Shadows

A long shadow chased me through the park. My legs circled in the last of the sunlight, the shadow lengthening and contracting with every step. My smoking breath trailed in the frigid air as I ran through the winter equinox, my shadow stretched over the grass like a puppet.

‘That sun’s got no warmth in it.’ People say there’s no power in the sun’s rays during the winter. But I think that sun is magical; it’s what makes the brief days and breaks the long nights. It’s such a relief to see it hovering just above the horizon - a sunny day at last!

Where am I running? The people in the park are speaking French. A sign points towards the ‘centre ville.’ Who am I? Technically I’m British, and although I used to live a nomadic lifestyle, moving from one steep cliff to the next, I now live in France. What am I doing here? I’m trying to stay fit but my shoulder aches, stabbed by another vaccine.

My home is in Chamonix, and the global pandemic caused by covid-19 rumbles on. Vaccines, masks and restrictions create pain, fear and tighter borders. Although tomorrow I plan to travel back to England for Christmas, it’s not guaranteed I can reach my destination. Freedom is a strange thing these days. Liberties which we previously took for granted are now removed.

I haven’t seen my family in ages. I’m concerned about the border and new travel restrictions, which change regularly and without warning. Will I be able to cross? Is my British passport enough, is my covid vaccine enough, is my test enough?

In 2021, after a climbing expedition to Pakistan, I tried to board my plane home. The airline refused to let me travel to France. My (French) vaccine certificate was insufficient. My (British) passport was only eligible to travel back to Britain - which is no longer in Europe. My carte de séjour (French residency card) was sat in my post box, delivered whilst I was away. 

Red-faced, I tried to convince the airline manager in Islamabad airport that my final destination (Geneva) was closest to Chamonix, and that I actually lived there. He started googling how long it took to drive between the two places, then UK citizens rights, doubting my reasons for travel and my right to live in Europe. He was looking for reasons to deny boarding. I couldn’t believe it. 

Simple, basic beliefs which I previously considered truths were questioned - and then refused. Covid and Brexit had created a perfect storm. Could a person even travel to Europe?

At 4:30am my flight rumbled down the runway without me, still arguing with the check-in staff. I cursed Brexit and covid and Qatar Airways and said you could all go to hell, then walked into the night. Streetlights warped my shadow around me, a mad-angry and tight shape.

***

As my trainers rhythmically hit the park’s gravel, another memory came to mind.

In the past, when the sun made a rare appearance on a winters day in north Wales, I have headed to the coast. With their quick-drying quality, the impressively steep sea cliffs of orange quartzite are a delight. 

‘Let’s go Gogarth!’ we shouted, scraping frost off the windscreen, bundling into the car and waiting for the engine to cough into life. We drove from the numbing shadow and into the light. 

When we arrived, a fresh easterly blew through the car park, stuffing hands into pockets and blushing cheeks. But our energy was too high - look at that sunshine! - and nothing could stop us from climbing. We were sheltered from the breeze as soon as we slipped down the abseil rope. Safe on our vertical haven, a seabird’s perch above the foamy Atlantic. 

Uncoiling the ropes (‘don’t drop them in the sea!’) and after methodically tying figure-of-eight knots, I could finally begin. I climbed away from the belay, slowly at first, becoming absorbed in the intricacies of the route. Glad of the sun’s warmth, no shadows to be seen, I searched for crisp quartzite edges beneath my fingertips. I inspected every curl and wave of the rock. I pressed the rubber of my rock shoes onto edges, feeling the subtleties of the rock through my toes. If I twisted my hips I could almost stand in balance without my hands, lifting a few fingers off the rock as if to prove it to myself. The ropes arced down below a roof and out of sight, into the darkness, so I laughed at the outrageousness of my position. 

I gained confidence and moved higher, feeling free after what felt like months cooped inside during the ‘monsoon season.’ Seabirds wheeled and screamed, the breakers boomed, but I was oblivious to everything on a winter’s equinox.

***

It’s good to protect the overall health of a population from a pandemic like covid, but restrictions don’t sit well with me. I take the vaccines without thinking, but should I question them? I run past a lamppost and see a sticker, capital letters shouting, ‘THE VACCINE. AT WHAT COST TO FREEDOM?’ What are the long-term implications of lockdowns, social distancing, a lack of liberty? 

I am sure about Brexit: it’s a total shitshow, a terrible shame, and the long-term implications are already bad. Again, it’s restricted things (privileges) which were previously taken for granted. Freedom to travel and work in Europe is essential to me and my friends. Our expeditions are immediately a third more expensive, products and gear incurring more delays, costs and longer delivery times. Shortages of stock and businesses relocating to mainland Europe are common.

If I’d stayed in the UK and not moved to France, my European trips would have been cut short; working in Europe would’ve been too complicated. Now, living in Chamonix, I pay large amounts in customs fees to send or receive a parcel. The exchange rate is poor. My carte de séjour is more valuable than my British passport. Borders are a pain, and my UK driving license and car might cause problems. I regularly speak to Brits who lament their shorter trips, or wish they’d moved to Europe before the Brexit rules came into force. At that moment, the choice was ‘the UK,’ or ‘the UK and Europe.’ I’m happy I chose the latter. 

***

I run out of the park as the blood-red sun sips from the hazy horizon. I turn towards the town centre, my shadow stretching over the streets. Tomorrow will be an early start, hope pointing Christelle and I towards the English border. We hope I can ‘bring’ Christelle in the UK for Christmas; she then ‘brings’ me back into France for  New Year’s Eve.

With the winter equinox nearly over, the shadows lengthen, but we have hope.