Thank you all so much for your responses to my posts on the Kindness Pandemic. I have been truly overwhelmed (in a good way) by your welcome home greetings, your best wishes and so many rich and encouraging comments. They have all given me a considerable boost and I feel like I am flying through isolation now. I would also like to let you know that I am not in a position at the moment to respond personally to all of your comments or the requests for connecting on Messenger or Facebook. But, again, they are all very appreciated. However, I will be reading through and cherishing all comments and I will endeavour to address your questions in my future posts. Thank you again for your generous #kindness. Dave.
Diary of a Quarantine Hotel Guest - Dave Petty
Hi my name is Dave. I am passionate about people – how people connect or become isolated, what gives lives meaning, purpose, happiness and contentment, dimensions of spirituality and traditions and different cultures. In recent years, this exploring has taken me to Europe, Vietnam, Thailand, Ecuador and Peru. Previously, through a number of vocational areas, I managed and developed people to realise their potential in the workplace and worked with those whose lives were compromised or curtailed through illness and disease.
Episode 1: Flying headlong into Quarantine
My self-talk, as my plane whirred and bumped through the last leg of a long journey home – the 14-hour flight from San Francisco to Sydney, was positive and jovial. I’ve just a spent nearly three months living under some of the strictest lockdown regulations in the world in Ecuador so isolation for 14 days in a Five Star hotel in the Sydney CBD would be the proverbial piece of cake. As I was about to find out, this was going to be a very different experience to that imagined.
But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I’d been travelling for almost four days from when I left Cuenca, the only option left for me to get home was via Quito and two ports in the USA. Therefore, I was not at all looking forward to queuing up to be processed, assessed, prodded and poked on arrival. But a very pleasant surprise awaited me and to this day, I remain very grateful.
I relished every opportunity to smile (behind my mask) and say “Gidday mate” to everyone I encountered instead of the usual “Buenos dias, tardes or noches” of the last twelve months. It seemed a real luxury to be conversing with ease in English to all the officials as opposed to the extreme concentration usually required of me to utter my sporadic Spanish phrases. In so many ways I was a happy chappy.
I walked into a very smooth and polished operation involving members of Border Force in all its entities, nurses, Federal police and New South Wales police and members of the military (Army and Navy). Medical assessment undertaken quickly and efficiently by friendly nurses, immigration and customs likewise and then through a ‘guard of honour’ of police and military as I emerged from the terminal, channelling me to one of the waiting buses. Suitcases taken by a young soldier who stacked them in the bus luggage compartment and then I was ushered on board.
I sucked in my first breath of crisp, Aussie, fresh air in that 50 metre walk from the terminal to the bus, my first in almost a year. Little did I realise it would be my last for another two weeks.
On arrival at the hotel, our coach was boarded by a NSW police sergeant who very pleasantly welcomed us and proceeded to explain the many rules and guidelines for the next two weeks and most importantly when and how we would be released into the wild at the conclusion of our prescribed sentence. I was delighted to find out that the day or night of check in was considered as Day 1 of the 14. It was already 9pm I felt like we had been granted a discount bonus on our detention.
We were then taken off the coach three at a time to be registered with the hotel reception staff and then identify our bags which had been offloaded for us. I was allocated a navy person who escorted me to my room, carrying my suitcases and chatting in a most friendly, hospitable and welcoming manner. Arriving at my room on the twelfth floor, I discovered I did not have a room key nor would I be receiving one, there was need for me to hold such an implement.
And so I was left on my own to settle into my temporary home. It was pleasant enough, comfortable and to some degree luxurious in a hotel-room-sort-of-way and definitely even more so after twelve months in Ecuador.
One final surprise was that we were to be served dinner, an Indian style beef curry and rice with juice and a tub of jelly for dessert. Not normally my choice at 9.30 in the evening but after a very limited food service in flight due to COVID guidelines, it was most welcomed.
So I settled in for night number 1, content with being on Australian soil again or at least twelve floors above it. I was thankful to be here and all that had transpired after my arrival.
But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I’d been travelling for almost four days from when I left Cuenca, the only option left for me to get home was via Quito and two ports in the USA. Therefore, I was not at all looking forward to queuing up to be processed, assessed, prodded and poked on arrival. But a very pleasant surprise awaited me and to this day, I remain very grateful.
I relished every opportunity to smile (behind my mask) and say “Gidday mate” to everyone I encountered instead of the usual “Buenos dias, tardes or noches” of the last twelve months. It seemed a real luxury to be conversing with ease in English to all the officials as opposed to the extreme concentration usually required of me to utter my sporadic Spanish phrases. In so many ways I was a happy chappy.
I walked into a very smooth and polished operation involving members of Border Force in all its entities, nurses, Federal police and New South Wales police and members of the military (Army and Navy). Medical assessment undertaken quickly and efficiently by friendly nurses, immigration and customs likewise and then through a ‘guard of honour’ of police and military as I emerged from the terminal, channelling me to one of the waiting buses. Suitcases taken by a young soldier who stacked them in the bus luggage compartment and then I was ushered on board.
I sucked in my first breath of crisp, Aussie, fresh air in that 50 metre walk from the terminal to the bus, my first in almost a year. Little did I realise it would be my last for another two weeks.
On arrival at the hotel, our coach was boarded by a NSW police sergeant who very pleasantly welcomed us and proceeded to explain the many rules and guidelines for the next two weeks and most importantly when and how we would be released into the wild at the conclusion of our prescribed sentence. I was delighted to find out that the day or night of check in was considered as Day 1 of the 14. It was already 9pm I felt like we had been granted a discount bonus on our detention.
We were then taken off the coach three at a time to be registered with the hotel reception staff and then identify our bags which had been offloaded for us. I was allocated a navy person who escorted me to my room, carrying my suitcases and chatting in a most friendly, hospitable and welcoming manner. Arriving at my room on the twelfth floor, I discovered I did not have a room key nor would I be receiving one, there was need for me to hold such an implement.
And so I was left on my own to settle into my temporary home. It was pleasant enough, comfortable and to some degree luxurious in a hotel-room-sort-of-way and definitely even more so after twelve months in Ecuador.
One final surprise was that we were to be served dinner, an Indian style beef curry and rice with juice and a tub of jelly for dessert. Not normally my choice at 9.30 in the evening but after a very limited food service in flight due to COVID guidelines, it was most welcomed.
So I settled in for night number 1, content with being on Australian soil again or at least twelve floors above it. I was thankful to be here and all that had transpired after my arrival.
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Episode #2: Settling into the new digs (9/6/2020)
Just a note of clarification before today’s post which I hope may prevent some potential confusion. I was already a few days into my quarantine before I was asked to contribute these posts on my experience. So the next few posts may, in fact, be two or three days together. However, they will be in chronological order (not like the current trend in Hollywood movies). By the way, Episode 1 was just Day 1 – arrival day(night)
I eagerly faced this strange new world with its highly regulated environment and routines, keen to settle into this defined period of my journey both to exploit ways to make it enjoyable and productive and, of course, the sooner it was complete the sooner I could return to my community from which I had been absent for just short of a year.
From the minute my flight touched down I had been swamped by glossy, professionally-produced colour flyers from all relevant government departments about every conceivable aspect of COVID19, customs and quarantine (Border Force), and quarantine for new arrivals at the hotel. I appreciated the efforts to inform us but it was rather overwhelming at first.
But the most valuable document was presented to us on arrival at the hotel. One could call it Hotel Handbook – how to live here for 14 days, the Isolationist Survival Guide or just simply six pages of closely typed instructions on how everything would work over the isolation period. It covered everything from a welcome, key points of contact, meal times through to how to organise the laundry service, organising a free trial for Netflix or Stan and websites for online shopping, meditation and exercise. This single document has made life here very simple and straight forward. The instructions were supplemented by other vital documents such as the daily meal menu from which I make my meal choices (a choice of two for each meal) a day in advance and the mini-bar menu. There is no stocked mini bar in the room, orders are processed daily but alcohol is tightly restricted – 1 bottle of wine per day or 3 bottles of beer. Ordering alcohol from outside sources is forbidden. So for those who think isolation will be best tackled through an alcohol-induced haze, sorry you’re out of luck.
The meals by the way are delicious and beautifully prepared under what must be very trying conditions. The menu has been prepared after consultation between the chef and nutritionists.
As I mentioned in my previous post, I considered myself an expert in this isolation business, having been in strict lockdown in Ecuador since 13 March. But, as I soon found out, this isolation is different and requires some adjustment to successfully preserve one’s healthy demeanour. Perhaps a brief comparison will help explain this.
The lockdown in Ecuador was implemented suddenly and without compromise. The government felt it had learnt a lot of lessons from the advent of the SARS virus and this time was prepared. Overnight all schools, universities and colleges were closed and there was a mad scramble to implement teaching online. This included private language colleges such as the one where I was teaching English. Borders closed, airports closed even inter-provincial travel was banned. Non-essential businesses were closed. In this case ‘essential’ only meant food outlets, financial institutions and telecommunications. But many of these closed also or opened only for restricted hours. All parks were closed as were restaurants and cafes except for takeaway and home delivery. A night-time curfew was introduced but this was quickly extended to 2pm to 5am. It was compulsory for everyone to wear face masks in public and to gain entry to a market required face mask and gloves, temperature check, hands sanitised and after a time, being sprayed front and back with disinfectant. There were many, many other measures implemented but the ones that affected me directly concerned restrictions on leaving the house.
Only one person from each household was permitted to leave the house and then only for one of five reasons. The only criteria that permitted me to leave my apartment was to go directly to purchase food or go to the bank and then return. These became valued excursions and over time I learnt the value of face-to-face human interaction even if through a mask (focus on the eyes) and even if just passing someone in the street with a cheery, brief greeting.
