Waiting It Out Abroad: Ecuador Lockdown 2020

‘The sun is still shining,
the wind is still blowing,
and out in the wild
you are growing.
Days may go by
without change
you can feel,
but what’s happening here
is most certainly real:
You are becoming
what you were meant
to become
out in the wild
in the arms of the sun.’

– Morgan harper nichols

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today: 173 days in lockdown.

173 days. Five months, and 20 days. And counting.

Well, where to begin with this year. All our lives have been put on hold in one way or another. The collective grief of loss of plans, jobs, and so many lives made me debate even sharing my story. After all it is one that comes from a place of privilege, as I could travel in the first place. However, I do not think personal experiences should be shamed or dismissed, so I have decided to share.

This post is all about my personal experience of being abroad in 2020, and deciding to stay put as the world locked down.

peru – november, 2019

It started as a hum. Background noise hovering around the outskirts, often drowned out by dances in the overly packed kitchen, waves tumbling my breath away as I attempted to surf, the sound of coffee grinding at the market, the honk of the bread man as the sun rose in the early hours, the chill of the ocean as we ran in screaming one late night.

Time had passed quicker than imagined, and somehow I was still away in South America after leaving in February 2019 with a one way ticket, a heavy backpack and fear tinged with excitement. Somehow though, I had made it work – finding volunteer jobs, and starting to work online as I went along. My idea forged into a somewhat doable plan: head north, hopefully making it to Colombia eventually.

‘Have you heard about what is happening in China?

I asked my friends over a communal dinner one hot sticky evening, as music played and laughter filled our full hostel in Peru. Most had not. I tried to explain  with the little knowledge I had, gathered from a few news stories that painted a picture of distance and containment. The subject soon shifted: we were out of beers.

Whilst it remained a distant muttering, first introduced to me by students online, it lingered at the back of my mind. The students experiences were hard to ignore. But I could push it back that day and for months after. We ran to make sunset on the crumbling hill overlooking the lines of waves, our sourced warm beers in hand. I often think back to this time. For me it encapsulates the spirit, and freedom of travel.

‘Are you worried about the virus?’

This question became increasingly common, mainly from students in China. What they described sounded like something from a sci-fi movie. The increasing news articles (I often looked back at one article from February in disbelief when everything took a rapid turn), remained adamant: it is contained. Distant. Managed. So I would answer as only someone far away, from a country of relative freedom and privilege could. Not to mention answer as someone without experience of nationwide, or a global disaster could:

‘I guess we have to wait and see what happens, and live our lives until said otherwise. I hope things improve there soon.’

And live it we did. Up until the end of February there were no cases announced in South America, and I merrily travelled to the jungle, then up the coast of Peru- kissing cheeks, sharing drinks, dancing in packed bars and sneezing without concern or odd looks from others. All the while colours slowly changed on the map one by one, a map no-one had expected to see: a rona world map.

South America remained green-free from any cases. Even my friends in Asia with low case counts spoke casually of masks and some restrictions, which provided a level of reassurance for a ‘what if’ scenario. The gravity of what was to come remained unbeknown even in the countries with small numbers of cases trickling in, and somehow China became compartmentalised; separate, an exception. Then Italy did too. Then Spain too. Then…

Social media erupted. We watched nature emerging, cities empty, people singing from balconies, and dancing on rooftops. Thoughts were focused on hoping the situation improved in these countries. It still felt so far removed it was hard to comprehend. Also, ignorantly I wondered how it would cross and spread quickly in South America, due to how far away we felt from Europe and Asia.

Each day when I refreshed the map I felt a sense of relief though. Distant. Contained. Managed? Relief not only at this point because everyone feared catching rona as news suddenly grew of the gravity of the situation in China and elsewhere, but because of the impact it would have on certain countries. For example countries such as those in South America, whose health care systems, and dependence on tourism, could take a particularly heavy impact.

How little we knew.

Distant. Contained? Managed?

My first hint of changes in South America was as I crossed the border into Ecuador at the end of February. Border control wore masks and sprayed our belongings with disinfectant. Still, we huddled close in line, all tired and ready to get on with the journey to the coast of Ecuador. As we passed the city of Guayaquil in Ecuador, something made me recheck my phone. Perfect timing for the news article that announced the first case in Ecuador.

