Sometimes you fly 13,375 miles to ride 31—or how we all got f**ked by COVID-19

About to land at PMI, Palma de Mallorca

It's here: What science fiction writers had exploited for apocalyptic plots and scientists had warned against for decades has finally arrived—we have been hit by the coronavirus pandemic, and our world has been turned upside down. No telling where we're heading.

Looking back at the past two weeks since my last blog update, almost everything has changed. At the time I was looking forward to a relaxing vacation on the Spanish island of Mallorca, followed by a trip to central Texas for a high school mountain bike race, and another two-week trip to South America for an assignment. It was going to be a fun, fast-paced spring, dripping with travel. Well, let's forget about all that.

Our 1,400 euro Airbnb in Alcudia

I did leave 22 hours after coming back from Brazil for Mallorca, with stops in Dallas, Miami, and Madrid. Yes, COVID-19 had started to make headlines in increasing fashion, but at least on the US side no alarm bells were rung. In the Flagship lounges in Dallas and Miami, food was still served buffet style and we poured our own drinks. The flight attendants during my business class flight to Madrid were relaxed and not worried, and the flight was still fairly full even if there were empty seats in biz. But once I got to Madrid's Barajas airport where I transferred to my flight with Iberia to Palma de Mallorca, a certain tension was palpable and there were definitely far fewer people milling around than usual.

When will we return to this luxury?

Thursday at noon I arrived at PMI. (Timeline: I had left Araxa in Brazil Monday morning at 7 a.m., got to Lubbock Tuesday shortly before noon, and left Lubbock around 8 a.m. on Wednesday.) I went to the car rental place and picked up my car and drove to the east end of the island, to Alcudia. No problem locating the Airbnb house that I had rented for 13 nights. I unpacked, marveled at the beautiful view from the bedroom terrace, and enjoyed a glass of wine by the seaside.

I also went to the local grocery store, the Mercadona. There reality started to hit: Numerous shelves were empty, but since it was fairly late in the afternoon I attributed some of that to the time of day. I bought supplies for the next three or four days, planning meals in my head and coming up with good stuff. There was fresh seafood, salad supplies, citrus fruit, fresh bread, wine. All good. 

There had been no panic in the store, but it was obvious that people were buying more than usual. You know, you can just feel it, even if you haven't been there before. At this point nobody knew that a general lockdown of the entire country was just days away.

The plan had been for Sabine to join me on Saturday, after her workweek was finished. In numerous WhatsApp conversations on Thursday evening and Friday we discussed what to do, and she decided that it would be smarter to stay in Germany and not come to Mallorca. I fully supported that decision, even though both of us were obviously pretty bummed about the situation. So I was going to ride my bike by myself, and that is what I did Thursday afternoon. Thirty-one miles. Beautiful miles, as you can tell from the accompanying photographs. I was looking forward to exploring the island, which I had not expected to be as flat and green as it turned out to be. Somehow I had imagined Mallorca to be much more mountainous (not that there aren't several small ranges, but I had thought the entire island would be hilly, like La Palma or Madeira.)

Friday evening I hatched a plan: I would book—with miles—three different "escape" flights for Sabine from PMI back to MUC, on three different days (Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday of the following week). By using miles the flights would be completely refundable until the very last minute, and should the situation worsen she would be able to get back home. We discussed this plan, and I also conferred with my old friend Howard, who lives in Madrid. Still, it wasn't until Saturday morning that Sabine decided to fly to Mallorca.

My picking her up from the airport almost didn't happen as somebody had parked his car in front of the gate of the house—and I had parked the car inside the gate. Of course, nobody was in sight, the offending car was locked, and I was trapped. Fortunately I knew where the local police station was, and I rode the bike over there, knowing that Sabine was in the air and how long it would take me to get to the airport (about 50 minutes). Thank goodness I speak Spanish and was able to explain to the officer what was going on. He assured me that somebody would come by within a few minutes. Mind you, all this was done in a police station where officers and public were separated by barricades and yellow tape. Much to my relief two officers did show up within 15 minutes, and for some odd reason somebody in a neighboring house came to his balcony--and turned out to be the owner of the car! I felt a big weight lifted as I had already been trying to work out a plan B in the back of my head.

Sabine arrived shortly after 1 p.m, as scheduled, on a direct flight from Munich and we easily connected at the airport. Once back at the Airbnb we went for a walk through the beautiful Old Town of Alcudia, where few people were outside but a several street cafes still had customers. We bought a few more supplies from the Mercadona, which seemed better stocked than before. And then we enjoyed evening toddies on our veranda, marveling at the warm weather and idyllic setting.

While I was preparing dinner, Sabine received an urgent WhatsApp message from one of her cycling friends. We learned that as of Sunday morning, Spain would start a lockdown that meant that she would not be able to pick up her rental bike, as planned. What had been a peaceful afternoon suddenly turned into a fearful evening as news reports and a conversation with Howard made clear that the COVID-19 situation in Spain had spiraled out of control within less than 48 hours. It became clear that if we didn't want to face an undetermined period on the island, we had to leave as quickly as possible.