But I was one of the lucky ones. I had a good-sized balcony (quite rare) with views of the surrounding hills and mountains of the Andes with lots of sunlight to soak up. I lived in a small cluster of bespoke apartments gathered around a central garden/courtyard. This meant, in a way, we were our own small community so comfort could be had by at least calling out hello to other tenants and the occasional conversation. My neighbour was also a teaching colleague and so we were able to engage in almost daily conversation. As I said, I was one of the lucky ones.
Back to Sydney, Australia. Apart from the already mentioned no access to outdoor space or fresh air, a complete isolation for each person has been created. The hotel has implemented protocols that ensure staff presence on the accommodation floors is minimised for their safety, and rightly so. Meals for example are delivered in single-use takeaway containers with plastic cutlery all enclosed in a nice paper bag with string handles. These are dropped at your door accompanied by a knock on the door and a call of “lunch’ etc. By the time you open the door they are gone, a curved corridor also creates the illusion that they just vanished. But occasionally you can here them rustling and knocking further down the hallway and a call of “thank you’ is often answered with a distant-sounding “you’re welcome”. I’ll take whatever interaction I can get. The childish imp in me plots and plans how I might ambush them from behind the door but then, reluctantly, I grow up. Should, in a rare case, an encounter with a staff member be necessary, you must wear both mask and gloves.
You know you are surrounded by possibly a few hundred guests in the same plight and you fantasise about having drinks and canapés on the terrace to swap stories and travel experiences. But that is not to be and one must be satisfied by the occasional muffled conversation heard through the wall or the sight of many other guests doing the same as me – pushing our faces gently against the glass of the window looking wistfully at all those free people scurrying along the footpath below thinking ‘one day, that will be me’. It is possible to phone other guests internally but the reality is unless you already know them, it doesn’t happen.
If I had to put a name on the one dominant negative emotion that creeps in when you’re in isolation of any type, I think it would be a feeling of disempowerment, a loss of control over what is happening and what you can do about it. It is not there all the time but some days it just shows up and dominates your thinking and a very palpable fear arises in your chest. In Ecuador it was a constant visitor in the early days. As movement anywhere was ceased and then my flights home were cancelled one by one, there was the overwhelming feeling of, ‘for once, I cannot work out another plan, another strategy, it is beyond my control’. And there is no foreseeable time limit as to when that will change. An ability to let go of control and just go with the flow is not easily achieved but is the only way to preserve one’s presence.
Here, in Sydney, it is nothing like that of course but I will admit that the extent of isolation and non-interaction and the effect of that really caught me by surprise. In some ways it just little things, the daily routines elsewhere that catch you. You can’t just pop into the kitchen and heat a snack in the microwave or lie in a patch of sun to warm up and manufacture some Vitamin D or hang over the fence and yarn with the neighbour. But, hey, it’s only 14 days, 14 comfortable days, I no complain.
As many of you will know and may have experienced, mental health can be a key issue during isolation. This has been considered in laying down the protocols for this period of complete isolation. There is a lot of information about it available and a 24-hour nurse on site. But, proactively, on the weekend I received a call from a mental health nurse working for the medical contractors for this isolation site. She was calling every guest to discuss any issues or doubts arising. I was impressed by this.
I have had one face-to-face encounter since I checked in. At the time it seemed routine but now it is a celebrated occasion along the lines of, “I remember the day when a real person came to my door, talked to me and stayed for a whole minute, maybe two……”. My first daily phone call from the nurse to check on my health and the presence of symptoms. I was fine but thought it best to declare a minor cough I developed en route here, a regular occurrence every time I fly long distance. She decided on taking a swab just to be sure and a short time later there she was resplendent in gown, mask, gloves, hood and goggles. She probed me with swab in throat and both nostrils and then left leaving me to ponder, “who was that masked woman’? (Results negative, in case you were concerned.
I think I had better finish here today. To be continued…….
Pics/videos: Contrasting the view from my apartment in Cuenca with that from my Sydney hotel room. The coveted brown paper bag containing delicious sustenance and one of the main courses provided, this one a lunch.
I eagerly faced this strange new world with its highly regulated environment and routines, keen to settle into this defined period of my journey both to exploit ways to make it enjoyable and productive and, of course, the sooner it was complete the sooner I could return to my community from which I had been absent for just short of a year.
From the minute my flight touched down I had been swamped by glossy, professionally-produced colour flyers from all relevant government departments about every conceivable aspect of COVID19, customs and quarantine (Border Force), and quarantine for new arrivals at the hotel. I appreciated the efforts to inform us but it was rather overwhelming at first.
But the most valuable document was presented to us on arrival at the hotel. One could call it Hotel Handbook – how to live here for 14 days, the Isolationist Survival Guide or just simply six pages of closely typed instructions on how everything would work over the isolation period. It covered everything from a welcome, key points of contact, meal times through to how to organise the laundry service, organising a free trial for Netflix or Stan and websites for online shopping, meditation and exercise. This single document has made life here very simple and straight forward. The instructions were supplemented by other vital documents such as the daily meal menu from which I make my meal choices (a choice of two for each meal) a day in advance and the mini-bar menu. There is no stocked mini bar in the room, orders are processed daily but alcohol is tightly restricted – 1 bottle of wine per day or 3 bottles of beer. Ordering alcohol from outside sources is forbidden. So for those who think isolation will be best tackled through an alcohol-induced haze, sorry you’re out of luck.
The meals by the way are delicious and beautifully prepared under what must be very trying conditions. The menu has been prepared after consultation between the chef and nutritionists.
As I mentioned in my previous post, I considered myself an expert in this isolation business, having been in strict lockdown in Ecuador since 13 March. But, as I soon found out, this isolation is different and requires some adjustment to successfully preserve one’s healthy demeanour. Perhaps a brief comparison will help explain this.
The lockdown in Ecuador was implemented suddenly and without compromise. The government felt it had learnt a lot of lessons from the advent of the SARS virus and this time was prepared. Overnight all schools, universities and colleges were closed and there was a mad scramble to implement teaching online. This included private language colleges such as the one where I was teaching English. Borders closed, airports closed even inter-provincial travel was banned. Non-essential businesses were closed. In this case ‘essential’ only meant food outlets, financial institutions and telecommunications. But many of these closed also or opened only for restricted hours. All parks were closed as were restaurants and cafes except for takeaway and home delivery. A night-time curfew was introduced but this was quickly extended to 2pm to 5am. It was compulsory for everyone to wear face masks in public and to gain entry to a market required face mask and gloves, temperature check, hands sanitised and after a time, being sprayed front and back with disinfectant. There were many, many other measures implemented but the ones that affected me directly concerned restrictions on leaving the house.
Only one person from each household was permitted to leave the house and then only for one of five reasons. The only criteria that permitted me to leave my apartment was to go directly to purchase food or go to the bank and then return. These became valued excursions and over time I learnt the value of face-to-face human interaction even if through a mask (focus on the eyes) and even if just passing someone in the street with a cheery, brief greeting.
But I was one of the lucky ones. I had a good-sized balcony (quite rare) with views of the surrounding hills and mountains of the Andes with lots of sunlight to soak up. I lived in a small cluster of bespoke apartments gathered around a central garden/courtyard. This meant, in a way, we were our own small community so comfort could be had by at least calling out hello to other tenants and the occasional conversation. My neighbour was also a teaching colleague and so we were able to engage in almost daily conversation. As I said, I was one of the lucky ones.
Back to Sydney, Australia. Apart from the already mentioned no access to outdoor space or fresh air, a complete isolation for each person has been created. The hotel has implemented protocols that ensure staff presence on the accommodation floors is minimised for their safety, and rightly so. Meals for example are delivered in single-use takeaway containers with plastic cutlery all enclosed in a nice paper bag with string handles. These are dropped at your door accompanied by a knock on the door and a call of “lunch’ etc. By the time you open the door they are gone, a curved corridor also creates the illusion that they just vanished. But occasionally you can here them rustling and knocking further down the hallway and a call of “thank you’ is often answered with a distant-sounding “you’re welcome”. I’ll take whatever interaction I can get. The childish imp in me plots and plans how I might ambush them from behind the door but then, reluctantly, I grow up. Should, in a rare case, an encounter with a staff member be necessary, you must wear both mask and gloves.
You know you are surrounded by possibly a few hundred guests in the same plight and you fantasise about having drinks and canapés on the terrace to swap stories and travel experiences. But that is not to be and one must be satisfied by the occasional muffled conversation heard through the wall or the sight of many other guests doing the same as me – pushing our faces gently against the glass of the window looking wistfully at all those free people scurrying along the footpath below thinking ‘one day, that will be me’. It is possible to phone other guests internally but the reality is unless you already know them, it doesn’t happen.
If I had to put a name on the one dominant negative emotion that creeps in when you’re in isolation of any type, I think it would be a feeling of disempowerment, a loss of control over what is happening and what you can do about it. It is not there all the time but some days it just shows up and dominates your thinking and a very palpable fear arises in your chest. In Ecuador it was a constant visitor in the early days. As movement anywhere was ceased and then my flights home were cancelled one by one, there was the overwhelming feeling of, ‘for once, I cannot work out another plan, another strategy, it is beyond my control’. And there is no foreseeable time limit as to when that will change. An ability to let go of control and just go with the flow is not easily achieved but is the only way to preserve one’s presence.
Here, in Sydney, it is nothing like that of course but I will admit that the extent of isolation and non-interaction and the effect of that really caught me by surprise. In some ways it just little things, the daily routines elsewhere that catch you. You can’t just pop into the kitchen and heat a snack in the microwave or lie in a patch of sun to warm up and manufacture some Vitamin D or hang over the fence and yarn with the neighbour. But, hey, it’s only 14 days, 14 comfortable days, I no complain.
As many of you will know and may have experienced, mental health can be a key issue during isolation. This has been considered in laying down the protocols for this period of complete isolation. There is a lot of information about it available and a 24-hour nurse on site. But, proactively, on the weekend I received a call from a mental health nurse working for the medical contractors for this isolation site. She was calling every guest to discuss any issues or doubts arising. I was impressed by this.
