In the weeks leading up to my flight home, friends and family have been asking me a lot of about the managed isolation step of returning home. They’re concerned. The concept sounds hellish to most of them. “I’d be soooo bored.” “I could only tolerate two days before I’d go absolutely nuts.” “I’d just watch Netflix and sleep all day.” “How will you survive?!”
I, on the other hand, wasn’t worried about it for a moment. As an introvert, being told to go to my room is more like a treat than a punishment. On top of that, I’m in the middle of some big life changes and I have a lot to be working on. Some quiet solitude (with a good internet connection, of course) is just what I need.
Credit: Debbie Tung, https://debbietung.com/
“What?!” I hear you saying, incredulous. “You’re an introvert?!” This seems to surprise people who know me these days, so allow me to briefly explain. I believe I am what they call a “social introvert”. I really enjoy being around my friends and family. A lot. But my natural state and the place where I recharge is alone. Or alone with my significant other (No, I don’t have one right now [Yes, I am taking applications so feel free to connect me with any good candidates {I reserve the right to be picky}]). <— this is almost certainly not the correct way to punctuate this, but I had fun putting it together.
Anyway, where were we? Oh yes, I was going to say that the one part about the isolation that doesn’t sound good to me is potentially not being allowed to go outside. I love being outside. Especially in New Zealand. It’s hands-down the best country to spend time outside in. In Australia, being outside means anything could kill you at any moment. Here? Well let’s just take our citizens’ tendency to roam barefoot everywhere from mountains to grocery stores as evidence of how safe it is.
I had read that those in managed isolation were allowed outside but I was still a little nervous that it wouldn’t be the case. Boy, was I glad when I was informed that we can access the small carpark immediately in front of the hotel any time we like. It may not be the Lakes District but it’s still fresh, Kiwi air.
We have to check out with a security professional at the door who notes down your name, room number, and the time you exit the building. We check back in with them when we return. Long walks or runs outside of the carpark are available but you have to reserve a time and they have limited availability (perhaps they’re chaperoned?).
I’ve resolved to take three walks daily. One in the morning, one around midday, and one around sunset. At around 30 minutes and 4,000 steps per walk I’ll get in an hour and a half of activity in my day and 12,000 steps. The previous sentence is a demonstration that I possess basic maths skills. You can tell that to the incredibly handsome and intelligent guy you’re setting me up with, in case he was worried about that.
Anyway, today (my recovery and planning day) I enjoyed two walks. During those walks, I was treated to some quality people watching.
First, there were the predictable characters. There were the two slightly desperate guys doing loops around the carpark together, finding excuses to stop each of the pretty girls they walked past and introduce themselves (undoubtedly just what the girls were hoping for 🙄). And there were the smokers, skulking out of the building and settling on the shady south side of the building, near (and sometimes leaning on) the statue of Jean Batten. They were the most likely to talk to strangers, each other, bonding through their common addiction.
Soon, I spotted more interesting characters. Like the whimsical and independent young woman who I first encountered perched on the angled wall of a garden bed, bouncing in her crouched position in time to whatever music she had playing through her headphones. On subsequent laps, I saw her in a charmingly unexpected series of places: squatted in a tree, singing to no body in particular; in the middle of the main road where us lap-walkers were doing our lap-walking, dancing so boldly and ignoring us so resolutely as if challenging us to challenge her on her chosen location; doing yoga in the same spot, at one point attempting a movement that sent her rolling, in slow motion, across the asphalt; attempting a kind of run alongside us lap-walkers using a running style I can only assume was originally choreographed by someone attempting to violently squash anything that happened to get caught underfoot, from ants to the bacteria on those ants all the way to the very planet those ants marched so diligently upon. She was my favourite.
There was the family playing catch with a jumper they’d knotted into a ball. The middle aged woman sitting on the asphalt and leaning on a storage container, engaging in her (clearly lifelong) sunbathing habit. The friendly Ministry of Health professional wandering around nodding to and chatting with the isolators. The pair of older ladies knitting happily under the tree (thankfully they arrived after the young woman had left the same tree).
Oh, then there was the woman who was playing a range of games with her three teenage sons. At one point she went past me on a scooter but not before raising her voice in warning, “Watch out. Uncoordinated scooter rider approaching.” She sailed past quite gracefully and was followed closely by her eldest, to whom she casually tossed, over her shoulder, “I was talking about you, by the way.” Burn.
All in all, people seem to be in good spirits. Or at least, with space to myself and free access to the outdoors (featuring some prime people watching), I certainly am.