Grenada - Gold Coast: La Longue Route

 

Sunday 23rd August, West Yorkshire, UK.

Yorkshire. Weren’t expecting that, were you? Nope. Me neither. Where does this fit into the grand Grenada-Barbados-Brisbane plan? Well.......

Not Brisbane

I packed up and left Gráinne, Karl and Grenada behind. Nothing fun about that but at least it went smoothly, the airport was deserted and the plane with all 10 of its passengers took off an hour early.

Arriving at the very large, modern and completely empty airport in Barbados was very strange but, again, all went smoothly with no PCR required and my driver waiting to take me to the hotel where my room was just fancy enough to distract me temporarily from feeling sad and miserable and lonely. This was my “Covid Special” arrival hotel where I could have been tested if required so I indulged in a couple of nights of the luxury resort experience before moving on to something a little more modest.

Barbados was lovely. Beautiful island and very friendly locals. Gorgeous beaches. Flatter and more developed that Grenada with some good roads, large shopping centres and new suburban developments springing up. Reminded me of Mauritius. Its very large tourist industry has clearly been decimated by the Covid pandemic. All along the beaches on the south coast are huge, empty, closed hotels being looked after by a security guard and a couple of maintenance staff. It’s spooky. I really started to feel the reality of what’s been happening in the world while we’ve been hiding away on (even more) remote islands. But there was some fun to be had exploring the island and even visiting the Mount Gay Rum distillery, that was entertaining, I could write a whole separate blog entry on that.

Beach Carlisle Bay

Yacht Club. I infiltrated the casual bar from the beach entrance and only when leaving through the front entrance realised what a swanky club it is complete with security guard in his hut.

Empty resorts everywhere

Molasses store and old windmill

Where the still lives

So after my last few days in tropical paradise it was time to leave. It was surprisingly hard to do, almost even harder than leaving Grenada. I was going to be on a different continent, in a different time zone, on the opposite side of the world to Karl for months. I was not entirely sure this was a good idea. I got on the plane to find, shock horror, it was full!!! Just like normal. We were sitting cheek by jowl pretending that our masks would protect us from each other. Comforting.

I would have five hours in Heathrow to connect to my onward flights but would have to go through immigration, collect my bags, transfer terminals and check in so I was a little nervous. But all went well and I arrived at Qatar Airways check-in in terminal 5 with plenty of time to spare. Only they couldn’t find my booking. The only reservation they had for me was for business class flights to Adelaide at the end of the month. Weird. Then Karl called.

I had missed all the drama while enjoying my in-flight catering and entertainment. Karl had been up half the night talking to our travel agent who had contacted him with the news that my flights had been “unconfirmed”. That’s a verb. What had been confirmed was no longer so. This is a thing now apparently. Karl had been frantically making arrangements and hit me with a whole plethora of options of what to do next. He was the one behind the new business class flights to Adelaide, the next available flights, but that was 10 days away. He listed off several flight options to Ireland and train options in the UK. I was just stunned. And sleep-deprived. And only had a couple of neurons still firing. The Qatar check-in is conveniently located right beside a cafe so I made one important decision. I had a coffee (double shot flat white, first in quite a while), a croissant and a bit of a think. Karl had also been talking to my friend in Yorkshire who kindly offered me a bed and between them they had the train timetables all sorted. Even fully caffeinated I didn’t feel up to any more travel that day so decided (that’s two decisions, one for each neuron) to stay nearby overnight and head north the next day.

Surprisingly picturesque little village beside my airport hotel

My train left from Kings Cross so I got this little thrill

And here I am. I’m almost as good at being stranded now as I am at doing quarantine. The worry is that the same thing will happen to my next flights so I’ve written a displeased/pleading email to Qatar Airways and Karl’s written an irate email to our local federal member.

In the meantime I’ve been enjoying the wonderful welcome here, wandering through pretty Yorkshire villages and practising acceptance. Tomorrow I’m off to do some tourism visiting Haworth (home of the Brontës), York (home of the Grand Old Duke) and Whitby (home of Captain Cook). Then I head back to London and try to remain calm and resist the temptation to camp out in front of Qatar check-in for several days in advance.

Pilgrimage to THE MAP

Friday 4th September, Room 511, Peppers Hotel, Adelaide. Quarantine day 6.

I made it! Back in Aus at least, if not quite Queensland yet.

So I had myself a nice little mini-holiday in the UK. It was fun to have a road trip having not driven in over a year. Intense concentration required for the first 20 minutes. My Brontë pilgrimage was a success, Haworth’s a gorgeous little village though I suspect a little over-touristy in normal times. Driving across the moors was just stunning, so beautiful, all heathery and treeless and desolate and moody and with really tempting walking tracks if a person had a few extra days up their sleeves.