I have had one face-to-face encounter since I checked in. At the time it seemed routine but now it is a celebrated occasion along the lines of, “I remember the day when a real person came to my door, talked to me and stayed for a whole minute, maybe two……”. My first daily phone call from the nurse to check on my health and the presence of symptoms. I was fine but thought it best to declare a minor cough I developed en route here, a regular occurrence every time I fly long distance. She decided on taking a swab just to be sure and a short time later there she was resplendent in gown, mask, gloves, hood and goggles. She probed me with swab in throat and both nostrils and then left leaving me to ponder, “who was that masked woman’? (Results negative, in case you were concerned.
I think I had better finish here today. To be continued…….
Pics/videos: Contrasting the view from my apartment in Cuenca with that from my Sydney hotel room. The coveted brown paper bag containing delicious sustenance and one of the main courses provided, this one a lunch.
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A huge thankyou (9/6/2020)
Thank you all so much for your responses to my posts on the Kindness Pandemic. I have been truly overwhelmed (in a good way) by your welcome home greetings, your best wishes and so many rich and encouraging comments. They have all given me a considerable boost and I feel like I am flying through isolation now. I would also like to let you know that I am not in a position at the moment to respond personally to all of your comments or the requests for connecting on Messenger or Facebook. But, again, they are all very appreciated. However, I will be reading through and cherishing all comments and I will endeavour to address your questions in my future posts. Thank you again for your generous #kindness. Dave.
Episode #3: Mind Games, London Taxis and Connectivity
Channelling Jimmy Stewart As I spend frequent intervals of various duration, sitting or standing at the window, peering out to life beyond, I have often been swept by a sense of déjà vu. As Professor Julius Sumner Miller would say, “Why is this so”? And then the veil was lifted, I feel like Jimmy Stewart in the classic Alfred Hitchcock movie ‘Rear Window’. Of course, there are a number of striking differences – I’m not in a wheelchair, I hope not to witness a ‘murder’, I don’t have Grace Kelly at my side and I am neither as tall as nor as good looking as Jimmy. But apart from those…………
Iso timeline Many of you have asked just how far am I through the 14 days? I hope I don’t spoil the romance when I tell you I am over the halfway point and on the home run. But in today’s post I am still mostly around Days 3-6 i.e. last Friday to Sunday.
Very stubborn biological clock I have been encouraged by some of you offering the positive view that this enforced break is a great way to skip through jet lag. Plenty of idle time to sleep and relax. But, my biological clock is not listening. It stubbornly refuses to play the ‘let’s get back to normal’ game. Almost every night at 1.05 or 1.06AM I am awake, wide awake. And the really weird thing is that this time does not correlate to a particular ‘wake-up’ time in Ecuador (it would be 10.05AM the previous day there)
Some nights I am able to coax myself back to sleep with the aid of some horizontal meditation plus or minus some relaxing music through the ear buds. Other nights my mind starts racing with ideas or reflections from the previous day or worst of all, I start scrolling through Facebook and that does nothing but stimulate me to full alertness. I confess, I am writing this draft sitting in my oh-so-comfortable bed at 3.20AM. Perhaps being in a different time zone for 12 months means a longer period of readjustment, who knows? Clearly, I am not a sleep expert.
Did I catch the wrong plane home? Sometimes I think that this level of isolation is transmuting my imagination to a whole new level or reality. Some of my closer friends I’m sure would be quick to interject with an assertion of, ’no that’s just your normal self, Dave’. But the other morning I pulled open the curtains to greet the day and there, in the taxi rank on the street below, was a single solitary vehicle, a LONDON taxi! Where am I was my first question. Did I catch the wrong plane in San Francisco and landed in the Mother country was my second. (I am very easily amused with my own thoughts, a definite plus in isolation.) Of course, since then I have seen many, many ‘London cabs’ in the rank below but where were they the preceding days. A practical joke being played on me by the universe perhaps?
This connected world The more I have been isolated here and in Ecuador, the more I have marvelled at the many benefits of today’s technology in keeping me connected and the ease of doing so. I no longer view it as a necessary evil which lurks in the shadows to frustrate and anger me with virtual traps and problems of operation. It has become a true and close companion. On some occasions I could go as far as calling it my best mate (sorry to my best mates at home).
Many of you have asked with concern whether I am able to ring or video call my friends and family or pass my time here by accessing house movies, Netflix etc. The answer is yes, yes and yes and again I am most grateful for the current ease and quality of communication and connection with today’s technology. I have been so thrilled and uplifted by the number of friends and family who have audio or video called me since my return. Some have been total surprises, out of the blue. Once more I say, I am a fortunate guy.
As human beings, feeling connected to others is so important. Long before any sign of the pandemic, I have been delving into issues around social isolation/disconnection in our communities and the devastating effect it has on physical and mental health and overall wellbeing. I have been amazed to discover dozens and dozens of positive and innovative initiatives around the world that are addressing this other form of modern day ‘pandemic’.
In reading this, you are part of yet another great initiative #The Kindness Pandemic. COVID 19 has shown us what we are capable of in reaching out and uplifting those around us affected by isolation. From online concerts and recitals to ‘community choirs’ singing from their balconies in Italy. I really hope that at the end of this pandemic we will recognise that social isolation is and has been a chronic condition that affects so many lives around us and maybe the values and the strategies we have created during the acute episode can continue as a long term remedy for those for whom it has become a daily norm.
A footnote for the technophiles. Amateur photographers gravitate to other photographers with opening questions such as ‘what gear are you carrying’ and ‘what lens did you shoot that with’. The gear I am toting to keep me connected is a MacBook Pro laptop, ipad mini and iphone 6s. Yes, I don’t try to keep up with the latest, as long as what I have is doing the job. I switched to all Mac gear a few years back which has greatly enhanced both syncing and photo back up and storage on the road. I normally only travel with the ipad and phone, but this time my studies and work in Ecuador required a laptop and as it’s transpired, this has been a real blessing. Just before I left for Ecuador I also subscribed to a VPN which, apart from increased security, greatly enhanced my connection to things I value in Australia such as ABC and SBS television programmes which without the VPN would not have been accessible outside Australia.
Unexpected Frustrations Friday was a glorious day in Sydney town judging from the glimpses of rich azure wedges of sky visible between my neighbouring buildings. I received a call from a friend and as is my habit I stared absently out the window while absorbed in conversation. And suddenly, a vision appeared before me, a sign, if you like, from the heavens. Actually, it was a real sign being traced out across the sky by a sky-writer, the perfect day providing the perfect blank canvass. What is so frustrating about that, I hear you muttering under your collective breaths, is he just a sympathy seeker? The frustration was the small gap between buildings only allowed me to see one and a half letters and so I was missing this vital message. After a while, it became apparent that there was a high altitude breeze present and the letters were being moved across the sky revealing one and half more letters at a time, like looking at a letter being typed but only viewing it through the key guide on the paper (for those of you who can remember an ancient machine called a typewriter). But, alas, it was too late, I had missed the vital first letters and the message that was clearly a sign just for me remains lost to the ether.
(PS This last paragraph was, of course, tongue-in-cheek, lest you were tempted to waste a little sympathy on me. In fact, I found the whole episode very amusing.)
Your questions answered Many of the questions I have seen in your comments, I have endeavoured to answer in subsequent posts. But for those that I may not have, I’ll happily provide a quick answer here unless I am likely to be featuring the issue in a future post.
Iso timeline Many of you have asked just how far am I through the 14 days? I hope I don’t spoil the romance when I tell you I am over the halfway point and on the home run. But in today’s post I am still mostly around Days 3-6 i.e. last Friday to Sunday.
Very stubborn biological clock I have been encouraged by some of you offering the positive view that this enforced break is a great way to skip through jet lag. Plenty of idle time to sleep and relax. But, my biological clock is not listening. It stubbornly refuses to play the ‘let’s get back to normal’ game. Almost every night at 1.05 or 1.06AM I am awake, wide awake. And the really weird thing is that this time does not correlate to a particular ‘wake-up’ time in Ecuador (it would be 10.05AM the previous day there)
Some nights I am able to coax myself back to sleep with the aid of some horizontal meditation plus or minus some relaxing music through the ear buds. Other nights my mind starts racing with ideas or reflections from the previous day or worst of all, I start scrolling through Facebook and that does nothing but stimulate me to full alertness. I confess, I am writing this draft sitting in my oh-so-comfortable bed at 3.20AM. Perhaps being in a different time zone for 12 months means a longer period of readjustment, who knows? Clearly, I am not a sleep expert.
Did I catch the wrong plane home? Sometimes I think that this level of isolation is transmuting my imagination to a whole new level or reality. Some of my closer friends I’m sure would be quick to interject with an assertion of, ’no that’s just your normal self, Dave’. But the other morning I pulled open the curtains to greet the day and there, in the taxi rank on the street below, was a single solitary vehicle, a LONDON taxi! Where am I was my first question. Did I catch the wrong plane in San Francisco and landed in the Mother country was my second. (I am very easily amused with my own thoughts, a definite plus in isolation.) Of course, since then I have seen many, many ‘London cabs’ in the rank below but where were they the preceding days. A practical joke being played on me by the universe perhaps?
This connected world The more I have been isolated here and in Ecuador, the more I have marvelled at the many benefits of today’s technology in keeping me connected and the ease of doing so. I no longer view it as a necessary evil which lurks in the shadows to frustrate and anger me with virtual traps and problems of operation. It has become a true and close companion. On some occasions I could go as far as calling it my best mate (sorry to my best mates at home).
Many of you have asked with concern whether I am able to ring or video call my friends and family or pass my time here by accessing house movies, Netflix etc. The answer is yes, yes and yes and again I am most grateful for the current ease and quality of communication and connection with today’s technology. I have been so thrilled and uplifted by the number of friends and family who have audio or video called me since my return. Some have been total surprises, out of the blue. Once more I say, I am a fortunate guy.