Not so distant anymore. 

Welcome.

‘is it in ecuador yet?’

My student asked concerned. Two weeks in Ecuador and I was sick. My first day back at teaching after a week of rest was greeted with an uncontrollable cough. Fantastic. The week prior I had gone to the small local hospital with stomach issues and chills- no temperature, and still no idea that it could be anything else. After all, the case count remained extremely low at around 5 in Ecuador. Plus I had previously had similar symptoms due to a parasite in Peru, after surfing in polluted water.

‘Yes but there are only a few cases’

I said brightly through cough induced tears. After all, at the hospital my stomach was pushed a few times and I was casually told that yes, I had another parasite (cue injection in the bum and a drip for an hour). Too sick to question anything, I did not ask for a blood test, especially with my basic Spanish skills. Now I wonder if it was actually rona. Thankfully, I was working at a hostel with little to no guests due to it being the start of low season, and my friend had just left the volunteer quarters I was staying in. The tiredness from the sickness meant I stayed indoors isolated anyway.

This eases my conscience a little.

‘wash your hands’

Two weeks later, the news murmured in the background at the supermarket, advising people to wash their hands regularly. I piled my cart high with dried goods (and after some debate-a toilet roll), as I prepared to move to a sleepy Ecuadorian village one hour north. After seeing the news about the chaos of supermarkets in the UK, I was surprised to see shelves so well stocked. Hand sanitiser hung casually at the ends of tills untouched. Things still felt normal. I mean they were right?

‘ecuador will go into a nationwide lockdown on 17th march’.

My friend and I sat on the beach watching the sun set deep orange as guitars were strummed, surf swelled, and people wandered past selling food. As quickly as normality greeted me in this magical village that March 13th night, it went.

Clues were there in retrospect. A sudden 14 day quarantine rule for flights imposed on Saturday. My friend’s tour cancelled. Then the land borders closed. Next on Sunday 15th: a 2 day warning that Ecuador was going into lockdown.

The news was slow to catch on, but the case count had been silently increasing to warrant the quick response from the government. I forwarded my friends the news. They had not heard anything about it. No one knew what was going on. And like many countries, initially there was little knowledge as to what this meant, or what the penalties were for going against it.

‘We should probably go get some food’.

On the Sunday I casually suggested we should probably get some supplies given the short notice. That Monday we did (including a 7kg bag of rice). The city where we buy food- a 30 minute drive from the village- felt relatively quiet given the hoards of people I expected to flood the floors of the supermarket in fear of lack of food. I must mentioned at this point we had no idea of what would happen- would food supplies run out? Would people protest? Will the police enforce anything?  Lockdown was a distant idea in most places like the UK, so we had little to go by other than stories of panic slowly burning through each corner of the world.

‘We want to party in the city though’

Phone calls soon started trickling in, mainly from friends on different continents, at different stages of being recalled home, confused as to what was happening, and what to do. Up until the last moments we clung to the feeling of normality which enshrouded us, switching our news alerts off, and looking around as life continued as normal where we resided.

Yet the humming began to shrill louder and closer. My friend in Colombia told me his plans to party in a city and I almost felt embarrassed dramatically declaring that he needed to find somewhere safe to wait this whole thing out, or get out now. 

‘are you going home?’

As soon as the lockdown was announced, people naturally panicked. It was like a domino effect across South America as one by one countries followed suit, often with little to no notice of their strict lockdown measures. In Ecuador, flight prices shot up, with some way above 2000 USD for a one way flight. Alarm was high. I joined a WhatsApp group for British people stuck in Ecuador and the stories were wild. From the Mayor of Guayaquil preventing the scheduled flight from landing (yes that happened), to crowds at the airports crying, to flights cancelled again, and again, and again. Lets also not forget travel insurance. Most companies pulled rona related issues (a new fine print not yet penned), from under us. And for some, entire policies.

I had phone calls with friends in Argentina, Chile and Colombia, all at different stages of what was evolving in Ecuador. My friend in Colombia managed to leave. My friends in Peru were stuck. My friend in Argentina stayed. A heavy dose of shock started reigning down as we tried to breathe. As only pure shock can deliver, I was eerily calm. Rolling with it. 

