Sex, Travel and The Pandemic

Nurses, Dachshunds, And the Little House In Sheffield

I was never one to get sick. There are only a handful of moments in my life that I remember being ill. However, the last time I had gotten sick came at an incredibly weird time, which was making me question a lot about what they were telling us about this new virus. It was in October of 2019, two months before the first reported case of COVID-19.

I’m not going to explore the conspiracy theory that COVID-19 did not start in Wuhan. Let’s leave that discussion for another day. But, back in October of 2019, when I was in Puebla, Mexico, I had gotten so sick that I couldn’t get out of bed for a whole week. I showed all the symptoms related to COVID-19, but it was also quite similar to that of a regular old flu. I suffered from the symptoms of a fever, chills, aching bones, a sore throat, tiredness, to name a few. Whether I had the Influenza virus, or the Coronavirus is up for debate.

I wasn’t too eager to get sick again. In 2019, no one really took precautions to protect themselves from the flu. However, if I became even a fraction of how sick I had gotten in Puebla, I’d be stigmatized, crucified, and burnt at the stake. I had to remain healthy at all costs.

The bus swallowed me up whole in London, then spat me out in Sheffield. Sheffield was by no means a small city. It was the fourth biggest city in the UK. But despite its size, it was quiet, eerie, and hollow. Life was still; park swings were empty, stores closed, and the streets deserted. This was how it appeared on day one of the lockdowns in the UK. Cars drove by here and there, but traffic seemed like yesterday’s dream and tomorrow’s promise. The city didn’t have as many massive skyscrapers as London did. These buildings seemed newer, younger, and artsier. It gave off a very small-town vibe with its neighboring countryside, vast fields, friendly people, and taxi drivers. The only person I met before I got to the Airbnb was the taxi driver who drove me there. He was a friendly and chatty old lad who knew quite a lot about the city.

“Welcome to Sheffield! It’s kind of sad that you are in Sheffield for the first time now. It’s usually a fun city,” The taxi driver said.

“Well, in a few weeks, when everything reopens, I’ll be here to see all the best Sheffield has to offer,” I said. I was fishing for sentiment about the future of the pandemic.

The taxi driver went hushed for a second. I was expecting his response to be something like, “Sorry to tell you, mate, but I don’t think this is going to end anytime soon.” He didn’t say that, instead his response was more neutral and tamed but as though he was hiding what he really thought of the pandemic. “We can only hope so.”

The taxi driver took me to a small house in a cute little suburban area outside the main city center that sat on top of a hill.

I made it inside, laid my bags down, and sank into the big fluffy bed that snuggly embraced me like I was laying on a sea of clouds. Relief came, kicking anxiety out. The zombies were far away now, and it felt amazing. It was quiet, distant, close enough to grocery stores, and comfortable. This was the perfect place to wait out the apocalypse.

There was no one at the house when I got in, but as the day went on, I met the others. The first one I met was Jenny, a 30-something-year-old nurse with a taste for cigarettes and wine. She had just come back from taking her little pup named Simba out for a walk. The pup was an incredibly tiny, yet fiery Dachshund dog. The moment he saw me, he began barking at me with all his might. I was a stranger to the young pup, and in his mind, I was an intruder. He hadn’t known it yet, but Simba was about to become a real good mate of mine.

The other member of the household was the house owner, Harry. He was also a nurse. Harry was very hospitable but quite a downer. His projections of the future were quite grim, which was the absolute opposite of mine. I was enthusiastic and hopeful that the pandemic would end in about a month and life would return to normal. Harry, on the other hand, believed that it would go on for years to come… he was right. I don’t think Harry had a single positive bone in his body. He was a nurse, fighting the disease in the frontline. He saw and experienced things that I never did. He believed that it was going to get worse before it got worst. It was the soldiers actually fighting the war who knew the true nature of the enemy.