As human beings, feeling connected to others is so important. Long before any sign of the pandemic, I have been delving into issues around social isolation/disconnection in our communities and the devastating effect it has on physical and mental health and overall wellbeing. I have been amazed to discover dozens and dozens of positive and innovative initiatives around the world that are addressing this other form of modern day ‘pandemic’.
In reading this, you are part of yet another great initiative #The Kindness Pandemic. COVID 19 has shown us what we are capable of in reaching out and uplifting those around us affected by isolation. From online concerts and recitals to ‘community choirs’ singing from their balconies in Italy. I really hope that at the end of this pandemic we will recognise that social isolation is and has been a chronic condition that affects so many lives around us and maybe the values and the strategies we have created during the acute episode can continue as a long term remedy for those for whom it has become a daily norm.
A footnote for the technophiles. Amateur photographers gravitate to other photographers with opening questions such as ‘what gear are you carrying’ and ‘what lens did you shoot that with’. The gear I am toting to keep me connected is a MacBook Pro laptop, ipad mini and iphone 6s. Yes, I don’t try to keep up with the latest, as long as what I have is doing the job. I switched to all Mac gear a few years back which has greatly enhanced both syncing and photo back up and storage on the road. I normally only travel with the ipad and phone, but this time my studies and work in Ecuador required a laptop and as it’s transpired, this has been a real blessing. Just before I left for Ecuador I also subscribed to a VPN which, apart from increased security, greatly enhanced my connection to things I value in Australia such as ABC and SBS television programmes which without the VPN would not have been accessible outside Australia.
Unexpected Frustrations Friday was a glorious day in Sydney town judging from the glimpses of rich azure wedges of sky visible between my neighbouring buildings. I received a call from a friend and as is my habit I stared absently out the window while absorbed in conversation. And suddenly, a vision appeared before me, a sign, if you like, from the heavens. Actually, it was a real sign being traced out across the sky by a sky-writer, the perfect day providing the perfect blank canvass. What is so frustrating about that, I hear you muttering under your collective breaths, is he just a sympathy seeker? The frustration was the small gap between buildings only allowed me to see one and a half letters and so I was missing this vital message. After a while, it became apparent that there was a high altitude breeze present and the letters were being moved across the sky revealing one and half more letters at a time, like looking at a letter being typed but only viewing it through the key guide on the paper (for those of you who can remember an ancient machine called a typewriter). But, alas, it was too late, I had missed the vital first letters and the message that was clearly a sign just for me remains lost to the ether.
(PS This last paragraph was, of course, tongue-in-cheek, lest you were tempted to waste a little sympathy on me. In fact, I found the whole episode very amusing.)
Your questions answered Many of the questions I have seen in your comments, I have endeavoured to answer in subsequent posts. But for those that I may not have, I’ll happily provide a quick answer here unless I am likely to be featuring the issue in a future post.
- Can I see trees, grass or nature from my window? No, apart from dying hedges and a couple of sparse palm trees in the hotel courtyard 12 floors down. But I know I am only about a block from the botanical gardens and about 2-3 blocks from Circular Quay and the Harbour. So I can draw on my imagination and memories OR use Google Earth (less strain on the grey matter)which provides amazingly clear graphics these days.
- How do I occupy myself? I think this is largely covered above under Connection and, of course, my endless staring out the window while sipping on uncountable cups of tea and coffee. Of course, now there is quite a chunk of time productively spent in writing these posts and reading your wonderful comments.
- Do I live in Sydney? No. I am originally a Brisbane boy but for some time now I have been based in true paradise way down south in coastal NSW.
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Episode #4: From soothing green to fiery red
From soothing green to fiery red and just a hint of blue I see a green tinge out the window. Green is a beautiful colour, it’s one of my favourites. In Australia we know it as a sign of recovery after a long drought has ended or after the first rain following the all-too-familiar spectre of a devastating bushfire. It’s the colour of a cool, crisp salad on a hot summer’s day. All green lights means our journey, physical or intellectual, is clear for us and currently in countries such as Ecuador, the traffic light system, red, yellow, green, is used to herald the level of COVID 19 pandemic restrictions that apply to that region. When the level is changed from Red to Yellow, a small but significant number of restrictions are eased a little and this has an instant positive effect on the mood of the community, there is a very palpable lightening of people’s demeanour almost to the point of excitement. Suddenly, the chance of one day acquiring the Holy Grail of a Green Light level seems a distinct possibility. But the colour green can also have negative connotations such green with envy and this is the green tinge that sometimes infects my vision as I peer out my hotel window.
I have said that I have absolutely no complaint about this period of isolation and I certainly have no complaint whatsoever about where I am located or the services offered. After all, some countries are isolating their returning citizens in disused army barracks. But I will confess to just the tiniest tinge of – ‘balcony envy’. There are three levels of rooms on the lower levels that have balconies. Small they may be, but nonetheless they are balconies and they contain the coveted ingredient of fresh air. I am not sure whether they are occupied by the non-quarantine guests or they are, like the rest of us, Isolation inmates who just got the lucky draw. I suspect the latter since they seem to be always present. But, and this for me is astounding, they hardly ever spend time outside. From time to time someone will make a timid little advance into the great outdoors but in no time at all they scurry back into the dark depths of their lairs. If it were me, I’d only drag myself back inside when the icicles started to form on my extremities. I console myself by envisioning that first deep inhale of fresh air on Day 14 as I exit the building. It will taste so much sweeter than those who have sipped it daily.
Normal routine events take on an elevated level of excitement
Last Tuesday was a momentous event in the life of a COVID Hotel inmate, well for my particular intake group anyway, for two reasons. First, it marked day one of week number two and second, it was the day of our clean linen drop. The issuing of clean linen felt like a significant birthday, a reason for celebration.
I opened the door and there they were. Two beautiful, clean, shiny, black plastic garbage bags full of crisp and fluffy white delights. We had been given prior instructions (see pic) on what to expect, what we are to do and how to behave. I followed them to a tee even though I felt strongly my used linen did not fit the "soiled" category stipulated.
It is not easy, as a mere, single male, wrestling with king-sized sheets and I became totally lost inside the doona cover. But in the end, I believe I triumphed and could look forward to the sheer ecstasy that awaited me that night as I plunge into their depths. Okay, as I have said before, I am easily amused particularly during these two weeks – and there’s nothing wrong with that!
Deprivation makes the appreciation grow stronger (a Pandemic update for an old adage)
I cited earlier in this post that the first breath of fresh air at the front door on Day 14 will be extra sweet for having been deprived of fresh air for two weeks. This will pale into insignificance compared to deep inhalation of crisp, chilled, salty air that will permeate every nook and cranny of my lungs as I step barefoot onto the sands of my home beach for the first time in a year. So perhaps this is why I keep referring to the comforts of this hotel room. The bed/mattress and the chairs are definitely very comfortable even by good hotel standards but compared to recent experiences, they are luxurious bordering on decadent.
Ecuador is a beautiful country with beautiful, friendly and humble people enriched by a spectacular and dramatic landscape, beautiful historic cities and architecture and a unique ancient culture that informs its music, colours, clothing and spiritual traditions. But it has to be said that I also pronounced it the land of uncomfortable chairs. Rarely did I find myself seated in a chair that came close to comfortable. The chairs are often intriguing and innovative in design and more than likely made by individuals in home workshops. (Some examples are pictured below). Unique, bespoke and even beautiful they may be but comfortable, rarely. Even the style of chairs we are used to Australia and the USA, for example the type of outdoor chair you would buy in Kmart or Walmart seems less comfortable there. My disdain for local furniture was deepened further one night when the office chair I was sitting in whilst watching a movie disintegrated beneath me and I found myself lying flat on back on the floor with a bump on my head, a souvenir of my journey. And this after I had shed 20kgs while living in Ecuador. By contrast their handmade hammocks are the epitome of comfort fit for a perfect siesta. Occasionally, I found a chair of soothing properties such as the one pictured at one of my favourite coffee haunts which often necessitated an extended visit and an extra cup of the local brew.
A similar anomaly exists in the bedroom. Beds never feel quite right with very uneven springing in the mattresses. But the extraordinary thing is that sheets, even quality sheets, have a certain coarseness and are prone to pilling very early in their life. To look for a positive aspect to this phenomenon there is quite a saving to be had by not needing to buy exfoliating agents. Contrast this with the luxuriant softness for which Ecuadorian alpaca wool products e.g. blankets, ponchos and jumpers, are famous.
I would like to think that I would have been appreciative of even a moderate standard of accommodation provided at no direct expense to me, but I think it is clear why my appreciation here borders on exuberant.
Breaking news from Ecuador This week news broke of the eruption of Volcan Sangay. This volcano is just 80 kilometres away from where I lived in Cuenca and it had been bothering us with a number of days of skies filled with a fuggy volcanic ash cloud hanging over the city (depending on wind direction) since its increased internal activity from just before Christmas. But now it has erupted fully and in a most spectacular way as shown in the video below. My recent trip from Cuenca to Quito took me quite close to this volcano and I remember commenting to my driver about its recent activity as we passed the turnoff to the volcano. It is hard to imagine the beautiful, green, lush farm lands and the villages we passed through now drab with an increasing thick layer of ash. But that is life in Ecuador. Earth tremors are almost a daily occurrence somewhere in the country. Just after my arrival in Cuenca, I managed to sleep through a Level 5.3 earth tremor one night which had my fellow hotel guests buzzing with activity and considering evacuating the building and the next morning wondering what was wrong with that strange Australian who couldn’t even be bothered getting out of bed. I seem to always be missing out on the excitement. An American expat friend in Cuenca has suggested that this week’s eruption was due to me shifting to the other side of the world and upsetting the delicate balance of the tectonic plates. If all else fails, always blame the man from Down Under with the jar of Vegemite.
