How I psyched myself against travelling in these times. Doubted, fretted, convinced that I would be caught up, caught out and banished before boarding. Less than three weeks ago, I ventured towards the check in counter as if ready to go to court, ready to defend with enough documents and test results tucked under my arm, yet the nerves were more prickly than they usually are on a flying day.
Despite the extra expense of PCR tests, my trip to France went smoothly, flying out late with KLM to Schipol airport and onto Charles de Gaulle airport in Paris. In terms of documentation, South African Border Control asked for my Health Questionnaire and if I had done the PCR. Schipol Border Control wanted to know why I was going to Paris and to check I had a Vaccine app, and Paris said ‘Bonjour!’ – no security, no border control, and no suitcase.
This arrived two days later.
At no point in France was I grilled about being there. The bateaux were thrilled with sightseers, parks filled with picnic baskets and students, camera clicking tourists all the way. Hearing all the different accents, the smooth, romance of the french dialect. Masks, as is the new fashion, gets hoiked up your arm above the elbow and only used to enter shops, places to eat and public galleries and museums. Walking around Versailles gardens for five hours, a reasonable distance from others, I thought it fine not to wear it and all those around seemed to agree. The rule seems to be keep your distance, be comfortable and use your common sense. In no way did any of these rules detract from the experience of being there – heavenly, at one with the kings and queens, statues and turning leaves in the Tuilleries.
The difficult part lies squarely at the foot of the UK Border Control. For months, the British government have employed rules and regulations befitting a psychedelic rave. Draconian rules of which countries are Red, Amber and Green, which can change as quickly as the sucked colours of Smarties. This leaves business and family travel (I hesitate to say leisure for fear of the ‘stay at home mate, this is a pandemic’ participants crawling onto the platform). Family travel and business travel then – members of families who have been separated for too long, business travel that makes the world go around. More noteworthy, and I am flummoxed on this score – it seems as if there is more afoot that the sudden raising or lowering of country colours than meets the eye. Pressure maybe, politics sir, or just a little bit of profit involved methinks?
Your vaccine and my vaccine are the same vaccines but no, doesn’t count here. Isolation required and again, some pretty serious money for all the tests, but this was something I knew and did willingly to return to my children.
Though I resent some of the rules, exempting the wealthy, sports events and such, I am delighted to be travelling again. Invigorated by change, different destinations and cultures, different tastes – to stand before great art and light candles in a vast cathedral is deeply satisfying. Loved my quirky, yet charming hotel on the left bank, great dinner with friends and family and crossing France, and under the sea on the Eurostar was brilliant. Wafting through the gardens of Giverny, the vast landscape of Versailles, deeply moving.
The nerves, the longing, the waiting is over. The last of summer greets me in the morning, the red buses, cheery old friends. Taking George for a walk in the park, chats face to face rather than zooming and planning more. Sadly any return to France would mean another session of isolation if returning to the UK, but I can wait … have been waiting for months now, and a few more will only make the journey more delicious again.