PRINCE RUPERT - A PECULIAR TALE

 

TRAVEL NOTES EUROPE – SWEDEN-POLAND-UKRAINE-CZECH

 

To depart the 4^th Reich of Canada, currently, one needs a test and possibly a vaccine, depending on the country. To go to Sweden, one needs just an antigen test. The testing site is located right in the airport. An advanced appointment is required. The antigen was amusing, as the attendant barely swabbed my nostrils for $125. She was a Russian speaking compatriot. I struck a conversation in the mother tongue, according to her, not many positives ever showed up. My negative results were ready in 10 minutes. My temporary Gesundpass was only asked for once – by the ticket agent. Fortunately, she had beautiful and expressive eyes that assured me that my passage to Sweden was almost assured. This was in contrast to the lower part of her face that bitterly reminded me of Dr. Bonnie Henry – our local Dr. Fauci clone.

 

Once my ticket in hand, I had to wait for the international check-in to open at 2:30, as new normal travel from our great Metropolis has less than a dozen international flights departing daily. Lufthansa appeared to be very strict on the mask business. No less than a blue medical mask had to be worn, so bye-bye my breathable “barely” mask my wife wasted at least $10 on. While parading in the airport, I just dropped my blue mask below the nose with nobody harassing me. However, as soon as I approached the gate, a series of stern warning on the quality and etiquette of mask wearing were issued. A fresh medical mask was issued at no cost. Keeping it above my nose was the key to stay off flight attendants’ criticisms. Only when they dimmed the lights after the meal service, I dared to stick my face in the crack between the seat and the window, allowed myself to get some free floating O₂. Yes, make sure to have a window seat to hide from the mask police more effectively.

 

Arriving in Germany was a bit of a relief, as the airport folk didn’t seem to police noses too much. Crossing border into the EU was the only time when I was reminded of my civic duties by a border officer behind the plastic window – “I have been wearing this since 4 in the morning, so can you”, said he. Amusingly, his next-door border guard buddy was not wearing his mask at all. He looked pretty young and healthy, nowhere near an exemption worthy state of health.   

 

Scandinavian Airlines were a bit less strict on the face diaper rules, to my relief. Once the doors of the plane were opened in Stockholm, half of the passengers took their masks off completely. By the time I got into the train going to the city, there was not mask in sight, including train personnel. The airport was the only place in Stockholm were the personnel seemed to be required to wear something. Smartly, most of them wore useless plastic face shields instead of masks.  

 

The county that bucked the lockdown rules imposed in most of the world, achieving amazing results, most notably demonstrating by very low to non-existent excess mortality, appeared almost completely “old normal”. I figured mask wearing was somewhere near 1-2%. I suspected that some of those who did wear masks were recent arrivals from stricter jurisdictions. Covid-19 PTSD is a real thing for many. Here and there I saw floor stickers that varied from 1 to 2 meters – I guess Swedes never firmly settled on the scientism of “social distancing”. Nobody seemed to pay attention to these signs at all. Some storefronts displayed some Covid-19 related notices, but I was not sure if anybody bothered to read them. The city was hustling and bustling. It exuded such a degree of normalcy that I didn’t know what to do with myself out of sheer exhilaration. Endorphins were just bursting into flights of thoughtless happiness.

 

 With the remainder restrictions recently removed, theaters and museum were running full steam, giving extra gleam to this amazing waterfront city that is truly monumental to rival the best-known gems of Europe such as Budapest or Vienna. Architecture was truly stunning. I was gob smacked. Where did the Viking descendants got all this money? Augmented by the abundance of water views, elegant bridges and generous green spaces, Stockholm, awash in changing fall colors and unexpectedly warm sunshine, was a perfect anti-depressant to make the likes of Prozac blush. The views afforded by the cliffs of Sodermalm were sublime, especially during the sunset. A chance to attend a season opening hockey game afforded another infusion of bliss. The absence of vaccine passport tyranny allowed me to simply walk up to the box office and get a ticket – like the good old days. Inside the arena, the only thing that guards cared about was personal security as everyone had to walk through a metal detector gate. Past the security beer, cheers and flag-waving in the best European sporting traditions reigned. The super fans were behind the visitors’ goal, screaming and singing to their hearts’ content. Watching fans at European sporting events can frequently rival the actual show. Seeing normal people behaving normally was simply sublime (please see attached video and images).   