Initially anyway.

‘I will stay’

I agreed with my family in the UK that it was not the time to go anywhere those first few days. Instead I planned to continue to assess the situation. It felt (and still does at times) like a little safe haven in the sleepy village where I was based. I had friends around, we could still surf, the beach was empty, we were isolated, there were no cases here, and what were the rules anyway?

Plus I had arrived in town with little left in savings, with a plan to work long hours teaching to save some money again. Yes this is not ideal I know, and since I have discussed with other friends who are abroad how important savings are. I had just used mine, and the magnitude of the pandemic was still only introducing itself. No-one (apart from maybe scientists, the odd sci-fi movie or two and Bill) could even begin to see this coming.

Flights were not only more than triple of what I had, but they were repeatedly being cancelled during those first few weeks. Later the British Foreign Office started offering loans to pay back flights, but I did not want to risk leaving my safe spot and getting stuck in a city in lockdown. Reported situations in cities strikingly contrasted to the tranquil feeling in the village during those initial weeks.

Plus, what was my plan on return? Could I return to my family home with the risk of rona? How would I afford to live on my current salary in the UK? What would I do? A privileged position I know to even have the option of camping in my family garden, but also a lot to process. And I am someone with little to no plan. A week before my plan to travel north through South America was a given, asides from the financial factors. Slowly, as was and still is the case for many, I was losing agency over decisions that influenced my life. 

But I had one choice I had to make. Stay or go?

My gut feel: It just did not feel right to leave. So I decided to stay.

Soon the whole world locked down.

what happens if we stay out after curfew?

During the initial weeks of lockdown everything passed in a blur. It still felt detached and relatively normal, but elsewhere in the world things were getting serious. Fear hovered on the sidelines, as I anxiously worked 7 to 10 hour days not knowing when the money could stop. The rona world map seeped in red, slowly oozing into even the most far flung countries. It was the only conversation I had with students, the only conversation I had with anyone for that matter. Yet no-one really knew what to say.

The only sign of police during those initial days of lockdown were on the beach, as they too navigated an unusual time where rules remained unclear. I walked back after the 7pm curfew, staring at the stars heavy in the sky. My main fear was the dogs at night, not staying out after curfew to watch the sunset. Now that feels wild to me, but at this stage life as we knew it rebelliously flirted at the sidelines, promising what it could not fulfil: to stay.

However the increase in cases in the UK worried me. Friends who had returned home had no enforced quarantine despite long journeys and layovers. Many had to even hop on public transport. It was all a bit confusing to say the least. Conversations with my parents also surprisingly took a role reversal as I urged them to stay inside. There was so much confusion, so much fear. Like in many places, they had no idea whether it was more serious than what the UK was making out. None of us did. Not long after the UK took a turn on its initial ‘herd’ approach, and also went into lockdown.

I guess i will be here until june at least

Lockdown rules soon changed in Ecuador. A traffic light system was introduced with fines. Curfew became 2pm for our province, as it was a red with relatively high case numbers. We could only drive one day a week, restaurants closed and no buses were running. The market doused you in a tunnel of disinfectant that caused a strange itching, temperatures were checked and bleach was bizarrely and sadly sprayed in the streets.

Initially rules were imposed by community workers, blowing whistles loudly in otherwise silent streets usually full of sound. Masks were slowly introduced, although it was impossible to find one initially (now you can have every design you can possibly imagine; Manchester United?- sorted. Floral with a touch of fluorescent?- you got it. One with a strange counterproductive hole to let in air?- why not). No-one knew what to do, but visas were on hold so it made sense to just wait for the dust to settle.

Still waiting.

Initially I had estimated that it would be until June that I would be ‘waiting it out’ so to speak. But soon, for me (and the rest of the world), it became apparent things were only going to get stricter, and more uncertain. The predication that flights would resume by June fell flat as my friends and I stared at the dwindling dots on the flight map as the rona map lit up. Conversations became heavy. It was impossible to not revert back to a topic that went in circles as we attempted to piece together our disbelief, find the solution, and solve the mystery.

