Corona is traveling the world. I don’t like this kind of mass tourism. It’s far too intrusive and impolite. It doesn’t respect the traveler’s duty to leave behind no trace nor damage at the places you visit and naught but positive memories for the people you meet. This virus is flitting around too fast and far, leaving a trail of destruction and sorrow in its wake. It even refuses to announce its presence by means of sound, or – why not – smell. It’s a fucking coward hiking all the way incognito.
In the news I read about the countries I once visited and worry about the people I had met there. And, of course, I worry about those living in my own country as well. The way the virus indifferently infects people all over the world, confronts us with the fact that we all share the same nature.
Some time ago, musing on Sweden’s wild nature, I had already booked a ferry ticket for the Easter holidays. My last visit to the country was a very short one. Twenty six years ago I entered this for me yet-to-be-discovered land in Storlien, coming from Trondheim in Norway. It only took me a couple of hours to decide to hurry back to Norway. That summer, the Swedish mosquitoes were innumerable, pushy, thirsty and thus insufferable. There was no other remedy than fleeing back into the Norwegian mountains.
With my head already swollen from the bites, I passed the border in the opposite direction. All of a sudden, the mosquitos were gone. As if they weren’t allowed to enter Norway with their Swedish passports. For the next four days or so I continued to enjoy the result of that far too intimate Swedish welcome.
During the Easter holidays and with blurred memories of that first encounter, Sweden felt like an appealing destination again. But now, a much smaller and even more numerous creature prevented me from visiting: the coronavirus. Nature in itself is totally apathetic about who gets sick and who doesn’t, who’s rich and who’s poor, who has good intentions and who doesn’t give a damn. Nor does it care about the plans we make for ourselves. Nevertheless, the devastating trail left by the virus all over the globe leaves behind a reflection of the world we humans have created for ourselves.
While my travel plans stay on hold, the musing goes on. The camper is on the drive in front of the house. I use it as my office. I unavoidably switch from focusing on my work to imagining that I’m overlanding the world. Wanderlust is the only virus to cherish.