Stasis is the New Travel

There are four main rooms, a toilet and a bathroom in my flat. The roof terrace is approximately 4 meters by 2.5 meters. I know this because in the last 11 weeks of London quarantine, I've paced every centimetre of space from door to door. Frank takes a more leisurely approach, following the daily passage of the sun by stretching out over one sun-splattered surface to another.

In some ways, my unconscious mind saw the future coming. On new year's day, after a dairy-induced GERD attack and making my way to the wrong Chicago airport, I joked of my hope that the year/decade hadn't started as it meant to continue. Clairvoyance is not a gift of mine so I chalk my comments up to cruel irony. I wish the phrase 'flatten the curve' had not become so ubiquitous, that governments hadn't put profit over people so overtly and that I didn't have to become an overnight Zoom and Google Meet tech expert. But here we are in 2020 and the universe had other plans.

The first two months of the new decade, although 'rona free, were not without their challenges. Paul had his second transplant. One of his close friends died suddenly. I jumped through ridiculous hoops to take an intense trip to Tanzania with 34-students whilst continuing being a teacher in school with a very demanding parent clientele. Some lovely friends from the past came to visit. Coronavirus would later interrupt more from visiting. But I didn't know that yet.

The impending freight train came slowly, almost blindly to London. Clearly, it took the leaders of the British government by surprise as well. I remember laughing at a friend who predicted school closures in mid-feb. I laughed off the videos of people stockpiling toilet paper. I continued to buy a single pack of pasta during my regular shopping trip.

But parents started pulling their kids out of school. The streets of Central London got a bit quieter. My hands started cracking from the combination of hand washing and extraneous hand sanitiser use. Finally, Paul received a letter through the door highlighting his 'very vulnerable' status with the instructions to shield at home for 12-weeks. No going out, no further guidance. Impossible advice to follow considering his weekly hospital appointments.

My school building closed four days before Boris declared them shut. Our last day of 'normal' lessons was punctuated by a weird frenzy of 'when will we be back?' Even then, I didn't think. My unwashed travel mug remains on my desk at school, presumably in the advanced stages of science project experiment.

My last ride on public transport, a three-stop journey by tube to work, took place the morning of the 16th of March. I dropped into a grocery store for the last time the next day, to buy eggs for a birthday cake for Paul. And I bid an unknowing farewell to my boxing gym the week before, on the 10th.

Eleven weeks later, I am happy to report little (and some quite significant) victories:

• We've both remained, touch wood, corona-free.
• We're both still working from home and getting paid (a major feat considering the economy and shenanigans across the pond).
• Last week we finally managed to obtain an online grocery delivery slot. It only took 10 weeks...
• Online yoga and barre have been a lifeline. My sanity might be gone but my thighs are rock hard.
• My spinning studio has finally decided to rent out their bikes. Mine arrives this week.
• My knowledge of the neighbourhoods within a 3-mile walking radius of our flat is impeccable. I could pass The Knowledge, the infamous London cabby geography exam.

London remains somewhat beautiful in its random states of emptiness:

 

 St Pancras on a Sunday afternoon:

And I'm starting to get cozy in the uncomfortable idea that Summer 2020 will involve zero travel. I'm officially over the denial and anger phases and currently sit somewhere between depression and acceptance. It may take some time.

Summer travel is therefore likely to be of the virtual variety this year. So in an attempt to find the silver lining in this cumulonimbus nightmare, I'll be going back to those not-yet-blogged parts of summer 2019 and 2018 (eek). So I'll be taking you, via armchair, to Italy, Greece, South Africa, Mexico, in no particular order. I usually backdate these experiences to around the date they happened but I might switch that up this year. Watch this space.

And cross your fingers that the economists' viewpoint that the 'golden age of travel has ended' are wrong. I accept the need for smarter, greener, less environmentally impacting travel. But this cannot be the end. I'm not ready for that.

Northern Tanzania

Without going into significant details that would incriminate the Machiavellian capitalist machine that disguises itself as a group running schools, I will boil down the planning and paperwork madness of preparing for the school's 2020 Tanzania trip into one word: clusterfuck.