The front door to freedom has been opened just a smidgeon Yesterday was the first small, real step toward the front door. In my mind’s eye, I could see this huge, imposing solid steel door being cracked open and squeakily opening to just a minute half inch (12.5mm) to show just a slither of blue sky and the slightest hint of ‘fresh’, Sydney CBD air. I was abruptly brought back to reality and the present moment by a sharp rap on my hotel room door. This was expected, even anticipated. I donned my mask and enthusiastically pulled the door open as though anticipating the arrival of Billy Connolly or Nicole Kidman. Yes, it was the masked and gowned COVID swab nurse and his faithful sidekick. This was the beginning of the end. A quick ID procedure, my mask was lowered and the swabbing of throat and both nostrils began. I appreciated that they swabbed the back of my throat first before diving deep into the depths of both my anterior nares (for the medically minded, nostrils for others) with the same swab. The other way around is too horrid to contemplate. I cannot lie, this was considerably more uncomfortable than my previous test on Day 2 but I no complain. (Actually, I complained, sniffled and wimpered to myself for about an hour after, I am not perfect at being positive in every situation.) Two minutes and they were gone and the realisation that this was an important step toward the front door began to comfort me. From here, it’s test results on Saturday, issuing of documents of clearance on Sunday and out the front door anytime between 12.01am to 10am Monday. As we entered, we will exit all undertaken to a well-planned and executed operation.
Your questions answered
There a number of questions as to whether I can order groceries and food deliveries from outside and also alcohol. I think I have covered some of this previously but just an update here. Online shopping for groceries for essential items (I considered chocolate, corn chips and crackers to be essential), as is some ordering of meals through Uber eats or similar is permitted. All deliveries are inspected. There is no alcohol (or recreational drugs) to be ordered from outside. Alcohol can be ordered through the hotel’s mini bar menu but is strictly limited to 1 x bottle of wine or 3 x bottles of beer per day. True confessions, after thinking I would survive on the provided meals and a few leftover snacks from my travels, I soon realised that the days were long, the activities low and my interim hunger pangs great. I undertook my first ever online grocery shop with Woollies and place an order with an empahasis on fresh and dried fruit, biscuits (for dunking), salsa and corn chips and somehow a couple of blocks of chocolate found their way into the order as well. Unbeknown to me there is a $50 minimum order required not including the $15 delivery fee and so my shop expanded to well beyond my requirements. But horror of horrors, in the concentration and confusion, I forgot the Vegemite, so my one-year black drought remains unrelieved until the end. I will also confess to acquiring two bottles of red wine over the duration of my stay for medicinal (comfort) purposes only. This represents remarkable restraint on my part and I should be congratulated.
Pics below: Green, green grass of home, the coveted balconies below, linen arrives, linen exchange instructions, sample of Ecuadorian bespoke chairs and one of the luxury finds, my alpaca wool blanket, Volcan Sangay erupting, my grocery shop sorted in my ‘pantry’.
I have said that I have absolutely no complaint about this period of isolation and I certainly have no complaint whatsoever about where I am located or the services offered. After all, some countries are isolating their returning citizens in disused army barracks. But I will confess to just the tiniest tinge of – ‘balcony envy’. There are three levels of rooms on the lower levels that have balconies. Small they may be, but nonetheless they are balconies and they contain the coveted ingredient of fresh air. I am not sure whether they are occupied by the non-quarantine guests or they are, like the rest of us, Isolation inmates who just got the lucky draw. I suspect the latter since they seem to be always present. But, and this for me is astounding, they hardly ever spend time outside. From time to time someone will make a timid little advance into the great outdoors but in no time at all they scurry back into the dark depths of their lairs. If it were me, I’d only drag myself back inside when the icicles started to form on my extremities. I console myself by envisioning that first deep inhale of fresh air on Day 14 as I exit the building. It will taste so much sweeter than those who have sipped it daily.
Normal routine events take on an elevated level of excitement
Last Tuesday was a momentous event in the life of a COVID Hotel inmate, well for my particular intake group anyway, for two reasons. First, it marked day one of week number two and second, it was the day of our clean linen drop. The issuing of clean linen felt like a significant birthday, a reason for celebration.
I opened the door and there they were. Two beautiful, clean, shiny, black plastic garbage bags full of crisp and fluffy white delights. We had been given prior instructions (see pic) on what to expect, what we are to do and how to behave. I followed them to a tee even though I felt strongly my used linen did not fit the "soiled" category stipulated.
It is not easy, as a mere, single male, wrestling with king-sized sheets and I became totally lost inside the doona cover. But in the end, I believe I triumphed and could look forward to the sheer ecstasy that awaited me that night as I plunge into their depths. Okay, as I have said before, I am easily amused particularly during these two weeks – and there’s nothing wrong with that!
Deprivation makes the appreciation grow stronger (a Pandemic update for an old adage)
I cited earlier in this post that the first breath of fresh air at the front door on Day 14 will be extra sweet for having been deprived of fresh air for two weeks. This will pale into insignificance compared to deep inhalation of crisp, chilled, salty air that will permeate every nook and cranny of my lungs as I step barefoot onto the sands of my home beach for the first time in a year. So perhaps this is why I keep referring to the comforts of this hotel room. The bed/mattress and the chairs are definitely very comfortable even by good hotel standards but compared to recent experiences, they are luxurious bordering on decadent.
Ecuador is a beautiful country with beautiful, friendly and humble people enriched by a spectacular and dramatic landscape, beautiful historic cities and architecture and a unique ancient culture that informs its music, colours, clothing and spiritual traditions. But it has to be said that I also pronounced it the land of uncomfortable chairs. Rarely did I find myself seated in a chair that came close to comfortable. The chairs are often intriguing and innovative in design and more than likely made by individuals in home workshops. (Some examples are pictured below). Unique, bespoke and even beautiful they may be but comfortable, rarely. Even the style of chairs we are used to Australia and the USA, for example the type of outdoor chair you would buy in Kmart or Walmart seems less comfortable there. My disdain for local furniture was deepened further one night when the office chair I was sitting in whilst watching a movie disintegrated beneath me and I found myself lying flat on back on the floor with a bump on my head, a souvenir of my journey. And this after I had shed 20kgs while living in Ecuador. By contrast their handmade hammocks are the epitome of comfort fit for a perfect siesta. Occasionally, I found a chair of soothing properties such as the one pictured at one of my favourite coffee haunts which often necessitated an extended visit and an extra cup of the local brew.
A similar anomaly exists in the bedroom. Beds never feel quite right with very uneven springing in the mattresses. But the extraordinary thing is that sheets, even quality sheets, have a certain coarseness and are prone to pilling very early in their life. To look for a positive aspect to this phenomenon there is quite a saving to be had by not needing to buy exfoliating agents. Contrast this with the luxuriant softness for which Ecuadorian alpaca wool products e.g. blankets, ponchos and jumpers, are famous.
I would like to think that I would have been appreciative of even a moderate standard of accommodation provided at no direct expense to me, but I think it is clear why my appreciation here borders on exuberant.
Breaking news from Ecuador This week news broke of the eruption of Volcan Sangay. This volcano is just 80 kilometres away from where I lived in Cuenca and it had been bothering us with a number of days of skies filled with a fuggy volcanic ash cloud hanging over the city (depending on wind direction) since its increased internal activity from just before Christmas. But now it has erupted fully and in a most spectacular way as shown in the video below. My recent trip from Cuenca to Quito took me quite close to this volcano and I remember commenting to my driver about its recent activity as we passed the turnoff to the volcano. It is hard to imagine the beautiful, green, lush farm lands and the villages we passed through now drab with an increasing thick layer of ash. But that is life in Ecuador. Earth tremors are almost a daily occurrence somewhere in the country. Just after my arrival in Cuenca, I managed to sleep through a Level 5.3 earth tremor one night which had my fellow hotel guests buzzing with activity and considering evacuating the building and the next morning wondering what was wrong with that strange Australian who couldn’t even be bothered getting out of bed. I seem to always be missing out on the excitement. An American expat friend in Cuenca has suggested that this week’s eruption was due to me shifting to the other side of the world and upsetting the delicate balance of the tectonic plates. If all else fails, always blame the man from Down Under with the jar of Vegemite.
The front door to freedom has been opened just a smidgeon Yesterday was the first small, real step toward the front door. In my mind’s eye, I could see this huge, imposing solid steel door being cracked open and squeakily opening to just a minute half inch (12.5mm) to show just a slither of blue sky and the slightest hint of ‘fresh’, Sydney CBD air. I was abruptly brought back to reality and the present moment by a sharp rap on my hotel room door. This was expected, even anticipated. I donned my mask and enthusiastically pulled the door open as though anticipating the arrival of Billy Connolly or Nicole Kidman. Yes, it was the masked and gowned COVID swab nurse and his faithful sidekick. This was the beginning of the end. A quick ID procedure, my mask was lowered and the swabbing of throat and both nostrils began. I appreciated that they swabbed the back of my throat first before diving deep into the depths of both my anterior nares (for the medically minded, nostrils for others) with the same swab. The other way around is too horrid to contemplate. I cannot lie, this was considerably more uncomfortable than my previous test on Day 2 but I no complain. (Actually, I complained, sniffled and wimpered to myself for about an hour after, I am not perfect at being positive in every situation.) Two minutes and they were gone and the realisation that this was an important step toward the front door began to comfort me. From here, it’s test results on Saturday, issuing of documents of clearance on Sunday and out the front door anytime between 12.01am to 10am Monday. As we entered, we will exit all undertaken to a well-planned and executed operation.
Your questions answered
There a number of questions as to whether I can order groceries and food deliveries from outside and also alcohol. I think I have covered some of this previously but just an update here. Online shopping for groceries for essential items (I considered chocolate, corn chips and crackers to be essential), as is some ordering of meals through Uber eats or similar is permitted. All deliveries are inspected. There is no alcohol (or recreational drugs) to be ordered from outside. Alcohol can be ordered through the hotel’s mini bar menu but is strictly limited to 1 x bottle of wine or 3 x bottles of beer per day. True confessions, after thinking I would survive on the provided meals and a few leftover snacks from my travels, I soon realised that the days were long, the activities low and my interim hunger pangs great. I undertook my first ever online grocery shop with Woollies and place an order with an empahasis on fresh and dried fruit, biscuits (for dunking), salsa and corn chips and somehow a couple of blocks of chocolate found their way into the order as well. Unbeknown to me there is a $50 minimum order required not including the $15 delivery fee and so my shop expanded to well beyond my requirements. But horror of horrors, in the concentration and confusion, I forgot the Vegemite, so my one-year black drought remains unrelieved until the end. I will also confess to acquiring two bottles of red wine over the duration of my stay for medicinal (comfort) purposes only. This represents remarkable restraint on my part and I should be congratulated.