People stopped leaving. Once the commercial flights halted, there were only scrapings left. Often news of a reparation flight would come too late. After all, we are 12 hours from the capital, 4 from the nearest main airport, and you had to have documents to pass police checkpoints. Advice was often simply: find a way to get there. Some of my friends in other countries were having an even harder time finding a way out. I stopped looking for a while.

‘why do people not wear masks?’

This question from dismayed students in Asia often caught me short, as they watched the rest of the world ignore certain precautions. I did not know how to answer, but we often discussed cultural differences. Masks were not common in the UK or elsewhere, unlike some countries in Asia where they were worn for others reasons.

Initially I too felt strange wearing one (once I could actually buy one to replace my makeshift buff mask). I guess everything about the situation felt strange. But I wanted to cause as little alarm as possible in the community, as I read about people fearing foreigners in many places. I also wanted to respect the rules and reduce the risk of spreading the virus (what at this point still felt so unknown). If that meant wearing a mask, then so be it. Slowly mask usage normalised.

we took a gamble. if shit goes down, it goes down.

We agreed this over beers one sunny Sunday late morning. We had taken a gamble, in a time of such uncertainty. Still this time reigned. Once one uncertainty ended, such as insurance worries, another popped up. Visas were and still are a constant worry. Days passed, weeks passed. Some good, some bad. The shock waned as we realised this time was here to linger. Cue the post-shock rollercoaster of emotion stage.

At times I felt an overwhelming hope, speaking to students around the world and seeing how people were uniting together. From the community garden set up here to make food more affordable, to those fighting on the frontline (including some of my incredible friends). Sometimes my heart was full.

Then hope would be replaced with a confused respect at the sudden surge in sourdough baking, zoom calls and banana bread’s rise to the top. It was also interesting to see how Ecuador was portrayed in the news. Whilst it was so sad to see what was unfolding and the death toll, it felt like it was only in the spotlight to distract from similar numbers in the countries reporting on it. Who knows?

And sometimes with thoughts like this I felt despair. From clickbait headlines, to the failure to increase frontline wages, to the increasing devastation the virus was causing-to people urging me to return – I knew one thing, I needed to go offline.

black lives matter

After a week of no phone usage I turned on my phone to read about the killing of George Floyd, and the Black Lives Matter protests in the USA and the UK. This useful link full of resources helped, and continue to help me.

And I cried, and continue to cry a lot.

to lockdown, or not lockdown?

During the rollercoaster phase, I was mainly in contact with one friend in the village. When not working, we would spend mornings over post-surf coffee, trying to comprehend the situation around the world from our bubble. To lockdown or not lockdown? We looked on at our friends in Sweden in disbelief, seemingly untouched by the dramatic changes in our lives. And we still had the ability to go outside, and to the beach before curfew. Elsewhere in Ecuador, and parts of the world, this was out of the question.

We faced all the events what now screamed for our attention, tentatively discussing subjects which were, and still can be uncomfortable. We could no longer look away, after so many years of constantly being on the move, constantly being able to scroll past certain issues, and not look inward. We spoke about how it was as if rona was telling us all to stop. Look. These were here before, and are still here now. Plus a few more problems including me.

Look. Learn. And change.

But of course we wanted a reason, a get out, an explanation for all of this. So we also read all the conspiracy theories and all the science, feeling confused and overwhelmed at how quickly our lives had changed. Feared a vaccine, begged for vaccine, rejected rules, judged newcomers before remembering we had no idea of their reason for movement. It was a constant push, a constant pull, but also a way to try and assert a level of control.

We also grieved that our lives were put on hold, but battled with the guilt that we were healthy and in relatively good positions. For a while we even clung on to the idea it was not so serious, that it would be over soon, but having previously worked in healthcare, and having many friends on the frontline, it was becoming increasingly evident that this was sadly not the case.

Lockdown it was.

surrender to what you cannot control.

The uncertainty of returning home was also a reality for many. Not just because of the lack of reparation flights. Yes, some people had homes to return to, but some did not, having sold everything for their trip. Some were like me; on a one way trip with little plan, and now at a complete loss of what to do. Others were couples from different countries. If they left they would have to be apart due to lockdown rules. Many did not have jobs to return to, with festivals cancelled and the hospitality industry on lockdown. Some planned to see so many places on their trips, but now waited static, watching their bank accounts dwindle and dry.

