What an odd year - well, there's probably other, more significant words for it, coined by individuals to reflect their dis-ease with the proceedings. 2020 came into being on a wave of smoke and destruction and what we thought was a bad flu. We were hopeful as human beings are.
From the Spanish flu era by May Gibbs.
The daughter and myself travelled back just after the bush fires when the air was clean and cool again and we partied and caught up with friends that we hadn't seen for a year. And then blithely we decided to bypass Italy as they seemed to be in the throes of a flu virus and I landed in England, the daughter in France. I was on a plane without a mask, seated between two interesting gentlemen, an Australian who'd moved to England and was obsessed with food; the other from Sicily, living in Australia, going to visit his family, also obsessed with food. We exchanged Instagram names. We breathed the same air and thought nothing of it. We were hopeful that all would be well anytime soon.
In London, one Uber driver who was dropping me at Borough Market, suggested I didn't go because - you never know. But I ignored him and wandered freely, mask-less and fearless. Signs started appearing in bathrooms about washing your hands and singing happy birthday, twice. Being a law abiding citizen, I followed instructions.
I wandered far, I wandered wide. Ten days after arrival, I met a friend in Bristol and we went to restaurants, we went to gin bars. There was discussions about the virus but we just continued to sip on our Violet gin (can recommend). We were hopeful. We had no knowledge of anything being seriously amiss because we'd never had to deal without anything like this. A pandemic was something played out in movies.
We crossed into Wales and suddenly it all fell apart. The daughter rang from France and said she had heard they may shut the borders as cases there were out of control. Italy was losing their older generation, hundreds a day. I made the decision to leave as if in a war zone. Borders were closing, transport slowing. I managed to get on a train to London and then a plane to Bordeaux. I wore a mask. I tried not to touch any hard surfaces. I arrived and a few hours later France shut it's borders and went into lockdown.
At least I was with the daughter and her partner. Locked down in a little flat near the river. We could walk but not along the river. We could shop and because of the laws in France, the bread shops legally had to always stay open ,so croissants to keep up morale were de rigueur but we were quick and furtive and masked. The world as we knew it had ceased to exist but we were hopeful.
A month passed. Every country was now infected. We studied Worldometer upon waking for statistics. We thought if we hung out a bit longer, we could continue our journey. It was a winter virus after all. We were hopeful.
And then we weren't. We made the decision to head home. Paris airport was empty, it looked like a scene from an apocalyptic movie. We were lucky to be in the free quarantine program in Australia. I used the time to exercise, paint, blog, do online courses. Toilet paper disappeared off the shelves, sanitiser as well. But we still had hope.
But those hopes rose and fell as the months passed by. But Australia had it under control. We were vigilant and a small number of people made it easy to track and trace. And now, just before Xmas, as Santa was packing his sleigh and Mrs Santa had disinfected all the presents, Sydney was hit with mystery cases that day by day are escalating. And we are on the last day of 2020 and the world is back to where it was in April. New Years Eve looks set to be cancelled.
And yet, we are still hopeful. Hopeful for a vaccine, hopeful that the two year virus survival period will let Covid know that it's only got a few more months and it will have exhausted itself. Hopeful that our lives will return to normal. We are a hopeful race. I hope we can continue to be.
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