious no-man’s-land for those of us used to playing George Clooney in Up in the Air to go overnight to playing Bill Murray in Groundhog Day, reliving the same morning again and again, even as we know the only way to break the cycle, by flying into another country tomorrow, is unavailable.
It’s been months since I rode the Metro or the Tube. I pine for sprints to the station and the puzzle of foreign ticket machines. Never is the gap between “virtual” and “reality” more pronounced than when it comes to a tour of the Piazza San Marco. A friend sent me this Lin Yutang quote: “No one realizes how beautiful it is to travel until he comes home and rests his head on his old, familiar pillow.” I hear you, with an emphasis on “familiar.”
I haven’t taken my passport out of my desk or used my international driver’s license or watched an airline safety video on a seat-back screen in more than twelve months. I can’t remember the last time I saw a bag of pretzels. If Hell, as Sartre declared, is other people, then not mobbing Gate B36 with 295 fellow travelers may well be limbo.
For now, I’m ordering conditioner for Husband online and trying to remind myself of the benefits of staying put. You know, the topic of every other I’m-missing-travel article—the chance to slow down, see where I live more clearly, connect better with friends. Blah, blah, blah.
These vaccines cannot come soon enough to the world.
In the meantime, stay safe, everyone. And thanks for letting me whine.
