Hi readers, I hope you’re all well. Those of you who might be feeling stir crazy amid COVID-19 event cancellations and possible quarantine periods might be receiving promotional emails from airlines trying to coax you onto a flight to anywhere-but-here. 

You’re seeing the discounts and you’re probably starting to think about it. “Well, I have always wanted to go to x…”

Here’s a tip on traveling amid an unprecedented global pandemic: don’t. 

I speak from firsthand experience. Recently, I flew Frontier Airlines from Denver to Philadelphia and back again for a wedding I was in. Health concerns aside, it was a strange and frustrating experience.

I love airports. The constant stream of people flowing in and out, each carrying their own baggage (both literally and figuratively).

These mysterious people-watching grounds have turned into dystopian structures in the past four months.

That steady stream of people is noticeably smaller. According to CNBC, the number of people passing through the U.S. airports was down 70% the first five days of July from what it was at the first five days of July 2019. 

The lack of people is eerie in itself, not to mention the closure of security checkpoints in Denver International Airport to account for this decrease in passengers. There’s something about walking past a roped off security checkpoint where people are typically packed to the brim, rushing to put their shoes and belts back on after passing through the body scanner, seeing the baggage belt empty of opened luggage.

Arriving three hours early anticipating some delays due to COVID-19 was a mistake turned even bigger upon realizing all of the bars were closed. There’s nothing a pandemic traveler needs more than an overpriced craft beer at 10 p.m., but I settled on the buzz from McDonald’s salty fries and a soda. 

When it comes time to board, concern for my health starts to set in. No one likes sitting in a full row of passengers under normal circumstances, let alone when we’re supposed to be keeping distance from other people.

I forked out the extra $11 to ensure an end seat, and though I hoped and silently prayed, I had a seat buddy. He seemed like a nice enough guy, but spending three and a half hours elbow to elbow with a stranger was not how I wanted to spend my night. 

Cue crying toddler having a meltdown throughout the last hour of the already arduous flight, angry passengers turning to glare at the culprit from behind their masks. “It’s 6:16 a.m. Eastern Standard Time, welcome to Philadelphia,” the pilot crows.

Despite the time of day and the typically bustling city atmosphere, passengers walk at a glacial pace through PHL, causing me to zigzag around them to make it out the door. Feeling like I crossed a finished line, I tossed my mask in the garbage and breathed deep. Part one was complete. 

After what seemed like a few hours but was actually three days, I donned another N95 mask and rolled myself and my luggage into Philadelphia International Airport for another evening of fun.

As always, the trip home was much worse than the trip there. 

I sat as more than a dozen young men donning matching outfits of Kippahs, black dress pants and white long-sleeve button downs filter onto my flight from Philadelphia to Denver. 

Once the pilot signaled that it was safe to unbuckle our seat belts, all bets were off for this crew. They move about the plane, opening and closing the overhead bins for three hours straight. Masks are pulled down to their chins periodically as they chat loudly among themselves, despite Frontier Airlines’ strict and repeated guidelines requiring guests to wear masks over their noses and mouths at all times. 

Thankfully, Frontier implemented some safety measures like disinfecting every surface in the passenger cabin and circulating air from outside every couple of minutes.

Despite the air flow happening around me, my stale breath circulates in my mask, trapping me in my own fresh hell. Remnants of an earlier hamburger topped with gorgonzola cheese make me regret my lunch choice. It was only after a bus dropped me off at my car in a Denver airport parking lot that I breathed fresh air for the first time since my feet were on East Coast soil.

Anytime I’m traveling, I watch people and wonder why they are traveling from one place to another, who they’re going to see, whether it’s a vacation or a work trip, etc. However, this question is doubly puzzling right now as travel is discouraged. Where was this group of well-dressed young men going? Is this their return trip or outgoing one? 

This question is a hypocritical one as I myself sit on a plane behind my mask with a grey pillow on my shoulders. I know why I’m here: one of my best friends’ weddings, already postponed once due to the coronavirus. 

For me, the sentimentality of the occasion outweighed irritation and risk involved in travel. After some internal debate and consultation from friends and family, I decided my mental health would’ve deteriorated if I ditched my plane ticket, forfeited the cost of my bridesmaid dress and missed one of the biggest days of my friend’s life.

If you have to travel, you have to travel. Emergencies happen or opportunities arise, but my parting advice is this: drive.