Suffice it to say, by the time the team of five teachers wrangled 34 16-year-old students onto the first of two flights, I was already spent. Fortunately I enlisted the support of great staff and we carried each other through the ten-days. My stress only manifested itself physically in the last day when I woke up unable to open my left eye. Cue crazy weird allergy/infection that cleared up the day after a proper night sleep in my own bed in London.

Volunteering

On the ground, our team of nearly 40 quickly ramped up into work mode. We were staying in a new accommodation walking distance to a new school that had received less international support than our previous location. The headteacher, a fierce woman in her 50s, greeted us and then immediately outlined all the work they needed doing. 

And so we got to the task of: breaking cement, mixing cement, moving cement, laying cement. And then: 'dusting' dirt floors in preparation for cement, a task that left you sneezing grey for three days; sanding and varnishing desks; preparing walls for painting, which often involved chasing large spiders out windows; painting walls; painting murals; moving 100kg bags of grain into the school's brand new silo. 

Unlike last year, there was a lot of work for everyone all the time. Our average day saw us at school from 9am until 5:30-6pm. And the kids were freaking fantastic. My school has a strict policy on photo permissions so no photos here. 

Excursions

In between the exhaustion of physical labour, we took the kids on the same excursions as the year before: to Materuni Waterfall, the 'Coca-Cola route' up Kilimanjaro, and on safari to the Ngorongoro Crater. 

Materuni Waterfall

Our trip to Materuni was made particularly special by the fact that we weren't allowed to swim this year. Protocol dictated students could enter the water up to their knees, not up to their waists, the height of the pool the year before. In the end, it turns out none of that mattered. Weeks of unseasonable rain meant that we were met with a roaring rapid of a waterfall and pool, no the trickle of years past. As far as 200 metres away from the entrance to the pool, we were already hit with the spray of the waterfall. The kids stayed well enough away. 

Kilimanjaro Trek 

Our day trek to Kilimanjaro was a bit more by the book. As per usual, some of the kids dreaded the hike up the mountain. We were only going up the Mandara Hut route, a climb to 2700m (we were already at 1870m so not ridiculous). The route looks like your typical forest with no real lookout points or views--you're too far down the mountain for that.

                                            

I stuck to the back with a group of three students who'd accidentally huffed paint fumes the day before. It really was accidental and after it stopped being scary, and we ascertained the students were going to be just fine, we all had a good laugh. 

But I won't bore you with those details.

By the time we got to Mandara Hut, so had the rain. So we sat in the covered picnic spot, ate and turned on a dime to make it out of the park before the 5pm exit cutoff time. I thoroughly enjoyed the 35k step walk through the woods and the bus ride home was silent, which I also enjoyed. 

Safari 

Rightly so, the event that everyone was looking forward to was our safari to Ngorongoro Crater. This involved a very long drive through Arusha and then up through safari land. Our driver gave us a good tour as we passed through Mosquito Valley (home to an alarming number of malaria cases) and got to watch sunset over the land of Tarangire National Park. Watching the passing scenery gave further context to a country and its people. 

We arrived at Haven Nature Lodge, in dwindling twilight, making time for a quick dinner and even quicker sleep before the 4:30am start. 

Once in the crater, a sense of surrealism takes over. Is this the same planet I live on? Are those animals real? I talk more about the geography of this particular location in last year's post so I won't repeat it here. But, honestly, you still have to convince yourself that this place is real. 

Over the course of the day, we'd see four of the big five (still no leopard) and get stuck in the mud and have to be towed by a tractor out.

None of that mattered though. We were on safari. 

And thus ended the glorious excursions of the 2020 Tanzania trip. We headed back for a final morning of work and thank yous at our local primary school, something I missed out due to the ridiculous swollen shut eye. The kids came back with full hearts, grateful to experience life on a different part of the planet. My concerns about the sustainability of volunteer trips remain but my paperwork and fights focused on the notion that, with our trip, we're doing the best we can to be local, sustainable and ethical. The debate, however, rages on.