 

Buoyed by life as it should be, I figured that venturing to get some ivermectin was in order. Heavily suppressed in Canada, I figured Sweden would be an exception in this realm as well. The local pharmacy was a good start where they did inform me that such medication was indeed available. Aside from a modest sum of money, I still needed a prescription. Directed to the local medical emergency office, I entered to find a couple of masked patients. They were coughing and sneezing. The attending personnel didn’t wear masks. I asked to see a doctor to write out a prescription. He asked to see the name of the drug before I was to pay – the nice chap didn’t want me to spend money on the appointment without assurance of a satisfactory outcome. This was very honest of him. The rest went sideways. He literally had no idea why I would want to fill a prescription for an anti-parasitic drug. I mentioned some studies to the effect, he smiled, probably thinking of me one of those tinfoil hatters.

 

“We don’t do such things here”.

“What do you do for someone with Covid-19 symptoms?” I asked.

“If the symptoms are mild, nothing. If it gets worse, we give steroids and oxygen”, he replied. This was no different from directions given by the Canadian or British authorities.

 

His words made me doubt some aspects of the Swedish approach to Covid-19. They echoed the words of my local friend who stated that whatever happened in Sweden versus virtually every other country in Europe was simply unexplainable. The outside myths of freedom loving and well-informed Swedes, according him, were just that – the myths. Why the Swedish authorities decided to go their own way remains a mystery. Could this be attributable to high personal integrity of the main actors such as Anders Tegnell or something entirely different? I guess some aspects of the Covid-19 response history might just remain a mystery akin to the Grassy Knoll and World Trade Center 7.  

 

Before leaving Sweden for Ukraine, I had to get another antigen test as required by the Ukrainian authorities. Finding a place to get a test was a piece of cake as Stockholm seemed to have a few “Vaccin” offices that provided a full range of services. Apparently devoid of crowds clamoring to get vaccinated, a walk-in was an easy solution. Everything went swimmingly well except having to suffer a few seconds of the terrible tickle in my nose – the antigen test in Sweden resembled the depth of a PCR intrusion. The price was half of that I paid in Canada. Once, done, my negative test certificate arrived in my email inbox within 30 minutes. I was free to continue my journey. This meant buying a ticket for the following day. Indeed, travelling in the Covid times is a risky affair. Going along the good old normal by booking my flights way in advance sounded dodgy unless shelling out the coin for fully flexible tickets.

 

Flying through Warsaw necessitated a production of the negative test not only at the ticket counter in Stockholm, but also at the quick check point at Warsaw airport. It was easier with masks. As soon as the meal was served, the plane passengers were given a carte blanche to breathe through the nose. Nobody seemed to care too much. The same picture was on the ground, as masks are required in the public transit. I took mine off and nobody cared. Arriving in the middle of Warsaw, the testing scene suddenly became very lively. Right by the iconic Stalin’s skyscraper, there were at least three separate testing tents. These were very well attended judging by rather long line ups consisting exclusively of young folk. I figured that the Polish state had deployed an extensive testing regime for those at risk – science you know. I think it might be similar to the situation in the UK where hordes of students are regularly tested for the virtually riskless virus. Long-standing historic political ties between Warsaw and London came alive once again, reminding me, the old Soviet, of the murky circumstances of the Molotov-Ribbentrop pact. But I digress.

 

Arriving in Ukraine finally afforded a good look into the new two-tier Covid society that is accessible to many unlike the rarified world of the west where only billionaire-philanthropists and their cheerleaders are allowed in. In Kyiv, for a tidy sum of $280 USD paid by my dear friend Vlad, I was afforded a full VIP treatment. Met at the gate by a designated attendant, I was whisked away by a top-line BMW to a separate VIP entrance where all Covid requirements were dispensed with exceeding courtesy. In Ukraine, one is required to have a tracking app on your phone and an antigen test within 72 hours after the arrival. I was escorted into a very comfortable dining room that served top-notch mix of sushi and borscht where I bid my time waiting for a connection to my hometown. Within an hour, my app began sending very menacing messages, demanding all manner of compliance with Covid protocols. At first alarmed, I inquired about the phenomenon from my VIP handler. He simply told me to ignore all of it. The only bit I needed to do was to get that 72-hour antigen test. The rest was rubbish. My dear friend Vlad gleefully confirmed and issued excuses for the inconveniences for the idiocies of the Ukrainian biosecurity state. He was right. Aside from threatening texts, everything went well. My negative antigen results were ready in 3 minutes and the cost was a fifth of that charged in Canada.   

