2020: The First Six Months

in #travel3 years ago

What an odd year it's been. Someone mentioned the Aussie fires at the beginning of the year, and I thought - wow, yes, that happened to - it felt like the whole country was burning. That'll happen in America too, and the Black Lives Matter - and the UK will have Brexit going on still and the whole world will lose millions of people. I feel a lot calmer now, facing summer and Christmas with the family, but boy it's been a rollercoaster. We've had extraordinary times, and difficult times. I thought I'd dig into my google photos that show exactly what we did this year - which is a lot, all things considered. I've tried to keep the word count down - nothing you haven't read before. It's more for me to realise that the year has been more than the pandemic, but boy did it colour things!

January

On the first day of the year, we worry about World War Three and the pall of smoke that covers most of Australia. The shroud drifts across the sea as far away as Tasmania. I can't breathe, and spend a lot of time indoors. When I'm outdoors, I'm at the beach or at yoga. Jamie works on the Landrover. A virus is making the news in China. The signs 2020 is shaping up to be a tough one is hard to ignore. I go surfing with Dad, and buy a new surfboard.


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February

I still feel stressed, which I will do until about late August - my nervous system is that fucked, but it's nice not to go back to work and I feel the excitement of travelling looming. I obsessively tidy house and organise it for the housesitters. Morrocco, Greece, India - well, nearly the WHOLE WORLD, here we come.

We go on a short camping trip after creating a camper in the back of the Landie. The nut and bolt restoration of Buttercup is complete.

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We wear face masks on the plane. Dad thinks we are crazy for leaving. We're like - nah, she'll be right! Famous last words.

March

We are in India and I am in love. I swim in the Ganges and eat a lot of good food. We are very conscious of hygeine - there is a lot of talk about the virus. The virus hits Delhi, and then one morning, we wake up and the world is officially in a pandemic. A lot of travellers don't realise how serious it will be if they get locked down in India and I'll always wonder if they ever make it out in time. We fly out to the UK and I cry as I leave India. I write my favourite poem of the year on the plane.

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We arrive in the UK and buy a van. We still think we're going to Greece. Lockdown happens two days after landing. We're locked down at my sister in laws and I'm terrified I won't get back to Australia. The whole world is in panic. I start teaching myself photography in earnest, getting up very early. I learn a lot from the goddess Kali because things are moving fast and death and life are so present in the Spring here in England. I struggle a lot with freedom and realise how valuable it is to me.

There are kinder goddesses than Kali to kiss
Holy mother of the dark night
Where you howl and scream along the passage alone
The place she held your hands, but let you go.

Even in the morning she is there
Brandishing whips of thorns and nettles
Even in the kind spring, she is the wrinkled berries on the rotting floor
The entrails of field mice on the tarmac
The ticking dandelion clocks that remind you no joy ever lasts

She levers open your ribcage and slaps salt on all the wounds that tried to hide
Her mouth opens: the whole universe is black
You clutch and plead at her skirts, where the skullbones of foxes and crows rattle against the bones of man
You plead with her but she burns the world behind you

Spitting ashes from your mouth you paste over the hurts that won't stop bleeding
Kneel on the burning embers of the blackened soil

She embraces you in her strong arms
Mother that she is

Growls: Open your eyes.

And you sing Kali devotional.

April

We walk a lot. For miles, and miles, and miles. I commune with Mother England and her fertile soil, her hawthorns and her dandelions, her oaks and her nettles, and I fall in love with this beautiful land againa and again. We finish making the van. People are putting rainbows up in windows for kids. There are a lots of rules to follow and a lot of fear, but we are living rurally and Somerset is kinda a lawless place, for which I'm grateful.

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May

We are finally allowed to leave the county, but only if we don't stay overnight. We drive down to North Devon with the van and spend a day on the beach. Damn it's like heaven to get out.

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WE're still walking A LOT. Miles and miles. I learn a lot about family history through Ancestry.com and we visit all the streets my ancestors live on, dating back to the 16th century. We explore Bradford on Avon, Bath, Freshford, Glastonbury, Wells and more in between. Damn I love this country.

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We stay on a narrow boat, breaking lockdown rules a little, but stretching it as we are officially itinerant and a friend knows a friend with a boat. The canals are quiet - unusually so. Its fabulous. We drink wine, cycle, stand up paddleboard, live on the river for a few weeks.

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We visit a few sets of friends in Dorset - again, a day trip. The huge, huge cruiseships at Weymouth sit as eerie reminders of how much the world has stopped.

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We go to Lacock in Wiltshire, Kilve Beach in the Quantocks, Sandy Bay near Weston Super Mare. In retrospect, we travelled to a lot of places that we would have never seen had we gone to Greece. It becomes obvious the Europe trip is off and we won't go back to India. We fight frustrations and outright anger, and try to go with the flow. We realise it could be worse.

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I die my hair blue, because why not.


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WE're glad that we are staying with Jamie's sister - we seem to be the only rational ones in a world gone utterly mad. Everyone's so anxious and paranoid and distrustful. People are literally dobbing each other in for going out more than once a day or having a friend over. No one seems to trust anyone. No one seems to read the facts, only the sensationalism. We wonder what the facts are - it's almost impossible to know what's real anymore.

June

June is Jamie's birthday, which we celebrate quietly, with some (lots) of cider and ale. Why not. We can't invite people over. Social distancing is real. We don't see half the people we wanted to. My heart breaks in a million fucking pieces as I leave England.

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We spend a hellish two weeks in hotel quarantine. We get home by the skin of our teeth on reasonably priced flights because Jamie happened to see them come up on Emirates. We think it's a test flight, unadvertised. There's only 20 people on the flight and all the staff are in full PPE - there's a handful of people at Heathrow and Dubai and it's so strange. By Christmas, there's still 40,000 Australians stranded overseas and some are paying upwards of 15,000 for flights and the quarantine. We count ourselves as incredibly lucky.

We get out of the quarantine and couldn't be more grateful for 5 acres. The light hurts my eyes. I go surfing alot and we build a new chicken house. My nervous system is shot. There's been a lot of anxiety and worry floating around the world. Australia is going into it's second lockdown and the Australian borders are shut, meaning we can't travel around Australia like we wanted to.

I won't get a sense of freedom back for the rest of the year, and even as I write this, I'm not sure I'll feel freedom ever again - except in my own head and heart.

But for now, it's only June - there are months ahead, where I will find some peace and calm amongst the storms.

With Love,

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