Social Distancing
I became aware of the term “social distancing”, while scrolling through facebook absentmindedly after getting out of the field. I’d been in southern Chile for 6 months—with the exception of a two week stay at home over Christmas—and the vast majority of my time had been spent isolated from society, in pure, unadulterated wilderness. I was part of the NOLS Patagonia Year, there were only 11 students total in my section. Our final semester had been spent traversing the Northern Ice Field and then rock climbing at Cerro Aguila. I had no idea what was going on in the rest of the world.
Occasionally, when we got a new instructor team, we were given an update on this weird virus named after a beer, and it really didn’t sound like that big of deal; no one seemed to be dying and it wasn’t affecting Chile or the U.S. heavily so I didn’t let it occupy space in my mind. When our course ended, we were hurriedly graduated and sent on our way by NOLS. The program director said we should try to get home as quickly as possible. Apparently the virus was getting worse. But I had plans to go hike in Tierre del Fuego, to visit an even more remote area of Chile, and I wasn’t about to miss out on that adventure. That is, until I was told, as a non-resident, I couldn’t fly into Argentina. I had to scramble to find a flight back to the states; I purchased a ticket that had a layover in Panama, and then Panama closed its borders while I was still in the air, flying from Balmaceda to Santiago.
When I landed in the Santiago Airport, I was no longer chill about the whole ordeal, as I had been back in Coyhaique, now I was trying not to cry. It seemed the only ticket I could find online that flew directly into the US cost $4,000—that couldn’t be right! The LATAM line was 518 people long, and the number on the ticket I’d pulled from the machine said I was number 518. I called my mom and enlisted her in the search. I impulsively purchased a $900 ticket that flew out in 3 days time, thinking it would be my only way home, but by the grace of God, my mom found a flight that I didn’t for later that same day; it was the last flight American Airlines was running, at least for now, and I got the last seat. I’d worry about getting refunds for all my wasted purchases later.
Once I had a ticket nailed down, I dragged my heavy luggage to the railing overlooking a lower food court and sat on my duffel bag. My body reeked of stress sweat and the synthetic hiking pants I wore didn’t breathe much. I just wanted a shower and a bed, a burger would have been a nice substitute but I was too sick of dealing with crowds to merit the walk down to the food court, let alone standing in line to place an order. I opened the crushed bag of potato chips that flew with me to Santiago and sighed, shoving one into my mouth and gazing around, I began to notice hoards of people who appeared to be missing the bottom halves of their faces; in place of their mouths, all I saw was white. About three quarters of the airport’s population were wearing surgical masks, somehow I’d missed the memo. It occurred to me that the virus might have been worse than I initially believed it to be.
Once on the plane, I was so confused and overwhelmed that I tried to sit in the wrong seat twice before I found the right one, and the woman sitting next to me by the aisle, insisted she wipe my whole seat down with disinfectant before I could place my tired butt in it. Between her long bangs and a scarf that was wrapped more times around her face than I could count, I had no idea what she looked like. The man to my left had horrible breath and I wished his face was also hidden in a scarf—maybe it was my breath? I checked, it wasn’t. I settled in to the long flight home and instinctively knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep, so I scrolled through the in-flight movies and watched 3 that all starred strong female leads: Charlie’s Angels, Bombshell, and Hustlers, and then sat staring at the dividing wall in front of me for an unknowable length of time.
By the time I got home, I wouldn’t have slept for over 38hrs and I still wouldn’t understand what it meant to be socially distant. Ultimately, I would have a really hard time adjusting, both to being back in society and simultaneously kept away from it—this new “version of normal”.
As homecomings go, it wasn’t the best; my insomnia was relentless, my relationship ended, and I struggled with feelings of being trapped and held hostage by the state of Maryland. My involvement with Netflix turned into something deeply romantic, then more of an on again off again thing. I tried to stay busy by renewing my NASM certification and I daydreamed about being back in the mountains. It was hard to feel the relevance of the virus in my life, no one I knew was dying, but then I’d go online and read about the tragedies and lives lost and be reminded that I was, in fact, alive during a pandemic.
It was hard at first to imagine that I had actually been safer living out there on a giant block of ice—full of people-eating crevasses and 70+ mph wind storms—than I was back at home. I knew I should be grateful to have made it back, and doubly grateful that the $900 I’d spent on a useless flight was refunded to me—and I was, truly—but in my heart, I wanted to be back out there, in some wild space, walking an absurdly long distance in the opposite direction of all the madness and all the rules.
Photo taken by Michelle Leonard
