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Traveling has been cancelled. Cultural immersion is now being experienced via Netflix. The most traveling I’m doing is from my bedroom to the fridge.
My quarantine travels go something like this:
There’s a knock on the door with my consistently scheduled wake up call: “it’s groundhog day!” The culture here is quirky and the people are kinda loud.
My host is a bit inconsistent and only makes me breakfast a few days a week, insisting I’m “capable of making my own food.” I have to gather all the ingredients myself—this includes a walk to the fridge, a jaunt to the pantry, a stroll down memory lane.
I finally circle the island but there’s no barista in sight because only half the population here is employed. The coffee shop is “self-serve.”
My afternoons are spent wandering the streets between Living Room Lane and Kitchen Court, the hub of the city. The locals have a distinct sense of fashion; I’ve only seen them wear sweatpants and T-shirts for the duration of my stay.
The local pastime is watching animal videos on YouTube and the city is best known for its dad jokes and occasional baking wars with its sister city. My afternoons are spent marveling at the newest art installation—a TV that unlike its predecessor, actually works.
I climb up and down the wooden stairs for no good reason and am sure to take my time because going too fast would look like exercise, and no one goes to the gym on vacation, right?
Depending on whether or not I eat out (the dining room) or stay in (eat in my room), dinner can be served at varying hours. Sometimes it's 6pm, sometimes it's midnight; time doesn’t really exist here. I eat when I eat—which happens to be a lot.
For outside visitors, I wouldn’t recommend traveling here… or anywhere for that matter. Just stay home. Seriously. There’s a global pandemic going on.
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