 

Arriving in my hometown was a welcome break into the past where a 50-meter track between the plane and the terminal had to be covered by a bus ride although walking seemed much simpler given that the only other plane on the tarmac was a private oligarch rig. Slavic ceremonies oblige. The pile up at the baggage pickup only confirmed the elation of the homecoming. Ukraine, as the rest of the post-Soviet space except for the “obedient” Baltics, is a country scarred by more than a century marked by revolutions, putsches, wars, barbarity, totalitarianism, and oligarchy. Such scars are deep and very present, creating a healthy distrust of authorities among large population strata.  If one reads the official press and let’s oneself unlimited exposure to the television, the picture in Ukraine is hardly any different from any other Covid regime. There are presumably obligatory masks for inside wearing, safe and effective vaccines, green, yellow and red zones. The need to show your vaccine certificate in some places is also coming in vogue.  In reality, unlike in the West, many see through the narrative. However, unlike the West, where the people in general believe in human rights, pieces of paper called a “constitution”, here is there is no organized protests or even a hint of an organized protest movement. There is simply no belief that there is any basis to organize protests on. It could change of course if a group of oligarchs decide that the current powers require displacement either by force or a backroom coup. But for now, like in the good old Soviet times, Ukrainians concoct countless Covid anecdotes, buy ivermectin in any quantities wished, acquire negative test certificates without bothering to test. The most coveted pieces of paper on the market today are vaccine certificates for the unvaccinated. You want to travel, but you don’t want to be bothered at work or in public transport (recently introduced a vax certificate requirement), just find a nurse or a doctor who is willing to miss your arm. Sometimes this is done through fake appointments taken in other regions to limit unnecessary questions. You don’t even need to go there. Just sit out at home for a couple of days to keep a low profile, and get the certificate mailed to you. However, you must be careful as the quality of the certificates varies. Recently, a prominent political figure was found to possess a fake vaccine certificate when returning from abroad. But not to worry, for any surveillance improvements, there will be sufficient black market counter measures that would be at least as effective. Such is the nature of the post-Soviet ingenuity.

 

Among those who decided to get vaccinated, the stories of side effects and flu-like illnesses are abound. But this is hardly exceptional. A number of my family members acquired heavy “flu” shortly after their vaccinations. One of them had actually had Covid-19 and thought that the original experience was on the lighter side compared to the post-vaccinal “flu”.

 

On the way back to Canada, I had an overnight connection in Prague, which gave me a great deal of heart palpitations as my negative PCR test in the absence of the vaccine certificate didn’t seem enough to the airline clerk. It took ten minutes of convincing and excessive cortisone production before I was allowed to board the plane. An alarming number of my fellow passengers exhibited a propensity for utterly ridiculous, duck beak like N95 masks. Before confirming a metaphysical hypothesis for such extraordinary behavior, I learned that Czech Republic, being precariously close to the German speaking space, chose to follow N95 respirator “science” as its neighbors to the west. Arriving in Prague, confirmed the impression although it didn’t seem that a real anti-mask witch hunt was in full swing as number of travelers seemed rather successful at avoiding this particularly cruel method of depriving one of oxygen. When it came to the airport and hotel workforce, the duck beaks were almost uniform. I guess the terms of employment were stiff. Judging by the number of people sticking to this peculiar fashion on the street, I didn’t appear clear if the Czech retained anything from their libertarian inclinations made famous in 1968. I guess the soft dictates from the EU are more persuasive than the columns of Soviet tanks.

 

Next morning, while passing security, I was firmly told to buy N95 from a nearby wending machine. Somehow, my card didn’t work, saving me an entire Euro as the guard pulled one from his extra supplies. My compliance barely worked 5 minutes, it was utterly suffocating, and I let my nose hang out as soon as I got to the gate. Nobody seemed to mind, as long as I pretended to keep most of my face mostly covered with N95 and N95 only. Once the plane landed in Frankfurt, suddenly, any mask was good. Once back on Lurthansa to Vancouver, a minimum of a medical mask with a good deal of admonitions and threats on the PA system became a requirement. The return to the Fourth Reich of Canada went reasonably well. I was promptly advised to get into the 14-day quarantine. Apparently, I was to take an arrival test as well. However, the authorities didn’t make it all that clear. Missing the quarantine day 8 test was another matter, as I repeatedly received rather foreboding emails from the dear government. Some of them advising me of potential jail sentences and $750,000 fines. Fortunately, my day 8 test came back negative. With two days left on the quarantine, I am now really looking to “freedom”.