Pandemic Dating Diaries
The Pandemic Dating Diaries is a series from The Bold Italic that features moments in love, dating, and sex during Covid-19 directly from our readers. Have a story you’d like to submit? Email us or DM us on Twitter or Instagram.
We met in the summer of 2019 in Mongolia, working on the same crew of a long-distance horse race. I was drawn to his quick wit and his confident hand upon the wild-eyed Mongol horses. A thin layer of dust only made him more handsome. Our chances for flirting came only when we happened to be in the same horse station or by text messages via remote satellite devices. Little did I know this clunky style of communication would be the theme of our early relationship.
After the horse race, we left each other — I traveled back to San Francisco, he returned to Gloucestershire, England. I visited him four months later in the winter, and while we cuddled together on his couch on my last night there, we agreed that we were indeed head over heels for each other and wanted to give “the distance thing” a real try.
We planned to take turns visiting each other as often as possible, taking our finances and impossible work schedules into consideration. He spent a week in San Francisco for the first time in February 2020 and loved the varied cuisines and exploring the city. We fell more and more in love as Covid-19 officially hit in March. We were sure that this would be cleared up in a month, two at the most, which would be just in time to see each other next by May.
We’d just have to be patient.
As shutdown began, I panicked. Trump banned U.K. residents from entering the United States.
“What if they lock down everything and we don’t know when we’ll be able to see each other next?” I asked.
I decided I needed to see him. Right then. (Was this smart? Probably not, but my heart was thinking, not my head.)
I quickly booked a cheap flight to Heathrow and—masked, gloved, and drenched in hand sanitizer—boarded a plane with 11 others. We arrived at an empty major international airport. The immigration officer laid into me for traveling during such a time. Suddenly, I was being interrogated by four officers.
Sign up for The Bold Italic newsletter to get the best of the Bay Area in your inbox every week.
They looked through text messages and photos on my phone and pulled out every item from my purse and my checked luggage, placing them on a stainless-steel table. They took me into a room along a white corridor, recorded my fingerprints, took my photo, and took my phone away before detaining me in a cheerless room in the underbelly of the airport.
After about two hours, the immigration officer handed me a letter saying my travel was deemed nonessential and that I was being unceremoniously sent back to where I came from. I was unable to ask questions regarding the decision. No appeal was allowed.
I called my boyfriend in tears.
“I’m so, so sorry,” he said.
“Don’t be sorry,” I told him, trying not to drip snot onto the phone as they processed my paperwork. “This is what I get for not being patient.”
I should note that while nonessential travel was advised against, there was no law against it. This happened to others as well.
We did the best we could, given the distance. We had regular Skype dates and talked about the farm full of animals we’d someday have once it was all over and I could save up to move to England. Every day apart hurt. Impatient and stubborn, I decided to try again and booked another flight to Heathrow in April.
Immigration detained me again — my previously unsuccessful visit had left me with a negative mark on my record and a black “X” on my passport. They told me that being sent home again would make it almost impossible for me to someday move to the U.K. I was interviewed extensively, and after hours of waiting alone in a room, I was told I would be allowed into the country. My angel of an immigration officer took pity on my situation and recommended entry to his higher-ups.
“You’re going to see him,” the officer said, as my face melted into a considerable ugly cry.
The last time I saw my boyfriend was a visit at the beginning of November. Despite the enormous anxiety I had walking up to immigration this time, I was allowed in after a short sit in the informal waiting area. The immigration officer even told me they had downgraded my status and that I would be able to enter the U.K. just like anyone else the next visit or the time after, which was a massive relief.
These visits to be with him in the age of Covid-19 are quiet. I spend time at his house while he works. We go for walks in the countryside, and I try to pronounce town names like Cirencester and Clifford’s Mesne while he laughs at me.
We figured a long-distance relationship would be tough, but we couldn’t have anticipated Covid-19 coming along and the hurdles we’d face because of it. I’d like to say we’re stronger for going through this challenge together — and maybe we’ll look back on it and say with confidence that it has, but for now, it just sucks.
A second wave of infections in both our countries, plus the scary British-origin variant means he’s probably not getting into the United States for a visit anytime soon, and a hopeful trip there in March could be dicey. Some long-distance couples are meeting up in countries with different travel regulations, like Mexico, Aruba, or Croatia, but is that really a good plan?
Our fingers are crossed, but who knows what the coming months will bring. Waiting for anything when crazy in love is maddening, but I suppose we’ll just have to be patient.
