London in Lockdown

Rumour has it, the city is going to start reopening on the 15th of June. This means that non-essential retail shops (but not pubs, restaurants or hair salons) will start opening their doors once again. Whether the city and country are ready for this is a different matter entirely. My friends in China and across Asia are starting to resume business as somewhat usual--track and trace is in place as is compulsory mask wearing. The UK is nowhere near that. We're far too 'individual' for measures that would protect the common good. And so we will be here, in this no man's land of virus, for the foreseeable. 

As sod's law dictates, I can't remember a sunnier several weeks in London. We've had maybe one day of rain and 50 days of blue, blue skies and warm weather. What better time to hoof it over to Covent Garden and back?

On our Saturday walk, we were greeted with quiet streets just about everywhere. There were some people out. But some was not many and with shops still very much closed, people didn't mill about. 

Exmouth Market

 

Holborn 
Signs to remain two metres apart have become ubiquitous throughout the city. Tape lines spaced 2 metres apart scale the perimeter of grocery stores, corner shops and cafes that remain open.

 

Covent Garden
At the weekend, Covent Garden is usually teeming with street performers and slow walking tourists. We normally avoid it, pardon the pun, like the plague. Yesterday, we were greeted with a much serener scene. Actually, post-apocalyptic comes to mind; the entire centre was bereft of people.

 

 

Leicester Square
Leicester Square was even creepier. We actually didn't recognise it without the masses of people queueing to get tickets for the cinema, lounging in the square or um-ing and aw-ing about whether a third visit to M&M world was feasible. 

 

Had we turned left to Trafalgar Square instead of right into Chinatown, we would have been greeted with a more normal London scene. Thousands of protestors took to the streets for the first in a series of Black Lives Matter protests, another event added to the history of 2020. I'd like to hope we'll look back on this year in the future and see it as a major turning point against institutional racism, both in the UK and USA. But the news out of the US continues to terrify me. How do you fight large-scale complicity?

Chinatown
A short shuffle away, Chinatown's lanterns stood out in stark contrast to the empty. Some restaurants recently started opening to takeaway and so it was one of the slightly busier parts of the city.

 Soho
 Chinatown's 'busy' only made Soho's empty all the more stark. It was a little heartbreaking to see the normally bustling streets completely empty, cafes and restaurants largely shut up. The men of G-A-Y stood out front, dressed in drag, peddling smoothies on their smoothie bike. But that was about it. Iconic Bar Italia shut. Delightful Balans Cafe shut.

 Ormond Street
And so we made our way back to North London via the backstreets of Holborn. The blue skies were backdrop to the widespread green. We had moved from early spring to summer in the blink of a lockdown.

And despite the fear and tragedy of current events, we appreciated a moment to see London as we may never experience it again. From tiny backstreets to major thoroughfares, this city is a beautiful one.

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.

A Weekend in Malaga

Just before the madness of the current Covid crisis, some colleagues-turned-friends decided that a January weekend away would be the ticket for some winter sun. I almost didn't go; Tanzania planning had got the better of me and Paul's moved transplant date was the week after. Gratefully, my arm was twisted.

We left from school on Friday afternoon for a crowded Stansted airport departure, something we've now all grown to miss. Weather reports came flooding in (pardon the pun); parts of Spain were being wracked by Storm Gloria that would go on to kill 14 people, break meteorological records and cause millions of Euros of damage. Despite our doubts that our flight would even be leaving, we arrived, on time, into a storm soaked Malaga several hours later.

As our taxi hydroplaned its way to our Airbnb in the city centre, we noted the dearth of people and slid across the marble tiled city centre. Our accommodation was stunning and very central and gave us an advantageous view of Spanish life below.

The next morning we awoke to the fruits of Laura and Jayne's breakfast foraging of churros con chocolate, bread, meat and cheese from the local market. The weather let up, as in it wasn't pissing down, and so we eventually made for the drizzly streets of a very charming city.

Malaga is very walkable and is home to Pablo Picasso, a Roman Amphitheatre and the Alcazaba, an 11th century castle on a hill.

The rain made an extended visit unviable but we did stop by the Malaga Cathedral and its trees and trees of oranges, many of which had been battered to the ground in the storm.

The aesthetic of Malaga was one to rival every other Spanish city I've visited. Intricate tiled shop signs were everywhere as was colourful graffiti. And although Spain's dominion of empire is long gone, the lasting opulence remains, on the surface at least.

The rain came and went throughout the day. We took these little storms as ample opportunity to duck in to eat and drink our way through the city. From quiet restaurant to little corner bar to buzzing restaurant, we were found some fantastic spots including the Museum of Wine. We arrived almost at closing siesta time but the proprietor fit in a short tasting and we wandered the museum's exhibits, all in Spanish, until they closed. Our wine hostess also gave us some tips for the ensuing day--walk out of the city and do it early--people were going a bit stir crazy and the weather forecast for the next day was looking up.

We spent several hours in Malaga's finer establishments, headed back to the flat to regroup and then hit the town for tapas and live music late into the evening. Nightlife doesn't start early and so we timed it about right. But some of us may have been worse for the wear after a day of day-drinking into night-drinking.

On Sunday the sun came out and this little Spanish city burst to the rafters with life. We made for the port and La Malagueta Beach, a not too far walk from our accommodation. Better, further beaches involved a local bus and time didn't allow for that. As our Malagan wine lady had told us the day before, people were out in droves. It was impossible to get a table for six (or three) outdoors anywhere. The Spanish thrive in the sunshine and love being outdoors. Gloria had hamstrung them.

As Spain has imposed one of the strictest Covid lockdowns in Europe, I think back on our weekend away. If, after a week of being stuck indoors, Malagenans were feeling trapped, I cannot image how they're feeling now. Spanish life, much like many other Southern European nations, is meant to be lived out on the streets, with people, in the sunshine. I send them some of this current British sunshine. I hope we're all out of this soon.