02-02-2021 Dear Lou,
Party
I was in violation of the law this weekend: my daughter turned 20 years old. And because my ex-husband has recently started to strictly follow the covid-measures in his house, she had asked if she could invite a few friends to my house. I've known most of them since preschool. They are lovely beautiful people who work and study hard. And I couldn't think of a reason not to let them into my house. Except that it was against the law. I did decide that me and my new love would stay there all afternoon and evening. In case something should happen. We ended up with eight people (during the 2 people rule) in my cramped house on the outskirts of Castricum. I live in a converted barn which sounds weirder than it really is. In the old animal enclosures of a large farm 5 houses have created. I have the luxury of a garden and a private driveway. And although it is small with only one bedroom, I enjoy the view of the meadows every day, just 5 minutes walk from the center. I am lucky that I can continue to live in the place where I was born, close to the forest, the dunes, the lakes and the beach. After my divorce 8 years ago, it was not easy to find an affordable home; rental houses are scarce in this area.
My daughter was happy that she could have a mini-party after all. In the morning I had hung up the balloons with the curtains drawn. And I had given my daughter strict instructions that her friends should take turns coming in and putting the bikes behind the fence. Actually, I was stressed all day. Even when everyone was inside and the door was locked. I had the feeling that I had entered some lame infusion of the 'Resistance' and we were about to be arrested at any moment. Fortunately, no one realized how tense I was. Until there was a loud bang on the window. My neighbor was suddenly in the garden. My heart raced when I opened the door. He asked if a package had been delivered for him. When he looked in, all I could do was stammer, "It's her birthday." He smiled. Luckily. At ten to nine the friends cycled home via a country road and I got a big hug from my daughter. I couldn't bear to keep them from following the 9 pm. Curfew imposed on us by the government.
​ First lockdown
Thursday night I had dinner with a good friend with Multiple Sclerosis in his flat nearby. With another good friend. The three of us managed to get through the first lockdown by eating together every Thursday evening. Golden evenings in which we laughed, listened to music, danced in the living room, discussed the situation around the pandemic and cried every now and then because we no longer knew what the future would look like. Last summer we thought the worst was behind us. We hadn't lost anyone to the virus. And the quarrel with my family about my mother was now passé. Born in England, my mother is 86 years old and has lived alone and independently in the house where I grew up since my Scottish father passed away in 2010. She ran her own errands until two months ago, and I do her finances and anything she doesn't understand anymore. I actually run two households, my own and hers. My daughter goes to her grandma weekly to clean, but essentially she does a little dusting and the rest of the time drinks tea with milk with my mom. It's a wonderful reunion where my mother can enjoy her grandchild and my daughter learns how things used to be in the good old days.
​ Work
The first lockdown hit in like a bomshell. At the time, I worked at an online travel agency in Halfweg, where I managed the French market. I speak the French language fluently because my ex-husband is from France and I lived there for several years. Until February 21, 2020 I enjoyed working there. Until I received the first calls from concerned French customers. They no longer wanted to travel, code Orange had been issued for Milan and the surrounding area, they demanded their money back, called us names, and shouted at us. It was an explosion of emotions on the phone all day long. I remember looking at my colleague the first day and asking what the hell was going on in France. My colleagues in the Dutch department looked on in amazement at how busy we were. I was exhausted after the first week. Three weeks later I was drinking an aperitif with my ex-husband in Egmond when we were asked to leave the restaurant before 6 pm. The next day, my colleagues and I received the call to work from home as the Dutch travel market exploded completely. It became months of cancellations, re-booking, re-cancelling, rebooking, crying people and angry customers, ad-hoc decisions, new considerations, and above all the main question: until when were we going to keep this up. Sitting behind my kitchen table during the first lockdown, I already knew the answer. This was not a situation that would end in a couple of weeks.
​ Australia
At the same time, I had sleepless nights over my daughter, who was backpacking in Australia at the time. She had left in October 2019 for a year down-under. My ex-husband and I visited her, Australia and New Zealand in December 2019. And when the three of us celebrated New Year's Eve in the Botanical Gardens, overlooking the Sydney Opera House and the largest fireworks show in the world, we had no idea what year we were entering. And although there were riots in Hong Kong at the time and news came about the Diamond Princess cruise ship that was not allowed to dock somewhere in Asia, the Corona virus seemed far away. At the end of March 2020, my ex-husband and I decided to bring my daughter back from Australia. My hunch told me that the situation could go on for a long time. Having worked in the travel industry for 25 years, I immediately understood the impact of KLM's grounding their fleet until July. The moment the President of the United States closed the borders, that's when I realized the gravity of the situation. I cried for three days because I wanted to bring my child home safely at a time when countries around the world were locking down. I couldn't believe that as an experienced travel agent I couldn't do anything; and that planes even returned empty from destinations because they were not given landing permission. I felt that time was running out. My daughter was in lockdown in a room in a Melbourne hostel with no money and no job. And I tried to keep calm by doing yoga with my ex-husband who is a yoga teacher. At that time, we met a couple of friends who live nearby three times a week, meditating in their garden and drinking wine at 1 p.m. Their situation was perhaps even more complicated than ours. He was a pilot at TUI and was called up several times to repatriate people from European destinations. She had cancer and would start chemotherapy at a moment the care system was shutting down for the first time in history. Several times I spoke to people from the French and Dutch embassies on the phone, who also did not know what to do with the situation. Nor could they do much to bring our daughter back. The last government flight from Sydney to Amsterdam was fully booked. In the end we managed to get our daughter on the last commercial flight of Qatar Airways before all borders closed across the world. And she landed on Friday 2 April at an deserted Schiphol.
​
Mother
In the meantime, I had gotten into trouble with my sisters and friends about my mother. I got a call and was told that it was forbidden to see my mother. I asked the person on the other end of the line how insane this all sounded. We had a discussion and I told her I would discuss the situation with my mother. In my eyes, my mother was still an equal citizen who could decide for herself who to receive in her home. On television I saw harrowing images of old people being locked up in care institutions. I cried. This was segregation in the purest sense of the word. These people had fought for our freedom in the war and were now imprisoned. Certainly for their own safety. But had anyone asked them anything? I asked my mother what she wanted. I explained to her the risk of contamination and asked if she would like me to do the shopping for her and put it at the front door. She looked at me as if I'd gone mad and said these words: Cheryl, we're being brainwashed by the news. And if I can't see and hug you anymore, I'd rather be dead."
Career Switch
In June I made the switch from the travel world to healthcare, where I am obliged. The switch was made the moment the travel agency manager called me at home and said they were going to scale down. My contract was due to expire in October and he promised me that I would receive a salary until then. But with the announcement that I could leave immediately, as soon as something else came my way. I thanked him for his honesty. There was no farewell drink. That was not allowed. Of the 27 colleagues with whom I worked for years - and with whom I have shared joy and sorrow especially in recent months by cheering each other up in a desperate time for the travel industry - 4 are still working in the company. I have been working in healthcare in Amsterdam for six months, a completely different profession, very different kind of people. And I've had a new love since six months, but I'll tell you more about that next time. Next Thursday evening I will have dinner with the lockdown club again. And then I set my alarm at a quarter to nine and then leave an apartment building with about 20 strangers who have to be home before 9 pm due to the evening curfew.
It’s a terribly difficult time.
Best regards Cheryl x
