The One with the Disposable Gloves

photo by the author

I sit at my desk. My train to Austria is booked. All set. All set? I check the travel guidelines for entering Austria. I fill out an extensive form: Train number, birth date, passport number, hotel address, date of corona test. Corona test? I search for the closest test station. I book an appointment for ten minutes later. Ten minutes later, I arrive at the test station. Nobody knows which test is required to enter Austria. I take the one that is covered by health insurance. “You know the procedure?” “Yes.” “I’ll swipe for ten seconds.” “Ten seconds?” “Just breathe and relax.” I do not breathe. I cramp for ten seconds. My nose still hurts when I meet Colin for lunch. “Have you put in your contact data for the corona tracing?” the waitress asks. “No, not yet.” I hurry back to my Zoom meetings. On my way, I stop at a pharmacy. My instinct tells me to buy FFP2 masks. “We only sell them single-packed.” “Okay, I take five.” I will be traveling for five days. “15 Francs.”

The next day I teach at school in person. I teach for four hours. I wear a mask for four hours. Later, I take the train to Zurich. I switch trains in Zurich. Zurich – Linz, seven and a half hours passing the Alps. I am excited. I have not been out of the country for almost a year. I enjoy a beautiful train tide. We pass lakes. We pass mountains. At the Austrian border, everybody switches from surgeon masks to FFP2 masks. “It is mandatory to wear FFP2 masks covering nose and mouth in Austrian trains at all times. Violators will be punished,” says the announcement. I check my papers: passport, Austrian travel confirmation, hotel confirmation, test confirmation. 

Another five hours on the train. I watch crime shows on my laptop while answering emails. At nine-fifteen, we arrive in Linz. The train station is clean and bright as always. Security guards overpower a drunken man without a mask. I find the subway to get to the hotel. Everybody wears FFP2 masks. Taubenmarkt – Katholische Privatuniversität – OK Kulturzentrum – Hauptplatz. I do not dare to take off my mask crossing the public square. I check-in at the hotel. “Guten Abend, Frau Doktor.” “Gute Reise, Frau Doktor.” “When was your last test, Frau Doctor?” “Do you have an appointment to be re-tested tomorrow, Mrs. Doctor?” I nod. I am tired. I close the door of room number fourteen. I am back in Austria in 1950. Huge wooden furniture, chandeliers, vanitas painting. I open the window. I take off the mask. I breathe. It is nine-thirty. I roll out my yoga mat. I breathe. I sigh. I twist. I turn. I invert. I feel better. Later in bed, I cannot sleep. I am covered in polyester. I have to set the alarm. I have to be at the pharmacy for my test at eight-fifteen tomorrow morning. In the morning I enter the breakfast room. I wear one of my FFP2 masks. Coffee, orange juice, fruit salad, croissants, all there. I get myself some things from the buffet. “Can you please put on a pair of disposable gloves?” Yes, I can. I can also take off my mask to eat my croissant. Later at the pharmacy, I wait in line with the methadone patients. They get up early, too. I pay 25 Euro for the test. I do not have Austrian health insurance. “Mouth or nose?” asks the assistance. “Mouth,” I answer. “5 seconds,” he says. “Great!” I answer.