Ireland: The Dingle Peninsula, Covid-19, and Me
Happy St. Patrick’s Day! A strange one, this St. Patty’s, due to the coronavirus outbreak. In Dingle, Ireland, near where the photo above was taken, all the pubs are closed. Imagine that. And the Dingle Town band cancelled their pre-dawn St. Patrick’s Day march, a tradition dating back to the 1870s, for the first time ever. Locals refer to today as “The day the music died…”
Geez. Now that’s depressing. And here we are, locked in our coronavirus bunker (i.e. home) for who knows how long. A month or two? Maybe more? Since we’ve been told to “STAY HOME!” (those are scare quotes) due to our age – almost young ha ha – and a mild case of asthma, maybe this is God’s way of telling me to get back to writing travel posts. Or maybe she wants me to finally clean out the junk drawers. Or maybe both.
I finished up the junk drawers yesterday. And while I have plenty of unfinished travel posts (The rest of Ireland, Aruba, and Ho Chi Minh City come to mind), I know that these are grim times. No one’s travelling anywhere, unless it’s to Costco on a hunt for more TP. And by the way don’t bother since the TP’s vanished, unless you stand in line at 0-dark thirty. And ‘in a line’ is not the place you want to be, unless you want to catch it or spread it to Grandma. Take your pick.
The safest-sized group to be in right now? Zero, says the Padre, and he should know. Padre’s nickname at his former workplace was The Master of Disaster, since he headed up the facility’s disaster response team. I know he’s right, as hard as it is to stop booking trips. We returned from our last trip, to Cannon Beach, Oregon, a few days ago, when we were still in denial about how ghastly this might get.
Not convinced yet? We instructed the kids to stay away after reading this sobering study on Covid-19’s spread in China (thanks for the link, Linda), as well as learning that at least two confirmed cases live close by in our neighborhood. And for those who believe they’re too young to be hurt much by Covid-19, here’s a story about two young Chinese doctors and their fates, that will keep you awake at night. For a lighter take that might keep you home and safe, check out this Scrubs clip that illustrates how easily germs spread.
I also have a full-time job right now cleaning up all the cancellation aftermath. Our Bucket List spring trip to Southeast Asia, India, Egypt, Israel, and Turkey, kaput. (I was so looking forward to seeing those pyramids with my own eyes!) We’ve got friends and relatives stranded around the world, deposits/refunds to fight for, and new insights into travel insurance policies. FYI when the lawyers say ‘read the fine print’ what they mean is that they’ve put something in there somewhere so the company can deny your claim. Curses, clever lawyers, and thanks for the expensive lesson, which is: Pandemics are one of the ‘fine print’ exceptions, unless you take out Cover For Any Reason insurance, which costs almost as much as your trip.
Yet our problems are First-World problems, retired-people problems, and people-with-actual-pensions problems. I saw this morning that Uber had ceased operations, and agonized for all the travel helpers who’ve been so kind to us over the years.
The Uber drivers. The cabin stewards. The hotel maids. The local travel guides who’ve shared their cities with us, like Mandy in Hong Kong. One of the best tours we’ve been on ever, and I’ll never forget how proud Mandy was of her hometown. She convinced us that Hong Kong was – IS – one of the most amazing cities in the world. And now I wonder how Mandy and her sister Apple, the best Hong Kong city guides bar none, are coping, now that the tourists have vanished.
And then there’s the rest of the real-life shut downs – from schools, to my hairdresser’s salon, to our local medical offices, to the cratering stock market. It’s enough to make one curl up on the sofa munching Cheetos, enormous wine goblet clutched in the other hand, binge-watching CNN. That, I am loath to admit, was me after 9/11, when it felt as if the world was about to end.
But that’s not me, not this time. In the 20 years since 9/11, I know in a way I simply couldn’t know, when I was younger, that nothing lasts forever, and life is waaaay shorter than it seems while we’re living it day to day. I mean it’s so human to think we have forever. Lots of time to take those trips, write that book, visit those relatives, see the pyramids, share your online passwords with your spouse in case one of you gets the virus (did that yesterday). Lots of time.
Nuh uh, nope. I got it this time. So here come some travel stories, and maybe they’ll brighten people’s container bunkers a bit. I hope so; it brightens my day writing about the amazing places we’ve been fortunate enough to visit in our lifetime. We hope you’ll join us for the rest of Ireland, starting with the Dingle Peninsula, coming in the next post. And thanks as always (despite the length between posts) for following along, everyone!
PS – I actually did take another ‘trip’ today, to ‘visit’ my grandboys (see screenshot, left). Grandparents are nothing if not resourceful, so don’t count us out yet, all you young whippersnappers. And don’t forget to wash those hands.
