2021 year review: quarantinies in the sunset

It’s January 2021, and I already worry that I won’t have anything to write when the year’s over. However, instead of thinking about the 2021 year review, all I do is search for a balance between rational and irrational regulations. You need a dog to stay outside past curfew; the supermarket must be less than 2 km from home. Whatever. I’ll just sip a quarantini in the sunset.

And then it’s February 2021, and then it’s March, and then it’s April. Every bar out there operates like a speakeasy. Shut doors and somebody inside pretending to tidy up. The first contact has something mistrustful. Who are you? Why are you here? And yet, you get a quarantini. The second time is better: a slight move of eyebrows. As for the third time, they remember what you drink.

I sip quarantinies, and I worry. I worry that if the bars don’t open soon, we’ll all turn to alcoholics. Everyone has his own quarantini version. Mine is Campari and orange, the so-called Garibaldi cocktail. I drink two glasses of that contraband drink almost every night, and I go home. I don’t drink alone; friends join me. We have long faces, and shortly past the curfew, we are tipsy. I never drank that early in my life.

I swim on a sea of alcohol all winter long, and I daydream of escapes. To be precise, I daydream of a warmhearted airplane that will take me away from this country. I’m desperate to replace the sea of alcohol with the blue sea. But I have to wait: I only reach the coast of Attica. It’s illegal to leave your hood. But I did. I mean, the prime minister did it; why can’t we do it too?

I swim. The water is cold, and that’s the first thing I feel after months.

The 2021 year review: Awakenings

It’s now mid-May 2021, and the bars are open. All of a sudden, I need less alcohol. It’s the time of some optimism. The day the vaccine becomes available for my age group, I book my appointment. I’ll get the one that got continuously lousy publicity, the Astra Zeneca. Oh well. The first jab is mid-May, the second Mid-July. After booking the appointments, I realize there’s also something called mid-June. And I need to go somewhere.

Barbara flies from Berlin, and we travel to Folegandros by ferry. It feels like a dazzling explosion of joy. The island’s rocky scenery somehow resembles the shape our inner selves took during the last couple of months. But the sea, oh the sea, destroys these rocks one wave at a time.

The travel guide to Folegandros is the first guide I have written in months. It’s written there, late at night, adding info after being suntanned, sunburned, sunwhatevered. Finally, the sea washes away the wrath. For a week, there’s nothing about the virus in my mind. It’s all about hiking and swimming.

Then, I return to Athens. The second jab, the wildfires of August, and the plans for a lazy vacation. Which means: Anafi. We travel to Anafi at the beginning of September, and it’s a glorious end of summer. I thought I’d write a lot, but myself betrays me. Instead, I just shoot polaroids in Anafi.

One night in Anafi, I order Campari and orange. Yes, a quarantini. I’m in a good mood, and I think of trying that old drink. However, I just drink half of it. I fool myself: I don’t need it anymore, I say.

Towards the end of 2021

Meanwhile, I make travel plans. The situation doesn’t seem to ease up, but I’m tired. I must take care, but I also have to live. I’m concerned, yes, but I don’t feel guilty. Ffp-2 masks; check. Sanitizer; check. Vaccine certificate; check. Am I tired of all that? Check, check, check.

After a lazy September in front of the sea, it’s time for the first flight of 2021. In October. I fly with friends to Italy for a road trip in Tuscany. We start from Bologna, and after a circle around Tuscany, we also end in Bologna. A circular journey in a year that we run around in circles. How compatible.

We see places of insane beauty in Tuscany, and I still have things to write about the journey. Pienza feels like a short poem, and San Gimignano is a medieval novel. We rush through the yellow valleys, and we drink Italian wine on every occasion. However, despite being in Italy, I don’t sip a quarantini.

Then, after a short return to Athens, it’s time to fly back to Germany. I return to Berlin, and I land at the horrible new airport. Too bad they turned Tegel Airport into a vaccination center, and BER is Berlin’s hub. BER is more compatible with a vaccination center with its facelessness.

Even though Berlin is dark and cold, I don’t complain. Instead, I feel alive again and take long bike rides around the city. And, hungry for life as I am, I go to the cinema and spend time outside. I almost forgot how life in Berlin is, and I don’t seem to have enough.

Two train journeys make me feel even more optimistic. Together with Barbara, I travel to Hannover for a photography exhibition and Hamburg. In the four weeks I stayed in Germany, I did everything I avoided for a year. And to keep me sane, I developed a new habit: shooting polaroids after self-testing as a distraction from anxiety while waiting for the results.

Be good, 2022

I’m now in Athens, and I’ll stay here over Christmas and New Year’s. The mid-2021 optimism is sinking steadily worldwide. What’s going to happen in 2022? No one has a clue. However, as Jacques Prévert said, “Later it will be too late. Our life is now.” (“Plus tard il sera trop tard. Notre vie c’est maintenant.“). I can’t wait anymore.

Meanwhile, to keep myself occupied, I released my polaroid zines. Creating zines with polaroids from my journeys is rewarding. Moreover, it’s also another way of daydreaming about distant places. Shooting instant photos (not destined for Instagram) and writing is the way to keep me sane during these times.

A couple of days ago, I got my third jab, and for 48 hours, they told me that it’s better not to drink alcohol. Tonight, it’s actually the first evening I can have a drink. I thought of having Campari and orange. A proper quarantini. You never know.

No matter what, I’ll raise my quarantini and wish all of you a fantastic 2022, full of hope, health, and luck. Be good, 2022.

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Last Updated on December 24, 2022 by George Pavlopoulos