It was a hard time for many. But there were also days when we would gaze out at the bubblegum coloured sky, as the sun set on the horizon and the waves roared. We breathed as the pelicans soared and surfed, the weight replaced with gratitude for being safe in such a beautiful part of the world.

Breathe.

Sometimes there was guilt. How can I feel bad for being here? People think it is beautiful here, why am I not grateful enough? Why am I moaning? Should I feel bad for being an extra number here? Stay or go? Am I a burden? Is it good to support the local economy? Are people isolating enough?

Breathe.

Sometimes there was almost laughable disbelief, sometimes overwhelming fear what if what if what if, and sometimes loneliness. Some people were able to lean in during those days, always seemingly happy and optimistic, exclaiming how great it was to have ended up here. I agreed, but also silently got back on my rollercoaster, wondering if I was the only one slightly lost, at once recognising the collective situation the world faced, but also feeling so alone.

Surrender to what you cannot control.

Breathe.

a travel ode

And sometimes there was homesickness. Sometimes a wobble for a warm shower. Sometimes a desire to return to the days of sneezing freely and being crammed into tiny kitchens screaming ‘Country Roads’ at the top of our lungs. Being able to hug old friends, hug new friends, kiss, dance melting, free. Being able to argue over meaningless worries like whether the tiny window should be left open in the 20 bed hostel room; air thick; smells varied; coughs snores sniffs plentiful. The struggle for sleep and need for ear plugs now lost music to the ears, pungent smells lost to disinfectant.

Sometimes I missed being able to hop on a bus all night, even clambering over strangers; desperation for a bathroom stop at breaking point. That feeling of excitement at being on the move, hitching a ride, camping, couch surfing , just being with new friends. Choosing to stay in.

Sometimes there was nostalgia for a time so recent yet so far removed. The smell that hits you, smacks you awake when you leave a conditioned airport to step into a new land, so familiar yet unfamiliar every time. Sharing bites of steaming street food, crammed into tiny bars, that delicious warm shared beer, screaming into microphones with strangers killing a song at karaoke. Piling into overflowing shared taxis, sitting on minibus floors to get to mountain trails, somehow ending up holding someone’s baby, talking to the person next to you. Being able to communicate with a smile.

Sometimes there was even a desire for the drama of the middle seat, the drama of standing face in an armpit; bags slung on the roof, sliding round winding roads with no idea where to get out or if the bang was your bag making an escape, a window smashing (yes that happened), or a pothole. Crying knowing one day whatever the situation, it could be a hella funny story. Even the ones literally hard to stomach.

Sometimes I missed those sticky nights and long sleepy days salty crisp, terrifyingly raw and fresh. Holding sweaty hands, worrying about handshake style, hesitating before approaching the hostel clan but immediately being welcomed in as family. Free city tours after long buses, weary eyed but wired as the city buzzed, continuing on. People watching. People watching at the airport arrivals gate. People watching from cosy cafes. Glimpses of life through open doors, streets littered with laughter. Getting lost. Finding yourself. Markets brimming with life, heavy with smells; demanding all your senses stand to attention. Serendipitous coincidences, missed chances, a constant flow. Life.

All the bad, in your face, no space- take it or leave it realities: travel.

I still miss it.

All of it. Even that bloody middle seat.

Did july even happen?

Lockdown rules slowly eased throughout June. Still there was no talk of cases in the village. Some people started to resist the ongoing measures and there was talk of parties in the depths of the jungle. I guess the situation became familiar, and human beings have a remarkable (good and bad) ability to adapt, especially when the threat feels distant, and far removed.

However by this stage I was already isolating completely due to feeling a tightness in my chest and a headache which clung on like a trooper. The friend I live with, who has kindly allowed me to stay here, was also sick. We suspected we got whatever it was whilst food shopping in the city despite taking all the precautions.

People were surprised I was sick as I isolated a lot more than others, only seeing one other friend in the village and mainly staying at home, or going on solo walks. It felt wrong to be partying anyway, however fun it sounded. My feelings towards rona and how to approach it had been a rollercoaster of denial, resistance, grief and acceptance. So I was isolating. Rona or no rona diagnosis there was no point risking it.

