What must it be like to be a modern Rip Van Winkle, the guy in folklore who went to sleep for a century and woke up to find a different world?
A hiker in New Zealand found out.
The Guardian reports that a British outdoorsman living in New Zealand emerged from the bush to find empty roads, empty huts, over a hundred warning messages left on his inactive phone, and a country in total lockdown.
Creepy.
The remote and rugged Routeburn track in New Zealand’s South Island is one of the world’s most famous and popular walks, with a years-long wait to secure a booking and visitor quotas permanently full.
So when British hiker James Johnston emerged from the bush after five days solo-tramping on the off-piste Five Passes route, a prickly feeling ran up the back of his spine when he found an abandoned Routeburn shelter.
“There are almost always lots of people there, it’s one of the most popular walks in the country,” said Johnston, 27, who has lived in New Zealand for two years.
“I saw the whole place was deserted, not a single car or person anywhere, which was weird.
“The fact that this incredibly popular spot in a popular month of the year was empty – it was a bit spooky.”
Johnston had entered the bush when there were still only a handful of coronavirus cases in New Zealand, and the newly introduced alert system was at two – “reduce contact”. Solo-tramping on a remote mountain range seemed the ideal way to reduce contact, Johnston thought, and headed off, largely unconcerned.
Over his five days tramping he didn’t see a soul, and his phone had no reception.
The trip, Johnston says, was “special” – tons of birdlife and challenging terrain. But when he descended the Sugarloaf track last Thursday – the first day of nationwide lockdown – he was tired, and ready for some creature comforts.
Finding the Routeburn shelter deserted, Johnston says an “eerie” feeling began creeping over him, as he sat down to eat his lunch and plan the next move. There being no cars around to give him a ride back to Queenstown, some 70km away.
Suddenly, three people emerged through the heavy downpour, dressed in high-vis and wearing face masks. And what followed was definitely surreal.
Lockdown update
Actually, it is the eighth day of lockdown, here. I am at long last working closer to the bottom of the rice pudding I made to use up milk, and which I nibble away for breakfast. I was beginning to despair, and I am pretty sure I will never eat rice pudding again. But I am glad I have made space in the deep freeze, as my supermarket will deliver because of my great age. I put in a big order, which should arrive this morning. Hopefully my list covers all bases; it took the whole afternoon, almost, to compile it. And it includes fruit, potatoes and salad, so I can eat healthily again.
The weather is lovely, but getting cooler. It is hard to keep the young ones away from the beach, and it is going to get harder, even though it has been established that the 20-29-year olds are the biggest spreaders. I go for the daily walk we are all allowed, up past the university (my alma mater), then across the croquet ground, and around the cricket ground to a track that leads back down the hill to the apartment building. I notice clusters of teenagers on the cricket ground, and assume they are from the same flat or house. You are allowed to associate with those you live with, outside. It is hard to tell. But the government has set up a site where you can report them, if you harbor suspicions. It crashed within hours, because of the load of traffic, but they set it up again.
I do notice a lot more people out and about, in cars as well as on bikes and on foot. The urban motorway was creepily silent the first couple of days, but now seems quite busy. Where are they going? And why? It does lead south to the hospital, and also Newtown School, which has been set up as a testing site.
What strange times we live in. I wonder if it will ever return to normal, and somehow, very depressingly, doubt it.
Night before last, I watched a very strange program on TV, about rednecks who buy disused Cold War bunkers in the Nevada desert, and set up for Armageddon. Some have been there for years. They live in these underground concrete tubes, along with provisions and water, and -- of course -- many guns. They are all heavily muscled and tattooed, and the women have butch hair cuts and the men have ponytails. Bizarrely, and really quite worryingly, the program came from Russia. The channel is called "RT." Is it fake news? And why is it shown in NZ?
Still more worrying, I have just turned my digital radio on to the PBS news, and the tone is definitely panicked.
I wonder if James -- aka New Zealand's Rip Van Winkle -- wishes he was back in the bush.
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