I long to fly home but I’m too scared
Flyer beware. It’s the kind of catchy expression we’re more likely to expect from Scotty from marketing, as Australian Prime Minister Scott Morrison has been dubbed, than from his New Zealand counterpart. Yet when Jacinda Ardern uttered these words in announcing the long-awaited travel bubble between the two countries, for many New Zealanders on the ‘‘wrong’’ side of the ditch it encapsulated our fears.
The bubble was a long time coming. For more than a year I’ve watched videos of Lyall Bay beach in Wellington, followed Wellington Walks via Instagram and gritted my teeth as others posted photos of themselves at ‘‘my’’ window table at the Maranui Cafe. There were times when I wanted nothing so much as to be there, giving voice to this longing in opinion pieces for Australian newspapers from Melbourne’s interminable lockdown.
Yet despite authoring wistful reflections such as one The Age headlined, ‘‘The two countries I love have never felt further apart’’, when bookings opened, I balked. I’m not the only one. Airlines have talked up the excitement, and fares have not reflected the predicted price-gouging, but when it comes actually booking many of us have held back. One News has reported a major tourism operator as saying Aussie ‘‘window shopping’’ is not translating into sales.
Two daunting risks lie at the heart of this: fear of getting stuck across the Tasman, and fear of catching Covid-19.
Friends who booked early, one a grandad longing to see his toddler grandson, are relaxed about the prospect of borders closing, flights suspended, or being ordered into NZ quarantine. A valid excuse for more time off work is no bad thing, they say.
But for many of us it’s not so easy. We have jobs and homes and families and pets. Friends and family in New
Zealand may be thrilled to have us visit – but would they want us quarantining in the spare room or stuck indefinitely? Consigning my little cat Bertie, my sole lockdown companion for almost a year, to a cattery will be difficult enough, but what of her if I get stuck in Wellington?
And there’s pandemic paranoia. Community transmission is, for now at least, all but eliminated in both countries. But with new variants in our quarantine systems, we can’t count on that. The risk of four hours on a plane, of crowded airports, waiting in gate lounges, is unknowable. Safe as houses, or a potential super-spreader event . . .
For New Zealanders, particularly those for whom a full-scale lockdown is a fairly distant memory, this may seem over-cautious. But for those such as me, over 65, with chronic conditions and having endured the rigours of Covid-afflicted Melbourne life for the past year, it is surely understandable. That’s especially so as Australia’s shambolic vaccination rollout means it is likely to be several months until my arm sees the sharp end of a needle.
Even readjusting to the kind of normal life to be found in New Zealand
excitement. A queue formed at the buffet, with one passenger quietly asking: how does it work?
The atmosphere was carnivallike, as major Australian TV networks did live crosses into the crowd. But as always with Covid-19, nothing is simple. Talent scouts went out to make sure the hosts picked happy stories; because there was plenty of heartbreak out there. will take some doing. Yesterday, I visited the triennial exhibition at Melbourne’s NGV International gallery, on its final day. After only my second train trip since the pandemic began. I arrived stressed, having travelled in a carriage of passengers without masks, despite their being compulsory on public transport.
With timed tickets, I walked to the entrance past a line several hundred metres long with no social distancing in evidence – those hoping to score admission despite no booking. And they did. As the morning progressed, they were allowed in, the gallery becoming increasingly packed. For myself and my sister, who’d driven in from her small town, both graduates of the solo-isolation-with-cat school of pandemic survival, it was too much.
If I can’t cope with this, I realised, how will I cope with the airport, the departure lounge, the plane trip, the arrivals queues? Eventually and inevitably I will. I long to see my country, my friends, my cousins. But not yet.
Sue Green is a New Zealand journalist and writer living in Melbourne.
I found one such case in front of me at the check-in queue. Tiffany Lauina’s mother passed away two weeks ago, and she explained to me holding back tears, she couldn’t get a flight back in time to go to the funeral. I immediately felt guilty for asking, as she could no longer hold back the tears.
The death was unexpected, and despite the excitement of being able to see family on Monday’s flight, the sorrow in her eyes hasn’t left my memory. Covid-19’s impact on the world has been devastating; but it’s easy to forget all that living in New Zealand, where life continues almost like normal.
Then next passenger I spoke to had a wide smile. I spotted John Harris lining up for a 6am champagne, and he explained he was off to the capital to see his father, who has had heart issues, and his mother who has recovered from cancer.
I almost felt reluctant to keep asking people why they were flying. It was like a minefield, where I didn’t know if my question would spark joy or sorrow.
Jemma Bemrose was all joy. She hadn’t seen her daughter for 15 months, and both burst into tears for a running embrace in the arrivals area.
Bemrose would normally come to Wellington to see her daughter once a month, but Covid had shut that down. She’d been waiting for the bubble to open since it was first mooted in September last year.
Her daughter, Alice, said she spent all last night dreaming about seeing ‘‘Mummy’’.
Pam Lennie was on the flight on a happier note. She flew to Australia 10 weeks ago to see her new grandchild and booked the first flight home once the bubble was announced.
The reunions at Wellington Airport were heart-wrenchingly beautiful. If passengers weren’t feeling enough anticipation before walking off the plane, a large screen was set up near the airbridge so passengers could see the huge crowd of loved ones eagerly waiting.
The tears started in biosecurity. Every time the door opened and people walked out, the faint noise of a heartwarming waiata floated into the room.
Freedom was just 20 steps away, but we had to have our bags checked for rogue fruit and vegetables first.
Walking through the sliding door was a goosebumps moment: Nga¯ ti Po¯ neke performed an emotional haka po¯ whiri as the tears flowed.
Covid-19 has seemed like a year of continual bad news; but what I saw yesterday brought so much joy. Let’s hope it was a turning point.
I almost felt reluctant to keep asking people why they were flying. It was like a minefield, where I didn’t know if my question would spark joy or sorrow.