Return to La Paz

As September drew to a close here in La Paz, I couldn’t help but reflect that Mexico is the third country I spent time in during that month (the fourth if a couple of hours’ transfer time at Amsterdam’s Schipol Airport counts). Not bad considering we are in the midst of a global pandemic. When I left Sister Midnight, back in January this year, Coronavirus wasn’t the word on everyone’s lips as it is today and facemasks were mainly seen in dentists’ surgeries and hospitals. It was at the beginning of its eventual progress to worldwide catastrophe. I had returned home to work for a few months and to see friends and family, yet for the majority of my eight month stay in the UK I did neither. Like most of the country I experienced the surreal state of lockdown and watched the government’s daily news briefings with alarm and trepidation (later to be replaced with growing disbelief, anger and total confusion).  Get-togethers, holidays, trips and birthday parties were cancelled and I was furloughed after just one month of employment with the education agency I’m signed up with. Adhering to the no contact with friends and family outside of my home rule, I prepared to sit out the lockdown alone. It took a couple of Zoom conversations to confirm my aversion to communicating via video calls and I promptly reverted to Facebook and WhatsApp audio or messaging as my preferred means of conversing with people. I ventured out every other day for walks and essential items and like many others, sorted out cupboards, clothes and drawers that had been long neglected. Finding myself in a not so ‘splendid isolation’, I read lots of books, watched several series and films on Netflix and managed to decorate most of my flat in that strange and ‘unprecedented’ period from March until July.

As restrictions gradually lifted I was able to fit in trips to see family in Swindon, Italy and Leyland and then finally to make the return journey to Mexico, two months later than planned, on September 18th. My daughter dropped me off at Manchester Airport to begin a journey that filled me with not a little trepidation. Having recently travelled to Italy where I faced a plethora of confusing and conflicting bureaucratic obstacles involving Covid self-declaration forms (these threatened to deny my permission to fly if incorrectly filled out), I was dreading more of the same. In the event, I was merely given a short paper form when I checked in, to fill out during the flight to Amsterdam. So far so good, but I still had my 23kg bag to put through the oversize luggage area. I’d been determined to get my money’s worth regarding the weight allowance, and since I didn’t need to pack many clothes, I had filled it with various grocery items that are impossible to get or are very expensive in Mexico, and a wide assortment of books and toiletries. To my delight, the scales displayed the permitted 23kg exactly, and as I watched it disappear on the baggage conveyor it felt good to know I wouldn’t have to tackle it again until Mexico City.

The first of my three flights was an uneventful 50 minute one. Passengers complied with the request to keep their face coverings on except when eating or drinking, and also to disembark row by row to limit crowding – something that hadn’t happened on the Ryanair flights to and from Italy. Schipol Airport was eerily quiet and largely deserted when we trooped into the arrivals hall late on Friday night. I wasn’t surprised to consign my self-declaration form to the paper recycling bin after presenting my passport. Perhaps there just isn’t the staff to process all these extra requirements. I managed to find one open bar near my departure gate and sat drinking a glass of wine, making the most of the strong WiFi to chat to Paul. As I queued to board the plane for Mexico City I knew that from hereon in, times for eating, sleeping and everything else that make up a daily routine would blur into a kind of ‘limbo’ period as we began the 12 hour journey across the Atlantic and through different time zones. I was pleased to see I had a row of three seats to myself, so after a tomato pasta dinner, I was able to stretch out and sleep for a few hours.

Reading, watching a film and listening to music took up the rest of the journey, and once again everyone kept their masks on and disembarked row by row. Toilets were disinfected at regular intervals and the crew wore masks and gloves for most of the flight. It struck me that it will soon seem strange to see people with ‘naked’ faces in public places. It was the early hours of Saturday morning when we hit the tarmac at Mexico City’s airport and I was surprised to see raindrops on the windows. Light rain was falling and the pilot announced the outside temperature as 20 degrees. People began pulling on coats and jumpers and it felt decidedly chilly as we walked down the steps. This wasn’t at all what I’d been expecting. Paul had been talking about the blisteringly hot temperatures he’d been experiencing and warned me to prepare for heat. It felt more like Merseyside than Mexico, however, as I splashed through puddles across the tarmac.    

