February 18, 2021: Virtual Travel Might Be a Mile in Your Shoes

My alma mater offers alumni excursions to faraway lands, none of which trips I have ever taken, because they cost a bundle. In addition to the usual lodging, meals and transportation, each trip is led by a faculty member who holds forth on something academically relevant – a music professor talks about Mozart in Salzburg, or what have you. I pine for one trip: a boat excursion with a zoology prof, to the Galapagos. But it is way beyond my reach, just a fantasy. There is much to be said for fantasies.

Anyway, actual excursions are not on offer this year, natch. Instead, next month, the university is offering the first in a series of virtual excursions, this one featuring a Zoom lecture every day, ten days in all, five different worthy lecturers.

The virtual trip is to Italy, and costs less than a thousand dollars (barely), and can be augmented with two hours of Italian every morning, for not too terribly much more. I’m not signing up, even though it costs a fraction of a real trip, and even though I have been gently mocked by dear friends for being a ridiculous Italophile. I’m not signing up because it’s a fortune for ten Zoom lectures, and – more importantly - because the whole “virtual travel” idea makes me something between sad and inconsolable. I don’t know why - it’s not tragic. It is, arguably, better than nothing, for lots of people. One of these years, I won’t be able to tackle big trips, and something like this might be a godsend. I’m sure it will be a bunch of EXCELLENT Zoom lectures. It’s just not my cup of tea, if “not my cup of tea” can be expanded to encompass “makes me want to cry.”

Maybe it’s the home page for the trip. Look at that sunset and those wine glasses. Look at the tabs for “Itinerary” and “Accomodations.”  My accommodation, were I to sign up, would be my guest room. (If you click on Itinerary, it tells you which Zoom lecture happens which day.) It’s like a taunt.

So the whole “virtual excursion” invite deflated me. Of course, I can get emotional over all sorts of things lately. It’s been a snow and ice siege on top of the pandemic isolation, this week. A bunch of trees came down, a bunch of friends were stranded without power or heat, a bunch of tempers frayed badly. We were fine, here, but I was worried about locals, and I could extend that worry to those suffering in Texas, or, basically, anywhere.

A friend missed his vaccine appointment, made it to the venue the next day, and was told that the pharmacy had gotten power back only ten minutes before he arrived. They’d had to toss a week’s worth of vaccine because they lost their refrigeration. I got choked up over the missed shot, and over the wasted vaccine. Then he got rescheduled, and he got his shot today, and I got choked up over that, too. So I can do the sads and the happies, both misty-eyed.

The Oregon Health Authority reported today than an infant had died of COVID, diagnosed and lost the same day. Heartbreaking. But yesterday, they featured an article in which disabled adults who had gotten vaccinated described the process – how they got to the vaccination centers, how the shot felt, how they did in the aftermath. Several mentioned being grateful to have been prioritized, and said it made them feel valued (lump hits throat). Everyone quoted was upbeat and inspiring. I sent the happy- and-grateful-disabled-adults story to a friend who had said he was feeling terrible about the state of the world, and needed to be cheered up with good stories. It was a little bit random, and only a small slice of the world, but it was a nice slice, and he liked it.