I stayed in bed for three weeks. At this point there were no tests nearby and the risk of travelling to a small local hospital felt too high. I guess it helped that I am used to hiking at altitude with an even tighter chest and inability to breathe. By the end of July I felt strong enough to start walking 5 minutes up the hill behind the house once my symptoms disappeared. Gone were the days of long hikes with 15kg on my back.

This has slowly got better, but it has been up and down due to what I suspect are post-rona symptoms which come and go. Sometimes I feel good, and surf or hike. Other days it feels as if I have been hit by a truck. This is hard to explain to others who have (thankfully) not experienced this. I am grateful it was not worse.

For me the mental impact of the whole situation, and the majority of this year, also remains. It is hard to explain to those who are able to shift back to a pre-rona era like forgetting the pains of labour, or to those happily exclaiming and embracing ‘the new normal!’ (cue eye twitch). We all adapt differently. Yet I still feel caught in the net, unsure what the right move is to acknowledge the weight of the ocean rona bears down, but to find a way to be able to swim in it safely and freely, without drowning.

‘i am young and healthy. it is fine’

Whilst I kept my distance throughout lockdown, being mainly at home frantically working, I felt little worry about actually contracting rona, being more concerned about my ability to spread it. It was unknown. Initially referred to as ‘like the flu’. After experiencing its after effects, and knowing a friend who had it severely in Peru, this changed.

Not long after I was sick, cases began propping up in the village after some parties. The bubble had popped in our tiny corner of the world. The village is still experiencing cases and there has sadly been death. Mask usage returned after it briefly went out of fashion. Now there is a clinic carrying out testing in the village, and a newly opened pharmacy, but to source an antibody test means going to a larger city. And paying. Basic healthcare or public hospital visit needs aside, healthcare is not cheap here at all. People started drinking bleach. Seeking alternative options. Plus public hospitals, especially on the coast, have limited resources and can fill up fast.

winter is coming

And like that July was over and winter was fully upon us – called the ‘garua’ season here. My friend in the village who I met in Peru left, others came. It was hard. We met during a time of relative freedom, and experienced the change together. But like in many places in the world, normality- or should I say, living, finds a way back in. Restaurants began to open, then we realised the beach was supposed to have been closed the entire time (it is always so empty anyway). Since the beginning of August mask usage has dropped again, social gatherings are creeping back, people are going out to earn money and some are coming to the coast to holiday.

Some rules remain, such as curfew, and the traffic light system is still in place. We are now yellow, at the time of writing. This means curfew is now 11pm and you can drive three days a week; determined by your number plate. Buses are back, and travel is opening up.

check yourself

I guess throughout this lockdown experience, I have learnt to always question my presumptions. For example, it is easy to say stay in when you have a comfortable shelter, especially when you have means to distract yourself, and enough money to get by so to speak. Throughout the time in lockdown I have been extremely thankful to be living with such a wonderful friend and in an area with access to the outdoors. Again a reason what makes it easier to adhere to lockdown rules.

Everyone has been so welcoming here and the community has come together to create the garden, plus there were fundraisers to give out food supplies. But without a comfortable shelter, and in need of money, it is a lot harder to weigh up whether staying in really is worth it. People need to put food on the plate and make a living, which for many involves the tourism industry, and/or selling things day by day. Although it is also still low season, the impact of less tourists remains.

TRAVEL IS BACK?

Anyway, now the tourists have begun to come again. At the moment this mainly consists of local tourists. There is no longer a mandatory 14 day quarantine when you arrive in Ecuador if you have a negative coronavirus test. Check the changing rules on their website for up to date information though, as things change rapidly. The State of Exception (very much like a State of Emergency) ends on the 12th September, and after that things remain relatively unclear. Cases are still increasing and it is hard to comment as to whether statistics accurately capture the true extent of this. However after the 12th, local governments can still implement their own rules to manage rona cases in their area.

Throughout these many months my routine has remained roughly the same, working – walking, gardening. To date I still feel the impact of the sickness, sometimes feeling little energy or motivation to do more than get through work. It seems as if it might be possible to extend visas (I hope), and now is the time to organise this and everything else put on hold due to lockdown.

what is your plan?