While Sabine, unsuccessfully, tried to book a direct flight back to Munich I used the American Airlines website to book for both of us flight home, with miles and a paltry co-pay. Unfortunately there were no direct flights for Sabine from Palma de Mallorca to Munich, and so we were going to have to spend Sunday night in the Madrid airport. I managed to get both of us on the same flight to Madrid; my connection then on Monday morning was to JFK and from there to Phoenix and then to Lubbock.

Our great fear was that our flights might get cancelled as a look at PMI's departure web page showed increasing numbers of cancelled flights. We spent the night to Sunday tossing and turning, playing through scenarios and trying to make sense of a world that had so drastically changed. Sunday morning I repacked my bike and other stuff, and we arrived at the PMI airport several hours before our flight. Scary moments ensued at check-in when the agents were not sure whether I would be allowed to re-enter the US. After 15 minutes of waiting and phone calls by the agent to her supervisor the boarding passes were finally printed and the luggage disappeared. We celebrated with the beers we had brought along—most of our foodstuffs had been tossed.

Sabine had brought along masks. She made me try one on, and that
 was the last time I wore the useless thing.

It wasn't until we finally sat on the plane and took off that we breathed a little easier. It felt so good to get off the island, which suddenly had become a trap that we just barely escaped. (As of my writing, thousands of German tourists are still being repatriated through flights that the German government has chartered as commercial flights have mostly been halted.) When we arrived in Madrid, Barajas airport was deserted. It was eerie. Our plan was to spend the night in the same lounge that I had frequented just a few days earlier, the premium Dali lounge. But, as it turned out, what had been a 24-hour lounge now closed at 10 p.m. Only the Velazquez lounge was still open through the night, but since Sabine was going to stay in the Schengen area she had no access to that part of the airport, and we were certainly not going to split up for my comfort.

And so we spent the night in the HJK area of terminal 4, on some of the most uncomfortable seats that you can imagine. all the while we were afraid to touch anything lest we'd pick up the virus. at every opportunity we washed our hands thoroughly, and the only relief came in the form of the movie An Inspector Calls that I had on my tablet and that took our minds off our worries. Crazily, my friend Howard lives less than 10 minutes away from the terminal.... Leaving the airport, of course, was unthinkable.

Sabine on Monday morning after the Dali lounge opened
 and before I left for the international terminal

We made it through the night and at 6 a.m. I took Sabine to the Dali lounge where I guested her in for something to eat and drink and to freshen up. It was tough to leave her, still uncertain whether her flight really would not be cancelled. What if she couldn't get out? But I had to go to the international terminal and had to bid her good-bye. Believe me, that was not easy.

The deserted Velasquez lounge on Monday morning

Let's bring this to an end: Both of our flights took off as scheduled, with us aboard. By noon, Sabine was back in her apartment in Freising, facing two weeks of self-quarantine. At the same time, I was sitting in business class flying across the Atlantic, worrying about what mayhem I would face in JFK, one of seven airports in the US that at that point were still allowing incoming international flights. I had seen the photos of huge crowds of passengers waiting shoulder to shoulder for hours on end to be processed through a screening process that had not been planned.

Slumming above the Atlantic

When I arrived at JFK, I was one of the first four passengers to deplane. One by one, several meters apart, we exited, handed over a short questionnaire that we had been given on the plane, and submitted to a quick infrared temperature check. We then walked to the terminal where a processing station had been set up. No crowds. A friendly officer took my passport and my questionnaire, asked me to wait in one of the chairs (maybe 20 in the empty room), and then called me by my first name maybe two minutes later to proceed to another officer who welcomed me to the US. And that was all. what a difference just two days can make.

I spent the time before my ongoing flight to Phoenix in the Flagship lounge. The buffet was empty, replaced by individually wrapped plates with some food. A bartender poured me a glass of wine. The few patrons of the lounge kept to themselves. The TVs played an endless stream of news. Welcome to the new world.

No people, no lines, no nothing at JFK

The flights to Phoenix and then to Lubbock were rather empty, but not deserted. At the time of this writing, AA is still maintaining a dometic schedule that has been cut by only ten or fifteen percent, but that won't last long. I got to Lubbock around 11:30 p.m., hailed an Uber, and was at home a bit after midnight. It has never felt better to be back home.

JFK's (now temporarily closed) Flagship Lounge

Since then I have been practicing what is called "self quarantining," staying away from other people with the exception of one trip to the grocery store on Tuesday morning, careful not to come close to anybody. When I got back, Lubbock had no COVID-19 cases; this morning we had eleven. Things will get much worse before they get better. Thanks to social media and telephones we can stay connected, but the economic and emotional toll this is going to take is incomprehensible and unchartered territory.

Self quarantining means growing your own herbs, brewing beer, and baking bread

Thankfully I have food and wine to last me a few months even in a complete lockdown. Going with the times I made my first bread (with a super-simple no-knead recipe) and brewed up my first batch of beer in years. Hey, I won't go anywhere for the foreseeable future, so I'll be here when it is ready to bottle. We can still ride our bikes and the most important thing is now to be disciplined and stay positive.

Be safe and take care of yourselves.

Jürgen