Pics below: Green, green grass of home, the coveted balconies below, linen arrives, linen exchange instructions, sample of Ecuadorian bespoke chairs and one of the luxury finds, my alpaca wool blanket, Volcan Sangay erupting, my grocery shop sorted in my ‘pantry’.
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Episode #5: Pardo n my excitement
Today is Release Day Eve Eve or the penultimate whole day of isolation or the penultimate, penultimate day of isolation. I can feel the excitement building. From as early as I can remember I’ve always experienced a building excitement as a special day or event grew closer. My mother always said I was ‘highly strung’, a behavioural quality she blamed on a near-fatal encounter with a brain inflammation when I was three. I still don’t really understand the term and as far as I know it has disappeared from the modern-day vernacular as parenting and child behaviour has gathered a myriad of more sophisticated terminologies. I was certainly highly excitable at times and explored that to the fullest but, with the benefit of 20/20 rear vision, I think I was just different to the other members of my family, something which I now carry as a badge of honour.
As I ‘matured’ I transmuted this outrageous behaviour to more subtle means of silliness, increased joking, singing and a general verbal frivolity. I am after all a double tragic of the zany humour of both The Goon Show and Monty Python. The Python emerged onto the world stage when I was at the peak of my teenage wildness and I am sure the way my mates and I embraced the Python members and recited their famous sketches by heart and sang the Spam song in four part harmony, that we truly felt we had discovered “The Meaning of Life”. But back to the present and some of you in your endearing comments have noted a slight elevation in the humorous tone of my ramblings as the week has progressed. I cannot deny this and I expect it will become more apparent in the next 48 hours but I will strive to provide some intelligent commentary at the same time. Yes, my mood still elevates as I get closer but I engage in more subdued outlets for this festering frivolity such as giving each approaching day a new, ‘official’ title. It all started with Christmas Eve Eve and it’s all downhill from there.
What day is it? Isolation can become a timeless trap. Perhaps in your own home some elements of your daily routine can be preserved but here it can be different. I think too it is not such a priority to know exactly what day or date it is. After all, it is not as though this is my shopping day or pie and coffee day at the local bakery with my mate. No, it doesn’t really matter that much as long as you don’t lose track of the meal delivery times. I first experienced this loss of time priority during lockdown in Ecuador. After the initial period of isolation, I elected to take a term off from teaching (which had now made a rapid and dubious transition to online) and so there was longer a need to know which day it was and which lesson to prepare. It became very difficult sometimes to correctly identify exactly which day of the week it was. This, no doubt, was exacerbated by only using online newsfeeds instead of a physical daily newspaper. The fact that some of these were Australian newsfeeds and that much of my contact at this time was with Australian friends with a 16 hour time difference, did nothing to enhance my daily orientation.
Since being in isolation here I have on two occasions woken with the wrong day in my head. For example, last Saturday I awoke and was convinced it was Sunday (wishful thinking perhaps). It took a significant conscious effort on my part to re-boot my ageing RAM into the correct time setting. A couple of my friends have suggested I should mark the days of my ‘sentence’ on the wall and cross them off as real prisoners are portrayed doing. They seek to reassure me that the hotel management would completely understand and sympathise and be fine with the outcome. Methinks they have malice aforethought.
Witnessing real connection Last weekend as I stood at my cherished window for a scheduled outward gaze, I noticed a cluster of people gathering on the footpath across the road. They were carrying what appeared to be placards and given that this was the weekend of the Black Lives Matter march I assumed they were preparing quietly for the pending protest. But I soon realised my mistake. These were family of one of my fellow inmates who were gathering with posters professing greeting and terms of endearment for their loved one above. They assembled in one particular order under their coordinator’s direction and then a change of order, all the time looking up and waving. Unfortunately, my compromised eyes could not make out the messages but I think the flavour and intent was clear through their actions. Their intended recipient seemed to be somewhere just above me giving the illusion that they were actually waving and communicating with me and I considered joining in and see if they were up for some sort of socially distanced adoption but decided I should just vicariously enjoy the experience and allow them their privacy. For the rest of the weekend there was a trickle of similar visitors on that otherwise deserted stretch of footpath employing a variety of different communicating techniques and duration of visit. I felt emotional and joyous at times watching these moments of alternative reunions but most of all I felt privileged to be a witness to real, genuine connection under the strangest of circumstances.
Please tell me I’m not nesting During the week I discovered something in my bathroom that was very obvious but until that moment, I had been blind to. Underneath the vanity basin were the basic essential for washing dishes – a sponge/scourer, satchels of dishwashing liquid and a tea towel. They were sitting neatly presented at the very front and the very centre of the open shelf under the vanity basin. How could I have not seen them until the second week. I had seen the spare toilet paper rolls at the back of the shelf, the generous back-up supplies of soap, shampoo, conditioner and body lotion at the side of the shelf but not these most obviously positioned items which should have been highly noticeable for their being normally absent from inner city hotel rooms. Perhaps subconsciously my mind had blocked them from my view lest I should become inadvertently domesticated.
‘Why would I need such implements of good housekeeping,’ I hear you ask, ‘since you have assured us that everything is served in single-use disposable containers’. This is true but we are fortunate to not have to suffer a total absence of the trappings of a civilised society. I have real china cups and saucers, two genuine metallic teaspoons and a variety of glass tumblers and goblets. Encouraging signs that we have not returned completely to cave-dwelling. I also like to recycle one of two useful disposable items to use with snack preparation and consumption. I set about instantly to do a proper dish wash delighting in this usually mundane and unwanted chore. I finished off with a quick scour of the vanity which was starting to look a slight ochre colour due to the disposal of the remnants of my previously detailed excessive cups of hot beverages (channelling Sheldon Cooper).
But this simple act of normalcy was not to stop there. Without noticing and without any apparent control, I migrated to the other areas of my confinement and meticulously proceeded to tidy and damp-dust table tops, shelves and any other surface that I could reach. At some time during this period of banal reverie I was jolted back to reality and was shocked to realise I was going through the motions of nesting. I was shocked and alarmed. I have moved abodes in the past more frequently than most and have nested often but never have I chosen such an unlikely eyrie and nor do I intend to allow this to proceed. And so a firm grasp of reality has resumed.
Social distancing in the bathroom As I have mentioned in earlier posts, Ecuador took it’s COVID control restrictions and social distancing very seriously rigorously implementing a very strict regime of protocols. In the last few days before I departed Cuenca, the restrictions moved from red light level to yellow providing a small but significant relief from some restrictions. This enabled me to go to a nearby modern shopping mall, most of which had been closed for the duration, to get some rations for the trip home. At one point I was called to attend the ‘Gents’, better known locally ‘El baño para los hombres’. I was not expecting to find a continuation of the rigorous application of distancing practice in such a place and yet, there it was, socially distanced urinals! Every second urinal had been sealed in black plastic to ensure the prescribed two metre rule was complied with. I had seen a similar phenomenon in France a few years back although for very different reasons, I hasten to add. At some of the more popular tourist attractions, on this occasion, the magnificent hilltop cathedral in Marseilles, the lines of women waiting to gain entry to the women’s toilets had become so long that many of the woman, perhaps in an act of protest or simple desperation, spontaneously marched unannounced into the gents toilet where, of course, there were no queues. Such is the freedom from inhibition that exist in some European cultures. The authorities, in their considered wisdom, rather than confront the women head-on for such unsanctimonious actions, elected instead to close off all the urinals with black plastic to at least avert any accidental exposure and blushing.
Perhaps I had better finish today on that somewhat lowered tone of subject matter but I thought it was relevant and besides, you have been warned, I am easily amused.
Pics below: Family members assemble for a distanced but very real connection, domesticity in dishwashing, socially distanced urinals.
As I ‘matured’ I transmuted this outrageous behaviour to more subtle means of silliness, increased joking, singing and a general verbal frivolity. I am after all a double tragic of the zany humour of both The Goon Show and Monty Python. The Python emerged onto the world stage when I was at the peak of my teenage wildness and I am sure the way my mates and I embraced the Python members and recited their famous sketches by heart and sang the Spam song in four part harmony, that we truly felt we had discovered “The Meaning of Life”. But back to the present and some of you in your endearing comments have noted a slight elevation in the humorous tone of my ramblings as the week has progressed. I cannot deny this and I expect it will become more apparent in the next 48 hours but I will strive to provide some intelligent commentary at the same time. Yes, my mood still elevates as I get closer but I engage in more subdued outlets for this festering frivolity such as giving each approaching day a new, ‘official’ title. It all started with Christmas Eve Eve and it’s all downhill from there.
What day is it? Isolation can become a timeless trap. Perhaps in your own home some elements of your daily routine can be preserved but here it can be different. I think too it is not such a priority to know exactly what day or date it is. After all, it is not as though this is my shopping day or pie and coffee day at the local bakery with my mate. No, it doesn’t really matter that much as long as you don’t lose track of the meal delivery times. I first experienced this loss of time priority during lockdown in Ecuador. After the initial period of isolation, I elected to take a term off from teaching (which had now made a rapid and dubious transition to online) and so there was longer a need to know which day it was and which lesson to prepare. It became very difficult sometimes to correctly identify exactly which day of the week it was. This, no doubt, was exacerbated by only using online newsfeeds instead of a physical daily newspaper. The fact that some of these were Australian newsfeeds and that much of my contact at this time was with Australian friends with a 16 hour time difference, did nothing to enhance my daily orientation.
