Traveling during a once-in-a-lifetime pandemic comes with peculiar challenges. Obstacles took the form of government forms, permits, and the associated risks of sharing air with strangers in a flying tin can. Every country has its own scourge-related travel regulations. Cristina and I planned to span three nations in one day.
A year and three months after the start of lockdown, the United States required no special permits to travel in between states at a federal level. Most states only require some sort of face covering, whether it be a mask or your mother’s Sunday panties, and a determination to leave wherever it was that you were.
Our first stop after Los Angeles would be a short transfer in Boston. The Boston layover would only last two hours, preventing us from stepping into Massachusetts proper, anyway.
Dublin, Ireland, would follow Boston, accompanied by about a 10-hour thumb-twiddling marathon between connections. At the time of our departure, the Irish required a clean covid PCR test taken within seventy-two hours of your departure. Even though Cristina and I had no plans to leave the Dublin airport, we still had to produce a negative PCR to lounge around the lush Irish terminals. We signed a form stating under the threat of perjury that we didn’t have the vid. At least to the best of our knowledge.
Completing the requirements for a long morning in Dublin took less than half an hour in total. We did so two days before chasing the rainbow. Ireland had done away with all of these requirements (and, it seemed, mask-wearing) by the time we returned from Spain.
Spain, in line with local customs, was lax on regulations. All we had to do was fill out another perjury form, swearing to abstain from pro-corona life choices. We did so in earnest, spending less than five minutes on the project while sitting in the Boston airport lounge. But it was a long day before we reached the lounge.