Social Distancing at the Galah
Australia is fast approaching taking the same measures as most of Europe in its combat against coronavirus. For travellers everywhere these are especially hard times. If you’re holed up in a 18-bed dormitory, as I am, how does one keep 1.5 metres from anyone, or maintain calm in the face of adversity?
Well, while I’m Latin at heart, I’m born and bred English. As such, social distancing is in my blood. In fact, with the Empire sadly gone, it’s only with the onset of a worldwide pandemic that Cecil Rhodes’s classic words still ring true:
‘To be born English is to win first prize in the lottery of life’.
We English have been practicing social distancing since birth. It’s our natural habitat. No hugging? No kissing? It’s these conditions that may see us conquer the world again.[1] At the very least we’ll remain calm during these times.
Being a backpacker, however, is a different matter if the media is anything to go by, blaming us for spreading the virus on Bondi Beach. Nonsense. I was there that Friday and everyone was being responsible. For example, every summer for the last three years I’ve provided my services to countless ladyfolk by offering to apply sunscreen to solo sun-worshippers [2] who are unable to reach everywhere on their own. On Friday, however, I used rubber gloves and made sure I changed them after every tenth customer.
At the Big Galah, meanwhile, we’ve adapted. One issue with the annual jelly wrestling competition - held last weekend - was that due to the bush fires which plagued Australia throughout summer we pushed the date back from its usual early January spot to mid-February. Respect. But just try sourcing industrial quantities of KY Jelly during Mardi Gras. Seriously, it’s impossible.[3] With typical foresight, however, I realised the consistency of hand sanitiser was exactly the same, and so I spent most of February buying up all the local stock from chemists, supermarkets and old people homes in the Sydney area. Lucky I did because Australia was about to panic buy everything, including hand sanitiser.
Happy to report the Jelly Wrestling competition went ahead as planned.
Some complained that it was a disgusting misuse of a precious commodity in these strange times. I argued that if we could put a smile on just one face, all this death would have been worth it.
As it turned out, no-one wanted to participate in the end due to the risk of contracting the COVID-19, which I argued would be impossible and that it should be compulsory for everyone to wrestle me in order to fully protect themselves form the disease. I learned latter that the alcohol evaporates once its exposed to the air anyway, so the pool of gel would not have protected us. Still, with the beach shut but the council it was easier than normal to dump it in the rock pools at south Bondi. Lesson learned.
As for the English taking over the world again, it’s already begun. I’ve been saying it all week but COVID-19 is our ‘Blitz’ moment. Look no further than the 8pm Clap for NHS on 27 March. No doubt playing on the NHS’s care for Word War II heroes who suffered from the clap after visiting Parisienne brothels, nothing sums up the Blitz spirit than these brave people standing on their driveways and balconies to applaud our heroic NHS staff.
[1] Only this time, in a non-racist way.
[2] In my experience, it’s women backpackers between the ages of 20 and 26 who are most at risk of forgetting to apply sunscreen. Given the skin cancer rates in Australia I feel it’s my duty to preach the virtues of Factor 50.
[3] I could have raided Darryl and Quintin’s storeroom as I know they always keep 20 litres there for emergencies, but they’ve recently changed the padlock and I’m yet to work out the combination to unlock it.