17 July 2021
Shortly after we arrived in Seychelles, someone told us it was the Dry Season. Well, if it was then, it certainly isn't now. It's been chucking it down for over a week. Which isn't all bad. We can collect water and have a shower every three days ..... whether we need it or not.
"Ahh, never seen weather like this before" say the locals, as locals are saying all over the world as climate change rolls on and the politicians do hee-haw while the ice caps melt.
Meanwhile, it was probably the customs thing that tipped me over the edge. Having spent six weeks trying to check in, and still not completed, we're checking out ..... in the fly home and see the kids sense. Whether they want seen or not.
Enough was enough. Our boat is very comfy at anchor. And quite spacious, but after a year and a half of sitting on our butts waiting for Covid to pass, while watching weed and barnacles create a micro bio-system on our unused and currently pointless wave piercing, high performance hulls, I've cracked.
Regular readers will remember we heard that routing through Iceland could give us not only a change of scenery but the necessary ten days in a Green zone thus avoiding quarantine in the UK. In exchange for mild hypothermia and trench foot.
The flights were surprisingly reasonable, especially if you didn't take the exhorbitant Covid insurance. I mean, why would we need it? Like John Prescott*, the ex union leader turned politician (and all time hypocrite) we're known as "Two Jags". Us because we're doubly immunised, him because he had both his own Jaguar and, a second government Jag to roll around in, no doubt while visiting his working class and unemployed constituents.
So, flights booked, we were all set to go. Right up until one of our crowd tested positive. Seychelles ranks #3 worldwide in cases per head of population, so, with this sharp reminder it's still out there, and close to home. Now, because I saved a few quid on flight insurance and unable to cancel the whole great-idea-at-the-time, instead of quarantine in Heathrow, we're effectively quarantined here, which isn't so much different from normality I suppose.
Nine days until our Icelandic mini-break. Nine centigrade in Reykjavik yesterday. And raining.
Great plan Stuart. A motorbike tour of Iceland!