One On March 2, 2020 I was at Orlando Airport, on my way home after a month in Florida, where I was working on an update for Lonely Planet. Covid was a reality, but the impact of it was yet to be properly defined, an amorphous portent of doom whose enduring inconvenience had yet to take its proper shape. I got talking to the Aer Lingus ground manager, who breezily predicted that all transatlantic flights would be grounded within a week, “two at most.” I was surprised by the audacity of his prediction; he may as well have declared that…

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