It may be twelve days later than I originally intended, but I have defeated the lethal cocktail of Brexit and new Covid-variants and made it back to Germany. As I sit in my quarantine looking out on the snow-covered streets of Stuttgart, it feels a little like I have embarked on my own Winter’s Journey.
Part One began with a rather painful parting yesterday afternoon. As restrictions got tighter and the virus figures got worse, making the decision to leave my family and come ‘home’ has become increasingly difficult. The logical part of my brain understands that to be a resident of this country, I must reside here. The emotional part of my brain is concerned about being a Covid-test, a flight and a quarantine away from my loved ones should any of them fall ill in the weeks ahead. The difficulties weren’t just emotional - they were logistical too. Thursday involved a special pilgrimage to the airport to get a Covid test, which thankfully came back negative. On Friday, it wasn’t until I boarded the plane - two hours after arriving at the airport - that anyone checked my paperwork and confirmed I really could return to Germany. I knew I could in theory, but there have been horror stories in the last week…
After a fairly easy flight, the realities of post-Brexit and mid-pandemic border control were unavoidable within minutes of landing. It took 75 minutes to get through passport control as the border-guards painstakingly checked the papers of each passenger. The slowness was only exacerbated by the number of people who had failed to fill in the correct forms before arriving in Germany. As the minutes ticked by, I gradually came to accept that I was not going to make my train - a fact I received rather more sanguinely than I might have expected to six months ago. Revelation number one of my winter journey: Covid has made me better at going with the flow.
Once I was safely through passport control, I discovered that the airport train station was nowhere near the airport, and that I most definitely had missed the train. Luckily I had 3.5 hours to get to the station before the next train. A leap of faith waiting half an hour for a bus with no timetable, a journey alone on said bus through some very dark parts of Düsseldorf, and eventually the welcoming lights of a train station, where I was to pass the next two hours.
Here comes Revelation number two of my winter journey: I am tougher than I think. With a little help from Philip Pullman, I managed the first 90 minutes of my solo sojourn on a wind-tunnel like station concourse with a fairly upbeat attitude. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared, but I had an escape plan and a bar of chocolate, so things could have been worse. It was at 1:50AM that I realised just how cold I was, and just how much I wanted to be in my bed. The next 40 minutes before my train arrived required reserves of strength and patience that I have delved into several times in the last year. Every time I think there’s nothing more in there, my brain comes up trumps and gets me through. So I suppose this is another gift from Covid.
The train came, and I gratefully collapsed into a warm seat for a fitful sleep as we travelled south. It took the full six hour journey to Stuttgart for the shivering to stop, but after 16 hours of travelling it was good to be home.
Whilst this blog focusses on some of the challenges of the journey, I am also hugely grateful to have settled in Germany in the last 5 months, and to be one of the lucky British citizens still allowed to call (a part of) Europe home. Some would say this was the end of my Winter Journey. But I feel sure that the days of quarantine, and the weeks of lockdown ahead will present other challenges to this weary traveller. Give me a few hours’ sleep and I’ll be ready to face them.