Self-isolation Kaliningrad

Diary of a Self-isolator: Day 7 [26 March 2020]

Published: 28 March 2020

Forever, for years and until recently going to the shop was considered to be a fairly humdrum chore, but now it is fraught with apprehension and danger. Today, just before we left the house, I caught myself inadvertently humming the Dambuster’s theme tune, a morale-boosting bit of subconsciousness if ever there was one. Thought I, ruefully, how long will it be before I am humming Coming in on a Wing and a Prayer?

We had been to the one of our local shops in the morning and stocked up on enough provisions to get us through the week. Leaving the shopping in quarantine in the hallway, we scrubbed our hands thoroughly ~ my once manly John Wayne hands looking like two red lobsters ~ and then we disinfected the tap, sink unit, door handles, doors, steps, front door, gate, street, you name it.

Self-isolation in Kaliningrad

It was a sublime spring day. The sun had got its hat on and the sky was a crystal-clear blue. We even managed to sit for a while on the terrace, and our old ginger cat, which jumps at his own shadow, courageously followed us, though in an eponymous way, as if he has been watching the way that I act when I have to leave the house these days.

The young man whom we had employed to dig the garden was sneezing and coughing outside as if someone had stuffed a cigar in his mouth and was pinching his nostrils shut. The two-metre social distancing rule would need to be extended in his case, so, since it had taken him two hours to dig two feet of ground, we checked how much he was charging us by satellite.

We had business in town today, and there was no way out of it.

On foot to the official business destination was a good walk, about two miles I would imagine, but ever mindful of avoiding public transport we took this option.

Self-isolation Kaliningrad Russia

Our route would take us around the side of the ‘lake’ (if you are talking Kaliningradian) and the ‘upper and lower ponds’ (if Königsbergian). It is a pleasant walk, never more so on a beautiful spring day like today.

There were many people in evidence ~ people of all ages ~ strolling, sitting on the lakeside benches, all in a condition of relaxed torpor brought on by the return of spring after a long and miserable winter. Olga listened in on snippets of conversation as we walked ~ no one mentioned coronavirus.

We emerged from the small gateway at the side of the fort which houses Kaliningrad’s world-famous Amber Museum. The relative tranquility of the lake was suddenly replaced by an extremely busy thoroughfare ~ cars, buses, trams, trucks, pedestrians. There was no difference in the volume of any since I walked this route a fortnight ago.

When we reached our destination, an establishment not dissimilar to your average British dole office, we were discomforted to find that with the exception of some of the staff who were wearing protective masks most people were not in the least concerned about the threat of the transmission of or infection by a rather nasty virus. The little window at which we needed to queue was fronted by several people who could not have been closer to each other had they been at an orgy. We did our best to keep our distance, but the experience put me in mind of a pedestrianised version of funfair dodgems, except without the fun.

In a situation like this the only real way of guaranteeing your safety would be to stop breathing, and, as this was hardly advisable, we had to make do with a touch of the old Fred Astaires and Ginger Rogers ~ light and quick on our feet.

On our return home, we went through the whole decontamination programme again ~ thorough handwashing, disinfecting door handles, keys and anything else we could think of.

They say that a week is a long time in politics; four weeks into the coronavirus age and it feels like forever.

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