I remain unsure. People say it is not defeat to return to the UK, and I certainly agree. I plan to continue to assess the situation. When lockdown lifts there will be movement. Whether that triggers an increase in cases remains to be seen. My friend and I plan to go hiking using a tent and car to keep isolated. It will be nice to move, no matter how magical this area is. People seem split in terms of what to do next. Some enthusiastically talk about travel, and I hope that one day I too will feel it is safe, and possible to do so, not just for myself but the communities I pass through. But right now for me it does not feel this way in terms of being able to move through South America on my original planned trip. Plus there is the little detail that land borders remain closed until further notice.

So for now I continue to wait it out, navigating the visa situation, trying to earn money and stay in tune with my gut feel. We will see.

and ecuador?

As noted, Ecuador is lifting lockdown restrictions on 12th September. Quito still has a special regime to be aware of at the time of writing, and mask usage is still going to be implemented, with a fine of over 100 dollars if this is not taken seriously. The usual restrictions for large gatherings, concerts etc will continue. And, some curfews will remain in place. Visas will revert to the usual rules as far as we are aware. If you are reading this for information on the current situation I suggest to review government websites. Feel free to contact me if you are unsure of where to start.

Whilst people are travelling around now, I think it will take several months before the situation stabilises, and that is if there is not another wave of cases. We will see. I hope for Ecuador’s people, especially the tourism industry, that things continue to improve.

growth is internal

Still it is scary.

I try to remember I am not alone when my courage wanes, uncertainty rears a fun reminder, and the horizon blurs without an identifiable end. I am forced to ground myself in this moment. I try to resist the urge to knock a year off my age this year due to the pause. I try to see the gratitude in getting to experience a different season here, with whales jumping and cold days inside. The fact that I also have made a friend, more like family, for life (thank you C for everything).

I am also learning that physical markers- new jobs, new places; evidence of ‘movement’, were never, and certainly now are not signs of growth. Great if they happen, but we should not feel obliged to seek them. If we have this motivation these things are merely references to log in our narrative to society, to show that we are adhering to an imaginary standard, often self imposed.

And maybe they are good for an instagram photo too. For example my friend recently got engaged, and sent me a photo whilst I was battling to block my doorframe from bats who had moved in. Funny timing and only one of those images fairs well, and will be on the gram. Obviously news like this is amazing (congratulations again if you’re reading!), bats not so much.

But my point is, I ask myself why am I so bothered by my lack of ‘evidenced’ growth during this time. The only lack is autonomy over a lot of factors right now. This is true for all of us in different ways, even if you have got engaged or have managed to secure a job promotion (go you!).

Everything has been impacted. Everyone has been impacted. The loss of our perceived normalities, power and freedom is real. Yes, a lot of that was uncertain and an illusion even back then. And yes, now is a time to surrender, breathe, look inward, and reevaluate. But it is hard. Hard to find the balance between acknowledging how severely this year has impacted others, whilst also acknowledging our own struggles. We are trying to survive a pandemic after all. Plus navigate everything else. And find a way to live amongst it all.

Survive AND thrive as my friend’s saying goes.

Growth I tell/scream to myself, is internal no matter where I am.

I am still trying to repeat that to myself.

so….

So yes, I do miss travel and try not to fall into the depths of ambiguity life has thrown not only towards me and my plans as a digital nomad/traveller, but life in general. I am just taking it one step at a time as the world opens up, closes, and opens again. I get there are lots of things more important to worry about right now, and we need to be doing all we can to prevent the spread of rona.

But I think, as I said earlier, it is not the materialisms of travel that I truly miss. It is life. The constant flow, the energy, the excitement. For others they seek this through other outlets, other activities. And many of these activities come back to our social nature, our connection to others. For me I feel this most when I travel.

Until then I will continue to try to lean in to this wild journey we call life, plus yes- wear a mask, take precautions and be safe.  And of course daydream about the day I can be on the road again.

Take care.

 

If you have any questions about ecuador and the current situation let me know. I will direct you to the most accurate resources and provide as much help as i can.