Travel in the Time of Covid

A rare sight: No one taking in thr East Side Gallery

When I checked into my Berlin pension, the desk person told me I was the only one staying in there that night. Travel restrictions were still in place, so you could only book a hotel room if you were on business, which meant budget lodgings, like my pension, in the heart of Berlin's touristy shopping district wasn't a a big draw.

Just outside, along the shopping strip in Charlottenburg, shoppers ignored the 1.5 meter of social distancing to line up in front of their favourite brand name stores, which still had to maintain a capacity limit inside. Some shoppers wore masks, but a freakish amount of people didn't bother with masks. For someone who had been locked down for two months, this was disconcerting.

That Saturday was the first day that Berlin loosened its quarantine laws. It was also a warm, sunny spring day. A powerful combination for people cooped up for two months in their flats. So people gathered outside in the parks and patios to walk, drink, flirt, and simply walk around.

Yet, the country was still locked down, even as restrictions were lifing in Berlin. This meant the city belonged to the Berliners. They sat along the Spree and sipped beer in the sun. They shopped, or at least they lined up to shop. The crowded onto patios to eat burgers and kebab. The tourist spots, on the other hand, were deserted.

On my way to an apartment viewing, I walked along the East Side Gallery. Usually there are hoards of people snapping selfies in front of the murals on the old sections of the Berlin Wall. I had the gallery to myself. The Berliners had no time for something they see every day.

Later I came back to my lodgings. The desk clerk had already left for the night, leaving me alone in the dim pension (unlike a hotel, there's no 24/7 staff on-site). 

In the morning, I ate breakfast in the grand old dining room alone - the old hardwood floor creaking loudly underfoot as I refilled my coffee. Through the tall windows, the city was already coming to life. Chairs and tables scrapped pavement as they were being laid out in the cafe below, currywurst stands were opening, and traffic was humming along.

Inside, the pandemic seemed like it still was going on. Outside it seemed like it was over.

Work-Life Balance Comes Home

When the toddler borrows my notebook

I was in a meeting recently, when someone mentioned creating marketing content for potential customers because they're so bored right now. 

Bored, I thought, who are these people with time to be bored? 

Despite being sent home to work remotely, my tasks haven't changed. I was already a remote worker before the lockdown began, so the prospect of staying home and working in isolation didn't seem so hard, until the Kita (that's the German daycare) closed.

Every day of this lockdown might seem like the same, but it's far from boring. The challenges of career and childcare smash into each other constantly. My wife and I must teleconference for work with a toddler climbing up and screaming "HEEEEYYY!" at our screens.

Focus time for writing or conceptual thinking only comes in blocks of an hour or so, when the toddler goes down for a nap. How about composing emails or reviewing word docs? We now do those things with the background noise of a toddler banging a wooden spoon against a toy pot.

I think I speak for many parents balancing a remote job and being their own daycare when I say I am not bored. But you know who is bored? That screaming, laughing, crying, wooden-spoon-wielding maniac. 

Every day he wakes up and we groggily wake up. It's a new day and he's ready to drink his warm milk, watch his cartoons, and ransack his toy shelves (which were carefully tidied the night before). He's so bored that he rarely plays with his toys, he just spreads them out on the floor, appraises them like a indifferent king, and then raids the kitchen cupboards for frying pans, plastic containers, and cheese graters (we take those away from him).

Pre-lockdown, he went to the Kita every day to sing songs, play with other kids, and climb the indoor jungle gym. His current playmates are two tired, sore giants, who won't do anything until they drink their hot black coffee juice, and they spend way too much time looking at their screens for work. I feel for the little guy.

In these strange times with another "Once in a Lifetime" recession looming, it's good to have a job and feel useful, especially when so many others have already been furloughed.

But there are times when I'm banging out copy on the laptop and the bored toddler pulls on my leg with a ball in his hand. He speaks in cute gibberish, but doesn't understand my "I have to work" gibberish. It's moments like that where I wish I was just a little more bored.

All that whole work-life balance handwringing was once an abstraction, something you mentally trained yourself to deal with, like not looking at your work email on the weekend or not talking about work at the dinner table. But the lockdown has made it a real, visceral thing. We have to choose between focusing on the toddler or the job, all day, every work day. 

Like the saying goes: If you trying doing two things at the same time, you won't do either one very well. If I play ball with him while writing the copy, I might hit my son in the face with the ball, which will make him cry, which will make my wife scowl at me. 

It often feels like I'm grinding every day out. Prepare a meal or two, change diapers, be a good colleague, be a good father, be a good husband, take the toddler for a walk, make sure the toddler doesn't find a way to maim or kill himself, shop for groceries, try not to get the covid while shopping for groceries, avoid drinking too much, write the occasional, self-indulgent blog post, get the toddler to sleep, and collapse. And I'm only the father, the mother is doing far more without the whiny blogging.

As Henry Rollins put it on his Cool Quarantine radio show: "These times aren't bad, they're just tough." I'm working from home, while spending a lot of time with my family. I'm watching my son go through an amazing time in his development. Sure, it's tough, but it definitely ain't bad.

The Isolation Begins

Yesterday morning I set out to the local drug store to buy some family necessities. When I got there, I went straight to the toilet paper shelves and managed to score a few rolls. Other shoppers were there, wearing latex gloves and masks, grabbing whatever tissue-y products they could. Minutes later, the shelves were empty, despite the two-per-customer limit.

I waited for a mob to finish asking/accosting a worker stocking shelves about when there will be more toilet paper, and asked her where a certain face wash for Kata was located. She seemed so relieved to answer a non-toilet-paper-related question. 

After grabbing a few less in-demand items (nuts, toothpaste, baby food), I joined the queue, where we all maintained a two-meter distance from each other and avoided eye contact. I paid by card and got out of there as quickly as I could.

In just a few days after I posted my previous post, things jumped a few notches in Germany. Our city-administered day care was closed. Our employers sent us to home office. Playgrounds were cordoned off. Border controls went up. Masks are everywhere. The package delivery guys don't ask for signatures anymore. They ring the front doorbell, wait to be buzzed in, slide the package through the door, and practically run back to their truck.

While some things have changed, some small things haven't. I had to wait for a haircut at my local barber, which is still open for business. People still sit on the patio and sip coffee at the cozy kiosk down the street. There are plenty of joggers, dog walkers, and stroller pushers in our nearby park.

Small things seem even larger in importance than ever before. We're collectively stressing about beating the panic buyers to the toilet paper shelf or wondering if we're going to get this virus by standing too close to a stranger a stoplight. Getting a hair cut or reading a book on a park bench on a sunny day might keep us sane in the coming days, weeks, and months.

But those small things might be more dangerous than we realize. In Italy, everyone was sent home from work and school and, because it was Italy, instead of staying at home, they went to the cafes and clubs and stayed out late to enjoy the warm weather. The rate of infection rose, hospitals were overwhelmed, and the government shut down everything and sent the police into the streets to keep people home.

Many of the small things in this crisis are only dangerous when they're abused. Large groups still gather in public, people cough in stores without covering their dirty germ holes, and they're throwing grill parties in the park. 

In Germany, in particular my state of North-Rhine-Westphalia, which is hardest hit by the coronavirus, we'll see in the coming days if this partial shutdown will have an effect on the infection rate. If not, we'll have to forget about enjoying the small things for a while.