The village of Haworth

The Brontes' house

Moody moors

York was also lovely and the first real town I’ve been in in a while with all the old favourite high street chains. And there was a microbrewery. And then Whitby was.......extremely wet. Blasting, horizontal rain. But it suited the seaside location, coastal cliffs and ruined abbey and I think I walked around all day with a great big grin on my face. Invigorating stuff. The sailor in me couldn’t resist a visit to a replica of Captain Cook’s Endeavour - the original was built in Whitby - and walking around it I remembered reading his Australia east coast diaries as we sailed the same route last year, which seemed so far away now. All a bit emotional really - or maybe I’ve just been stranded too long and need to pull myself together. Anyway, there was also a microbrewery. They’re coming thick and fast now.

A lovely long sunny summer evening in York

The grand old Duke of York, he had ten thousand men, he marched them up to the top of the hill, and he marched them down again

Whitby harbour

Endless moodiness

Monster seagulls normal sized bench

Harbour entrance view from the church

Captain Cook's view

And then the tension started to mount again as the last days approached. I’d quite settled into family life in Scissett and wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to leave. The last time I’d left somewhere it hadn’t gone too well. But off I went, backpack on my back, on the train down to London and squeezed into one of those little cupboardy hotel rooms. London’s a bit quiet these days! Like a Sunday back when Sundays were really Sundays. Loads of free seats on the tube during morning rush hour. No traffic. Hardly any people until some tourists started emerging around midday. Very weird. Got my first good dose of culture in a while with visits to the Tate Modern (pretty quiet) and an art exhibition at the Barbican Centre (extremely quiet). You can’t just turn up anymore, attendance is staggered by making everyone get tickets for a certain entry time, so no spontaneity but at least things are open. Everywhere seems to have the new approach to dining down too - sit at a freshly sanitised table, use an app on your phone to order and pay (and fill in your track & trace), staff gingerly approach stretching a tray towards you from which you take your food and then you’re left to your own devices. It works quite well. Might be difficult to get back to actual human interaction.

Lunch by the river

Eerily quiet streets

Finally then the big day dawned. Breathe. Breathe. Got to the airport nice and early, approached check in (scene of the trauma two weeks before), tappity tappity scan scan pause........oh, I’d have to wait for a supervisor to over-ride some visa thing, because it’s Australia. Ok. Went for a coffee next door (scene of the trauma two weeks before), returned, still no supervisor. Walked around nervily, bought some books, walked around some more, tentatively approached the check-in again, tappity tappity scan scan, phonecall to Australian immigration..........breathe, breathe......all good. Checked in. Two very very precious little boarding cards in my hand!!! Qatar business class here I come, thank you very much Karl O’Neill.

Ready for off!

Well that was a fun 24 hours. My own private little cubicle, with a door that closed, with a fairy godmother who kept topping up my wine glass (including champagne before take off and dessert wine with dessert!), with a seat that folded completely flat so I could stretch out to sleep in the cosy pyjamas (& slippers!) provided and with real espresso to wake me up. Glorious, just glorious.

Making myself at home

Door closed to the outside world

Dessert yum

And then we landed. Another deserted airport. More gowned, masked and gloved staff. Temperature checks. And then to a bus to take us to our quarantine hotel on a cordoned off street with lots of flashing police cars. More of a crime scene vibe than a holiday but whatever, just glad to be here.

So what’s quarantine on dry land like? No fresh air (aircon and non-opening windows). View of brick walls mainly. No swimming. Big bed. Nespresso machine. Bath. And it’s surprisingly busy! There’s the daily phone calls from the nurses, the occasional phone calls from a doctor, a mental health worker, a police officer, an in-person visit from a police officer and a string of daily knocks at the door. When you open your door you may find a meal, some bin bags, a selection of crosswords, a bag of cleaning supplies, Sudoku, all sorts. The elves that deliver these things have always scurried away by the time you get to the door leaving just the security guards outside to nod and say hi. I’ve set my cell up nicely with a designated reading armchair, a dining chair with mini-table and an office chair and desk for important work (like this for instance). A friend sent a vase of flowers that has somehow actually miraculously transformed the place, wish I’d thought of it myself, it’s now my top tip for quarantine survival. And I’ve discovered the miracle of Coles and BWS deliveries. And I’ve tested negative for Covid once already! One down, one to go.

Dining room on the left, office on the right

Cleaning Stuff

Meal delivery.

Next Thursday I have my second PCR test, if that’s negative I’ll be released on Sunday, fly to Gold Coast and take up residence in Broadbeach until December. Unless something else goes wrong...