THE weather in early March in Glasgow was not great as I packed my suitcase for my yoga trip to India. I didn’t suspect then that I wouldn’t be able to come back to my home for weeks or even months.

I arrived in Chennai to experience the Indian heat, and a temperature check on all arriving passengers. Crammed in the arrival hall, we fill out forms giving full information including seat number on the plane and contact details. It was the first airport on my trip where my health condition is checked. And as it turns out, the last.

Some days later I met a group of tourists from England who had arrived in India one day earlier but were about to leave after hearing a rumour that Britain was about to shut its border.

The same day, the Polish first minister announced that the Polish border was to close at midnight on Saturday. All flights and trains were suspended and the only way to cross was by bus or car. I had a plane ticket back to Glasgow, but my parents – who are almost 80 – were in Poland living in a small village without any family.

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I didn’t know what to do. I was simply terrified that I would not see them for the next few months when they needed my support and care. In normal circumstances, I visit them in Poland every few weeks. After a short discussion with my husband, we decided that I should try to get to Poland. Flight tickets were a hot commodity.

Thousands had rushed to cross Poland’s frontiers after the Polish government announced that it would close borders to foreigners and quarantine those returning to the country.

Poland’s border crossings turned into bottlenecks, with queues in some places of more than 30 miles and waiting times exceeding 24 hours. It took me more than 50 hours to get from India to Poland to take care of my almost 80 year old parents.

Everything that I thought I would not need in India I had left at home, including my driving licence – which might be crucial if I eventually have to drive back by car to Scotland.

Amid rumours that the Polish government may try to organise charter flights to Poland, I was able to rebook my ticket for Frankfurt through Dubai. A few minutes later the flight was cancelled, leaving Munich as the next option.

But the weakest link in the chain is the connection from Germany to Poland. There is no bus driver who would like to come and pick up our group returning from India. We need somebody with a special licence, otherwise the driver would have to stay in quarantine for 14 days and would earn no money for two weeks. Eventually we found a driver, paid a fortune and told a little lie about a crazy holiday in Dubai. Even then we weren’t sure if they would pick up us in Germany.

Wearing masks and rubber gloves, we left Chennai on Monday evening and at Dubai airport had a seven-hour transfer. No-one checked our health or temperature. I decided to pay for an extremely expensive business lounge to rest and take a shower. Emirates staff members told me about the dramatic situation outside. Many flights had been cancelled, and people were camping at the airport without alternative connections and no money.

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Next to me was a man returning from his contract in Bangladesh to family in the UK who was worried about border closures. Everywhere was crowded with people wanting to catch the last flight connections. The trip was a brutal reminder that there is no equality in the world. The flight to Munich was like playing Quidditch. You had to manoeuvre so that no one sneezed or coughed on you. There was much of both on the German flight, although probably due to the intense air conditioning rather than the virus.

Munich airport didn’t require any health check or location documents. The police seem more equipped to deal with a terrorist attack than coronavirus. After long queues at passport control and collecting our luggage, we waited for our bus in the empty arrival hall. Only one small shop was open in the whole airport. Its shelves are already mostly empty when our group arrived to stock up on what we can for the long trip ahead.

Eventually our bus arrived. We already knew the border would be very busy, but we didn’t know that the waiting time could be to 30 hours. Our drivers made the decision to try and cross the border through a very small checkpoint at Olszyna. They tried to use backroads to bypass much of the queue and join it near the front.

OUR trip looked like a nightmare: dark, cold through empty fields and forest. But the strategy paid off. We were waiting only six hours. There was no food, drink or toilets. All border infrastructure was decommissioned after Poland joined the Schengen zone.

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At the border, in the middle of the night, somebody opened the bus door and threw location cards inside. We had to fill them in and return them at passport control. Based on this information, I could be controlled during my quarantine period in Poland.

The next stop is temperature measurement. A man dressed like someone from a Hollywood disaster movie told us to leave the bus.

They took our readings just outside the bus. Green to the right, red to the left. Three girls were red. A fter a few minutes they repeated the procedure and it turned out that everything was ok.

The last point was passport control. The guard was unpleasant and nervous. Control was quick, but became a bit fraught when a friend made a joke about the speed. After a short discussion they let us go.

Daily life seemed to be going on as normal in Germany. Shops and facilities work like always. The only different I noticed is that the public toilets, which normally charge a one euro fee per visit were now free to deal with the long queues at the border.

The local people helped those standing on the border by distributing water, food and opening private bathrooms.

When we crossed the border, life was different. Poles were terrified. The garage staff were petrified, fenced from customers with large sheets of Plexiglas. No more than five people could stay in one room. Most toilets were locked and out of service. You couldn’t wash your hands. Roads were empty, cities deserted. People were aggressive and there were even physical attacks against those they suspected were infected.

There was also much misinformation. There were reports that the virus could be transmitted through domestic pets – leading to examples of animals being dropped off at cat and dog homes or taken to the vets for a worse fate. This was such a common occurrence that the media had to take action to stop the spread of this fake news.

Everyone coming back from abroad is obliged to quarantine for 14 days. But nobody had informed us at the border how to do it. After leaving the bus in Warsaw, all of us travelled home by public transport or taxi.

The first thing I did was to try and organise online shopping from the supermarket, but the next available delivery date was April 16. Thanks to the local shop, however, I can get enough food to spend the next two weeks in isolation.

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The guy who left food for me in front of my door didn’t want any payments. He said I could pay when I finish quarantine. Neighbours warn my parents that they should keep their distance from me during my quarantine period, otherwise they will be ostracised in the local community.

What is happening right now is a completely new social experience. The world can no longer be the same as before. An epidemic is a kind of defence of nature against what we do to it. We cannot live in such a destructive way. We are a privileged caste of people who live in a rich part of the world. Even when we experience discomfort, it is not so overwhelming.

While millions die from diseases, wars and hunger in other parts of the world, the only thing we are capable of is endless debates about what we cannot do. This is showing us that these experiences do not only impact us as individuals. We must support each other and the natural environment that surrounds us.