Welcome to Quarantine in the City of Sails. Love, Bono

Sep 01 2022

Welcome to Auckland the overhead sign proclaimed as we made our way through customs. The city we will not see, again. Twice my husband and I have landed in Auckland, the City of Sails, never to have experienced it. The first time we had a layover on our way to Australia, too tired to care we were in New Zealand. Now, the second time, we would be heading straight for a hotel for the two weeks of quarantine required because of Covid.

It may have been mid-morning, but the bus to our downtown digs took us past nearly-deserted streets. Little metropolitan traffic, few pedestrians and shuttered businesses. Auckland was in lockdown. And very soon we would be a part of it.

The Stamford Hotel. — The only photo we have have of our hotel. We were prohibited from taking pictures of the lobby and other “public” area during our stay. We’re not sure why.

A bit spooky

The tall gates, guarded by fatigue-wearing military personnel, made our otherwise glam hotel appear to be something out of a post-apocalyptic blockbuster. They opened for our short caravan of buses, and us alone. Then closed securely behind after the last bus entered the circle drive. One thing was for sure, the Kiwis were taking COVID very seriously.

One by one our buses were discharged of its occupants, with careful attention to mask-wearing, 2 meters of distancing and generous squirts of hand sanitizer. More than once our family of five were mistaken for two families failing to socially distance. This was the first hint that finding space to accommodate our unusually large group for two weeks was going to require some out-of-the-box thinking.

The check-in process was like no other we had ever experienced, and took an eternity.

Temperature checks.

Documentation checks.

Checks I can’t recall due to the fog of jet-lag.

At least we could pass the time imagining what this grand lobby would have looked like in normal times. The gloss floors and high windows gave hints of a beautifully-appointed space, despite being shrouded by makeshift walls to limit access and behind which supplies were stacked and waiting for the hundreds of new quarantine-ites arriving over the next week.

A rare experience made even rarer.

I couldn’t overhear the conversation between my husband and the desk clerk (as we all have learned, masks make hearing anyone more that a few feet away difficult). But it seemed to take a disproportionately long time to get a room key. Then my husband turned to me with a grave look in his eyes and said

The hotel doesn’t have adjoining rooms.

Meaning: they can’t accommodate us as a family unit and we’d have to be separated into 3-and-2 for two weeks.

I was too damn tired to even think this may be appealing…kids in one room, parents in another and a little vacay from the teenage offspring…so instead of turning cartwheels, I said,

Ok, what now?

We’d gotten this far, having packed up an entire household and three kids and a dog (who was yet to leave on his flight from Los Angeles) and come halfway around the world. We could handle anything this adventure would throw at us.

So they’re going to give us the penthouse suite.

I’m sorry, they’re going to do what now?!?

Yeah. The place where foreign leaders and dignitaries and rock stars stay when they come to Auckland was now going to be ours for the next two weeks.

More space than our first house: the living space in the penthouse. — Not a bad place to be “pent” up: Lots of light, more space than our first house, the general living space in the penthouse suite.

All on someone else’s dime.

Buying a lottery ticket seemed like a good idea. But having no idea where to get one in a foreign city on COVID lockdown (and the only way to find out requiring scaling a 15-foot gate guarded by New Zealand military) we’d have to just settle for the cool digs.

Welcome to Auckland

So our quarantine was not a typical one. But one for which we were entirely grateful. Having space to spread out was an absolute luxury. Having a small balcony we could step out on whenever we wanted…priceless, given our only other fresh air would be a 20-minute daily walk in the valet parking lane. Talk about gilded handcuffs.

The views from that little balcony were spectacular:

Skytower showing off at dusk. — “Hey, the Skytower lights up!” Looking out the window became THE pastime in quarantine. Fortunately, the iconic tower in Auckland made for nightly entertainment. Imagine our excitement when it cycled through all colors of the rainbow.

An Auckland harbor view from our balcony. — Panoramic views.

But like everyone else staying in quarantine, we were otherwise confined to our rooms. Delicious meals were delivered to our door. We had laundry service and the helpful staff would even bring extra hot chocolate on request.

Quarantine was like a fancy prison. Where we were allowed to have real silverware in our room. Toilets with walls around them. Instead of metal handcuffs, blue armbands to leave our rooms to take our daily stroll and get COVID tested.

Blue wristbands were our ticket to outdoor exercise when we were in quarantine. — We had to earn the blue wristbands. These are given to guests (“guests”) who have negative COVID tests upon arrival, indicating that they can sign up from strolls out in the fenced-in driveway.

We marveled daily at our crazy good fortune. And every day there were the reality checks, like having to wash our dishes in the bathroom sink and bagging up our own trash.

I bet Bono never had to wash HIS own table service.

I bet the Sultan of Brunei never had to remove HIS rubbish.

Seriously.

Bill Clinton, Sean Connery and Bono were a few of the personalities who had stayed in this very same suite. — Some of the notable personalities who have stayed in the penthouse. Interestingly, the hotel didn’t offer to include our names on one of the few remaining empty plaques.

But, really, our family were very lucky. There were families of four in quarantine who had to stay in a standard hotel room with two beds (and no couch or dining table). I can only imagine how tough that would be.

Unless I compare it to potty-training our twin boys in a half-bath with a one-year-old using me as her own personal jungle gym.

Even so, that can’t compare to a fortnight in a small hotel room, even if the kids are potty-trained.

I wish I had a picture of this, but on our daily walks we could see how some of the these families made lemonade out of the lemons of quarantine. Like a pyramid of empty soda cans sitting on the window sill. Art work taped to the window. A little bit of humanity reaching out to the yard walkers, reminding everyone to smile and that this separation from the rest of the world is only temporary.