Since being in isolation here I have on two occasions woken with the wrong day in my head. For example, last Saturday I awoke and was convinced it was Sunday (wishful thinking perhaps). It took a significant conscious effort on my part to re-boot my ageing RAM into the correct time setting. A couple of my friends have suggested I should mark the days of my ‘sentence’ on the wall and cross them off as real prisoners are portrayed doing. They seek to reassure me that the hotel management would completely understand and sympathise and be fine with the outcome. Methinks they have malice aforethought.
Witnessing real connection Last weekend as I stood at my cherished window for a scheduled outward gaze, I noticed a cluster of people gathering on the footpath across the road. They were carrying what appeared to be placards and given that this was the weekend of the Black Lives Matter march I assumed they were preparing quietly for the pending protest. But I soon realised my mistake. These were family of one of my fellow inmates who were gathering with posters professing greeting and terms of endearment for their loved one above. They assembled in one particular order under their coordinator’s direction and then a change of order, all the time looking up and waving. Unfortunately, my compromised eyes could not make out the messages but I think the flavour and intent was clear through their actions. Their intended recipient seemed to be somewhere just above me giving the illusion that they were actually waving and communicating with me and I considered joining in and see if they were up for some sort of socially distanced adoption but decided I should just vicariously enjoy the experience and allow them their privacy. For the rest of the weekend there was a trickle of similar visitors on that otherwise deserted stretch of footpath employing a variety of different communicating techniques and duration of visit. I felt emotional and joyous at times watching these moments of alternative reunions but most of all I felt privileged to be a witness to real, genuine connection under the strangest of circumstances.
Please tell me I’m not nesting During the week I discovered something in my bathroom that was very obvious but until that moment, I had been blind to. Underneath the vanity basin were the basic essential for washing dishes – a sponge/scourer, satchels of dishwashing liquid and a tea towel. They were sitting neatly presented at the very front and the very centre of the open shelf under the vanity basin. How could I have not seen them until the second week. I had seen the spare toilet paper rolls at the back of the shelf, the generous back-up supplies of soap, shampoo, conditioner and body lotion at the side of the shelf but not these most obviously positioned items which should have been highly noticeable for their being normally absent from inner city hotel rooms. Perhaps subconsciously my mind had blocked them from my view lest I should become inadvertently domesticated.
‘Why would I need such implements of good housekeeping,’ I hear you ask, ‘since you have assured us that everything is served in single-use disposable containers’. This is true but we are fortunate to not have to suffer a total absence of the trappings of a civilised society. I have real china cups and saucers, two genuine metallic teaspoons and a variety of glass tumblers and goblets. Encouraging signs that we have not returned completely to cave-dwelling. I also like to recycle one of two useful disposable items to use with snack preparation and consumption. I set about instantly to do a proper dish wash delighting in this usually mundane and unwanted chore. I finished off with a quick scour of the vanity which was starting to look a slight ochre colour due to the disposal of the remnants of my previously detailed excessive cups of hot beverages (channelling Sheldon Cooper).
But this simple act of normalcy was not to stop there. Without noticing and without any apparent control, I migrated to the other areas of my confinement and meticulously proceeded to tidy and damp-dust table tops, shelves and any other surface that I could reach. At some time during this period of banal reverie I was jolted back to reality and was shocked to realise I was going through the motions of nesting. I was shocked and alarmed. I have moved abodes in the past more frequently than most and have nested often but never have I chosen such an unlikely eyrie and nor do I intend to allow this to proceed. And so a firm grasp of reality has resumed.
Social distancing in the bathroom As I have mentioned in earlier posts, Ecuador took it’s COVID control restrictions and social distancing very seriously rigorously implementing a very strict regime of protocols. In the last few days before I departed Cuenca, the restrictions moved from red light level to yellow providing a small but significant relief from some restrictions. This enabled me to go to a nearby modern shopping mall, most of which had been closed for the duration, to get some rations for the trip home. At one point I was called to attend the ‘Gents’, better known locally ‘El baño para los hombres’. I was not expecting to find a continuation of the rigorous application of distancing practice in such a place and yet, there it was, socially distanced urinals! Every second urinal had been sealed in black plastic to ensure the prescribed two metre rule was complied with. I had seen a similar phenomenon in France a few years back although for very different reasons, I hasten to add. At some of the more popular tourist attractions, on this occasion, the magnificent hilltop cathedral in Marseilles, the lines of women waiting to gain entry to the women’s toilets had become so long that many of the woman, perhaps in an act of protest or simple desperation, spontaneously marched unannounced into the gents toilet where, of course, there were no queues. Such is the freedom from inhibition that exist in some European cultures. The authorities, in their considered wisdom, rather than confront the women head-on for such unsanctimonious actions, elected instead to close off all the urinals with black plastic to at least avert any accidental exposure and blushing.
Perhaps I had better finish today on that somewhat lowered tone of subject matter but I thought it was relevant and besides, you have been warned, I am easily amused.
Pics below: Family members assemble for a distanced but very real connection, domesticity in dishwashing, socially distanced urinals.
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Episode #6: and now, the end is near ('my way' playing in the background)
Just double-checking that calendar Just to be sure, I’ve checked and rechecked that calendar and, yes, today is definitely Day 13 which, by quick calculation, makes it – drum roll please – the penultimate day! And they said it would never come. The end is close now, clearly visible, and there’s nothing going to stop me now.
A sleep update I reported in an earlier post of the mutiny of my body clock in refusing to obey my command to comply with the local time zone. I was moved by the concern expressed by so many of you and all the advice, this was very much appreciated. I am happy to report that in recent nights there is a definite drift in the right direction with my average wakening time now touching on the thrilling time of around 3.30AM. This is manageable, this allows me to enjoy feeling almost compos mentis again. I expect that the next few days will provide all the missing ingredients that will facilitate a return to a state resembling normal. Fresh air, walking and exercise, sunshine and Vitamin D I believe, as confirmed by many of you, will ensure this restoration. If not completely, then perhaps a wee dram or two of a single malt Scotch whiskey strategically taken as per (Dr Dave’s) prescription will do the trick.
It’s not all beer and skittles Many of you have commented and complimented me on my positive approach to this time of isolation. As I have said before, I considered this to be a small final compromise to make after having been in lockdown for almost three months. But I also cannot see the point of whingeing, grizzling and moaning through the whole experience. This can only make it a misery for the complainer and surely the time will seem to pass twice as slowly. Besides, this standard of accommodation and care provided without direct cost by government should dictate some degree of thankfulness or gratitude at least.
But I am not in here always having a fortnight-long party. One thing that plagues me after nearly every long-distance flight I undertake is an annoying and somewhat persistent dry cough. According to the research, this is a well documented occurrence in travellers, well before the current issues. There is no apparent infection or airways difficulty just a constant, energy-sapping cough. Usually, I suffer quietly (or not so quietly) at home and try various interventions before it does become something more serious. But, in this environment and in this location, every time I cough you can almost hear sirens sounding throughout the building and somewhere down below I am sure there are red lights fastened to the walls of long corridors flashing. Consequently, I have been subject to more of the dreaded COVID swabbing than the average isolatee. I will not try to fool you or gloss over it, they are not pleasant experiences. I have already reported on my first test the day after I arrived. A second swab was taken on Thursday as part of the routine procedure for clearance prior to release and this time both nostrils were very irritated. I have a theory that perhaps each swab leaves the mucosa of the nostril that much more sensitive and that the drying effect of constant air conditioning does not help.
Yesterday, I did one of those things that by the end of the day makes you think, “whatever made you go down that path”. I thought I would act responsibly and arrange for a bottle of cough suppressant to subdue my cough prior to the long drive home on Monday. Perhaps if I had re-read my isolation guidebook again, I may have discovered that I could have rung the pharmacy directly and arranged a delivery but no, silly me, asked the nurse when he rang for the daily check. He clearly jumped into ‘follow the protocol’ mode and before I knew it I had a phone call from the allocated doctor then a house (room) visit by said doctor and then later another swab team arrived – ‘just to be sure and to give me peace of mind in doing the right thinking by the public’ before I walked among them. As I said “What was I thinking”?
Always look on the bright side of life (another nod to Monty Python who I found out yesterday have many devotees amongst you) I have mentioned more than once just how easily I can amuse myself particularly during times of prolonged idleness. Prior to embarking upon the adventure of the #COVID Hotel posts, I had idle hours in abundance. Here is one dubious outcome of such idle self-amusement.
More advantages of being in total isolation
· You can rearrange the furniture just how you want it and again and again……
· There are no one else’s germs to worry about, just yours,
· Security - no need to lock up or even hide passport, wallet, valuables - nobody is coming in and you’re not going out, that’s for sure.
· You can be as fastidious or as sloppy and untidy as you like (think The Odd Couple for role models – Felix Unger or Oscar Maddison or both).
· You can save on deodorant and razor blades – of course if you are isolated as a couple there might be some negotiation required here
· You can experiment with all those new and inventive hairstyles you have dreamt of or just simply fall into the Bob Geldorf ‘just got of bed after three weeks’ look.
And I am sure there are many more, but at this point in my contemplations I even bored myself.
Unexpected acts of #kindness I have been the receiver of many acts of kindness from friends both old and very new as in you who have been reading and responding to these posts. By necessity, these acts of kindness have been limited to phone and video calls, messages and comments but their warmth and the overwhelming positive impact they have had on me has been all that more the richer because of these circumstances. But I would like to also mention two extraordinary acts or offers of kindness and selflessness from two of my friends from back home. One has rearranged their family events to enable them to come to Sydney and to drive me home on Monday after my release. That’s around a seven-hour trip each way. I had been planning to travel home the usual way, train to Canberra and bus to the coast which is about 9 – 10 hours travel time. A little extra difficulty too from toting the extra baggage that somehow accumulated over the twelve months away. I am sure you can imagine my excitement then at not only having the comfort of a private car and a more direct route but the sheer delight of good-friend company and catch-up conversation all the way. The other kind offer I had was from another good friend from home. He works long and varied hours as a paramedic and yet he was insistent that he would take his day off to drive to Canberra and pick me up from the station and drive me home, a three-hour trip each way. How lucky am I? Do you think I feel loved and wanted? – you bet!!
