The Best Laid Plans . . .
Welcome to my random musings about the world, on a weekly-to-occasional basis.
Where we are: We’re still in Phuket, which really wasn’t the plan. But we’re feeling fine now, after a fairly nasty cold (me), and a laughably mild cold (Lee).
The Best Laid Plans . . .
We’re spending the requisite ten days in isolation, because we do not want to infect anyone else. We’ve had plenty of spare time to reshuffle two weeks’ worth of plans. Unfortunately, the two weeks in question were much busier than usual (for us, at least). We had to rearrange a bunch of appointments, and postpone all the components of a visit to Singapore—flight, hotel, covid test, visa, insurance. So now we’re tentatively scrapping the Singapore plan entirely, and considering other options. Those other options change from moment to moment.
Welcome to travel in the age of Covid.
A while back I wrote about all the complications Lee and I encountered on our way to Iceland last year—expired Covid tests, missed flights, overnight delays, etc. Several folks messaged me to say the whole experience sounded terribly stressful. At the time, though, I was weirdly relaxed about it all—just another adventure.
This past week has been yet another step in my journey toward being a chilled-out human. I’m not there yet, but hopefully I’m making progress.
Full-time travel has changed my concept of time—this has been good preparation for a global pandemic. Lee and I are rarely bound by the same constraints that govern most people’s lives. (Note: sometimes I wonder if those constraints are real, or self-imposed, out of habit. I know that in my pre-travel life, I often believed I had to do things or be places that were, in hindsight, not that important).
We hadn’t planned to spend a month in this Hilton Garden Inn, but it’s not as if we need to be somewhere else. I’m bored with sitting in this little room for the last nine days, yes, but most of the world is in the middle of this Omicron surge—would I be any less bored if I still lived in the US, in a normal house or apartment? You tell me.
So what DOES stress me out, if not the sudden and complete disruption of all our plans? Disapproval. Being scrutinized by authorities. Being yelled at or criticized, like the time an immigration agent at Heathrow sharply told me never say that again, or the time a baker in Paris not-so-subtly reminded me that polite interactions begin with Bonjour monsieur, rather than I’d like two croissants, please.
Luckily, in most places I can’t understand when I’m being yelled at. And in other places, what looks like disapproval is simply the local resting bitch face, so I choose to ignore it. I think that’s one of the reasons I love Thailand so much—yelling at people is just not part of the culture. I’m a southerner; I’m more comfortable with fake politeness than honest conflict.
Even so, I really, really don’t want to cause a problem. I can’t bear feeling like I’ve offended someone—or worse, made someone sick. So here I sit, bored out of my mind.
Quarantine is not a terrible burden, if it’s a conscious choice. Give me half a day to prepare—gather up some supplies, get my head in the right space—and it’s manageable. But spring it on me at ten pm? Let’s just say graceful acceptance is not my default mode.
Take care,
Lisa
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