TEN years ago today, I was boarding a plane to the Maldives for my honeymoon. Seven nights sipping cocktails, dining under the stars and marvelling at the marine life in the turquoise waters surrounding our remote resort. Then home.
Or so we thought. The Eyjafjallajokull volcano in Iceland had other ideas. Three days after we flew out, airspace over much of northern Europe closed due to the thick ash cloud clogging the skies. It would remain that way for around a week.
By the time it reopened, tens of thousands of planes, crew and passengers were in the wrong place. Even as aircraft began flying again, there was a huge backlog. When I spoke to the airline call centre, I was told the first available flight home would be May 7 – some 16 days later.
So, what to do on an extended honeymoon (apart from the obvious). My phone pinged with envious messages from friends. Stories were swapped with fellow stranded travellers. I even wrote a column for this newspaper.
READ MORE: Susan Swarbrick: Nature reminds us that this lockdown limbo won't last forever
Here's the thing, though. Enforced paradise is a novelty that can quickly wear off. Island fever set in. Hours were whiled away watching the lizards dance nimble-footed across the walls or gazing hypnotised at the whirring ceiling fan.
The news channels played on a loop in the background. I swallowed down my envy when those lucky enough to get a seat on a plane cheerily waved for the cameras in airport arrival halls.
Partly out of necessity, partly from boredom, I washed a pile of knickers and my husband's underpants in the bathroom sink. I mainlined so many Adam Sandler films on pay-per-view that seeing him now brings me out in a rash (although, to be fair, he has that effect on a lot of people).
It was a different type of lockdown. Then, I couldn't wait to get off and moving. Now, I'm grateful for the opportunity to be still.
In 2010, I didn't jolt wake at 2am, my brain racing to escape a fug of existential dread. I wasn't worrying about loved ones. Nor fighting back tears as I stood on my front step, clapping for key workers – those who heroically staff our hospitals, care homes, supermarkets and more – every Thursday at 8pm.
READ MORE: Susan Swarbrick: Nature reminds us that this lockdown limbo won't last forever
Just like 10 years ago, there's barely a plane in the sky over Scotland. When I looked at the Flightradar24 app the other night, there was only one: an air ambulance taking off from Aberdeen.
As Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz astutely said, there's no place like home. Which is why we should stay there. All of our lives depend on it.
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