Tomorrow, next week and beyond AND once more, the biggest ‘thank-you’ I can muster Not normally noted for my sparseness of words, I find myself unusually searching for adequate words to express my feelings and gratitude for the events of the past week or so. This will be big news to my longer term friends who have this repetitive interjection when in conversation with me of, “get to the point Dave” or “just give us the bottom line, man”. But when I agreed to record my experiences for #COVID Hotel, I had not even the slightest inkling of what was about to unfold. I said earlier in the experience how much I was moved, encouraged and embraced by your responses and heartfelt comments. Every day brought new delights for me, new insights from your lives and experiences and a growing sense of friendship and camaraderie. I mentioned before that I have a deep interest in social connection and the plague of disconnection that has been growing in our modern society for some time now. It has been easy for me to dismiss social media ‘friends’ as not real friendships, the friendships that really make the difference in mending disconnection. But this last week has proven me wrong, so very wrong. I have not felt so strongly connected in a very real and sincere way to so many friends, albeit virtually, as I have experienced now. Again, all I can say is thank you, a really big thank you.
However, there is a price to pay for your friendship and kind words (tongue in cheek), you have awakened the proverbial sleeping giant. I have long-held a desire to write in this manner and to perhaps provide some meaningful commentary as well as try to be entertaining at the same time. I have always failed to ‘have a go’. I get close but have never made the final decision of what to do and when that would expose to public scrutiny. This week has inadvertently taken me well over that imaginary barrier in the most spectacular way (in my perspective) possible. Another reason for my constant gratitude to all of you.
So, what does that mean in non-fluffy terms? I have read your many comments about continuing with my posts to at least share the experience of walking free into fresh air and then that first coveted step onto the home beach and even perhaps another after a week of being back in my community and my return to regular life. This I am more than happy to do, actually excited to undertake. They may not have the instant timing that I have been able to achieve here because the business of organising necessities will no doubt impede progress from time to time but they will be close to on-time. Secondly, with help and direction, I am setting up a website/blog to continue writing on the areas that I am passionate about. You can expect to see something based on Authentic Connection in the near future. Your many, many suggestions to convert my experiences into a book, I have heeded but make no promises at this time, but the suggestion is tantalising I must say. Again I sincerely and humbly offer my thanks for the very loving ‘kick in the pants’ you have given me.
Pics below: No pics or videos specific. to the text today so I thought I would share a couple of scenes of the locale I am going back to and will be feasting my senses on this week.
A sleep update I reported in an earlier post of the mutiny of my body clock in refusing to obey my command to comply with the local time zone. I was moved by the concern expressed by so many of you and all the advice, this was very much appreciated. I am happy to report that in recent nights there is a definite drift in the right direction with my average wakening time now touching on the thrilling time of around 3.30AM. This is manageable, this allows me to enjoy feeling almost compos mentis again. I expect that the next few days will provide all the missing ingredients that will facilitate a return to a state resembling normal. Fresh air, walking and exercise, sunshine and Vitamin D I believe, as confirmed by many of you, will ensure this restoration. If not completely, then perhaps a wee dram or two of a single malt Scotch whiskey strategically taken as per (Dr Dave’s) prescription will do the trick.
It’s not all beer and skittles Many of you have commented and complimented me on my positive approach to this time of isolation. As I have said before, I considered this to be a small final compromise to make after having been in lockdown for almost three months. But I also cannot see the point of whingeing, grizzling and moaning through the whole experience. This can only make it a misery for the complainer and surely the time will seem to pass twice as slowly. Besides, this standard of accommodation and care provided without direct cost by government should dictate some degree of thankfulness or gratitude at least.
But I am not in here always having a fortnight-long party. One thing that plagues me after nearly every long-distance flight I undertake is an annoying and somewhat persistent dry cough. According to the research, this is a well documented occurrence in travellers, well before the current issues. There is no apparent infection or airways difficulty just a constant, energy-sapping cough. Usually, I suffer quietly (or not so quietly) at home and try various interventions before it does become something more serious. But, in this environment and in this location, every time I cough you can almost hear sirens sounding throughout the building and somewhere down below I am sure there are red lights fastened to the walls of long corridors flashing. Consequently, I have been subject to more of the dreaded COVID swabbing than the average isolatee. I will not try to fool you or gloss over it, they are not pleasant experiences. I have already reported on my first test the day after I arrived. A second swab was taken on Thursday as part of the routine procedure for clearance prior to release and this time both nostrils were very irritated. I have a theory that perhaps each swab leaves the mucosa of the nostril that much more sensitive and that the drying effect of constant air conditioning does not help.
Yesterday, I did one of those things that by the end of the day makes you think, “whatever made you go down that path”. I thought I would act responsibly and arrange for a bottle of cough suppressant to subdue my cough prior to the long drive home on Monday. Perhaps if I had re-read my isolation guidebook again, I may have discovered that I could have rung the pharmacy directly and arranged a delivery but no, silly me, asked the nurse when he rang for the daily check. He clearly jumped into ‘follow the protocol’ mode and before I knew it I had a phone call from the allocated doctor then a house (room) visit by said doctor and then later another swab team arrived – ‘just to be sure and to give me peace of mind in doing the right thinking by the public’ before I walked among them. As I said “What was I thinking”?
Always look on the bright side of life (another nod to Monty Python who I found out yesterday have many devotees amongst you) I have mentioned more than once just how easily I can amuse myself particularly during times of prolonged idleness. Prior to embarking upon the adventure of the #COVID Hotel posts, I had idle hours in abundance. Here is one dubious outcome of such idle self-amusement.
More advantages of being in total isolation
· You can rearrange the furniture just how you want it and again and again……
· There are no one else’s germs to worry about, just yours,
· Security - no need to lock up or even hide passport, wallet, valuables - nobody is coming in and you’re not going out, that’s for sure.
· You can be as fastidious or as sloppy and untidy as you like (think The Odd Couple for role models – Felix Unger or Oscar Maddison or both).
· You can save on deodorant and razor blades – of course if you are isolated as a couple there might be some negotiation required here
· You can experiment with all those new and inventive hairstyles you have dreamt of or just simply fall into the Bob Geldorf ‘just got of bed after three weeks’ look.
And I am sure there are many more, but at this point in my contemplations I even bored myself.
Unexpected acts of #kindness I have been the receiver of many acts of kindness from friends both old and very new as in you who have been reading and responding to these posts. By necessity, these acts of kindness have been limited to phone and video calls, messages and comments but their warmth and the overwhelming positive impact they have had on me has been all that more the richer because of these circumstances. But I would like to also mention two extraordinary acts or offers of kindness and selflessness from two of my friends from back home. One has rearranged their family events to enable them to come to Sydney and to drive me home on Monday after my release. That’s around a seven-hour trip each way. I had been planning to travel home the usual way, train to Canberra and bus to the coast which is about 9 – 10 hours travel time. A little extra difficulty too from toting the extra baggage that somehow accumulated over the twelve months away. I am sure you can imagine my excitement then at not only having the comfort of a private car and a more direct route but the sheer delight of good-friend company and catch-up conversation all the way. The other kind offer I had was from another good friend from home. He works long and varied hours as a paramedic and yet he was insistent that he would take his day off to drive to Canberra and pick me up from the station and drive me home, a three-hour trip each way. How lucky am I? Do you think I feel loved and wanted? – you bet!!
Tomorrow, next week and beyond AND once more, the biggest ‘thank-you’ I can muster Not normally noted for my sparseness of words, I find myself unusually searching for adequate words to express my feelings and gratitude for the events of the past week or so. This will be big news to my longer term friends who have this repetitive interjection when in conversation with me of, “get to the point Dave” or “just give us the bottom line, man”. But when I agreed to record my experiences for #COVID Hotel, I had not even the slightest inkling of what was about to unfold. I said earlier in the experience how much I was moved, encouraged and embraced by your responses and heartfelt comments. Every day brought new delights for me, new insights from your lives and experiences and a growing sense of friendship and camaraderie. I mentioned before that I have a deep interest in social connection and the plague of disconnection that has been growing in our modern society for some time now. It has been easy for me to dismiss social media ‘friends’ as not real friendships, the friendships that really make the difference in mending disconnection. But this last week has proven me wrong, so very wrong. I have not felt so strongly connected in a very real and sincere way to so many friends, albeit virtually, as I have experienced now. Again, all I can say is thank you, a really big thank you.
However, there is a price to pay for your friendship and kind words (tongue in cheek), you have awakened the proverbial sleeping giant. I have long-held a desire to write in this manner and to perhaps provide some meaningful commentary as well as try to be entertaining at the same time. I have always failed to ‘have a go’. I get close but have never made the final decision of what to do and when that would expose to public scrutiny. This week has inadvertently taken me well over that imaginary barrier in the most spectacular way (in my perspective) possible. Another reason for my constant gratitude to all of you.
So, what does that mean in non-fluffy terms? I have read your many comments about continuing with my posts to at least share the experience of walking free into fresh air and then that first coveted step onto the home beach and even perhaps another after a week of being back in my community and my return to regular life. This I am more than happy to do, actually excited to undertake. They may not have the instant timing that I have been able to achieve here because the business of organising necessities will no doubt impede progress from time to time but they will be close to on-time. Secondly, with help and direction, I am setting up a website/blog to continue writing on the areas that I am passionate about. You can expect to see something based on Authentic Connection in the near future. Your many, many suggestions to convert my experiences into a book, I have heeded but make no promises at this time, but the suggestion is tantalising I must say. Again I sincerely and humbly offer my thanks for the very loving ‘kick in the pants’ you have given me.
Pics below: No pics or videos specific. to the text today so I thought I would share a couple of scenes of the locale I am going back to and will be feasting my senses on this week.
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