Our flight was the only one to be processed, so getting through passport and immigration control was a relatively speedy affair. Waiting for our bags took much longer, and brought about my next spell of anxiety regarding the contents of my case. Nearby, x-ray machines were at the ready to inspect every bag passing through before it was allowed into the arrivals area. I knew from experience that the packets of coffee might arouse interest as they are a well-known way to disguise the smell of drugs. I also had large blocks of parmesan cheese, an assortment of vegan cheeses, pates and various dried burger mixes. It was no easy feat hefting the bag onto the machine’s conveyor belt and as expected, the operator nodded to the officer at the inspection table that it needed a closer look. The table was considerably higher than the conveyor belt and it took some effort to lift the bag up there but once in place I stepped back and let the lady and her colleague open it up. I wish I’d been allowed to take pictures to capture the look of bemusement on her face as she lifted certain items up and scrutinised the labels. She sought advice from a colleague about the parmesan blocks which were thankfully permitted, and for a moment I thought my precious jar of Marmite was going to be confiscated judging by the frown on her face as she set it aside. If she was intending to take every item out it would be quite a while before I would be going anywhere and I felt like the Chinese people on the Border Control programmes who get admonished for bringing in too much food. It was a relief when she smiled and nodded that I was free to go. After repacking it all and lifting it down I was at last able to reunite with Paul on the other side of the doors.

It was 4am local time by then and Paul had had to set an alarm to come and meet me from his hotel room. Luckily the hotel is situated in the terminal so it was only a short walk through the dimly-lit building to our room. We managed a few hours’ sleep before preparing for my third and final flight to La Paz at lunchtime on Saturday 19^th. By now I was feeling the effects of jet lag so I was relieved that Paul took on the task of filling out the required online Covid forms. The authorities were much more on the ball about checking them than anywhere else I’ve been recently. We were questioned, had our temperatures taken and presented the completed online forms for inspection via Paul’s phone. Plenty of staff were available for this mammoth task which might be a factor for the more lax attitudes in Europe.

The flight to La Paz took two hours, with a weather view totally different from Mexico City’s as we came into land. Bright sunshine, clear blue sky and a shimmering heat haze were visible from the windows. Heat wrapped round me like a cloak when I walked down the steps, reminding me of the tropical heat in Asia. This was more like how Paul had described it – a whole lot hotter than when I left in January. A short Uber taxi ride took us from the airport to the marina and by mid-afternoon I was back on board my second home, which now has a very welcome air-conditioning unit.  The photo below shows Paul the day after my arrival, in the one shower of rain we’ve had since my return. I’d like to state that he is expressing his delight that I’m back, but I was taking the picture primarily to show the state of his ‘work’ shorts to his children.

We made the decision to isolate ourselves as much as possible for two weeks due to our respective travels through airports and generally coming into contact with more people than usual. Paul makes the odd necessary trip to the supermarket, while I still have that particular pleasure to come. I spent the first few days unpacking, rearranging my ‘stuff’ and rediscovering things I’d forgotten I had left here. I also slept a lot, unsurprisingly and after a week my body clock had adjusted to the time difference. Getting used to the temperature might take a bit longer. It’s searingly hot outside, with temperatures often reaching 38 degrees and it remains warm well into the night.  We’ve gone for a few evening walks along The Malecon when the heat isn’t as intense, and last Sunday we had an enjoyable excursion over to the Mogote, a favourite spot of Paul’s and only a short dinghy ride away, for a cooling swim and snorkel. It was my first visit there and the surroundings are strikingly attractive: lush mangroves, sandy beaches complete with cute white lizards, and a backdrop of mountains in the distance. The local cruisers’ radio network we listen to each morning warns repeatedly about the ‘dangerously’ hot temperatures we are experiencing. I am reminded of this on the rare occasions I am outside in the daytime when I feel my skin start to burn during the shortest of exposures. It will be factor 50 for me well into October I think.

In other news, we have a couple of new additions to the medical equipment we carry on board, in the form of an oximeter which measures the oxygen levels in the blood, and a thermometer – the trigger kind now familiar in public places, which aims at the centre of your forehead – a bit like a gun! I have had my temperature taken more times in the past week than in the whole of my life I think!

The marina has taken all the usual precautions against Covid-19; hand gel, signs about wearing masks and keeping a distance and so on. Most people adhere to the mask wearing. Paul tells me he has seen police on the Malecon telling people to cover their faces, but there are always going to be some who flout the rules. This semi lockdown I am in currently, while not as restrictive as that in the UK from March until May has provided an ideal opportunity to acclimatise, catch up on sleep and reading, and to generally have a good excuse to be lazy. Next week I intend to ‘get out more’ as they say. I’m looking forward to cycling and shopping and to exploring more of the place I left back in January.