Hints of an Outbreak | The Corona Diary Part 1
January 2020: 'Wuhan Investigating 12 Cases of Mystery Pneumonia'. I scrolled through my South China Morning Post feed, absorbing this information about as consciously as the news that Julian Castro was dropping out of the U.S. presidential race. The world was a lot different then: Australian bushfires made the headlines daily, severe floods in Jakarta and tensions over Iran and the downing of a Ukrainian passenger plane were the most prominent worries at the time.
Even when isolated cases of this new virus showed up in other Chinese cities, I didn't think this would be any more severe than the occasional seasonal flu outbreak. In fact, most sources likened the disease to a mild cold. There was obviously nothing to worry about.
My dad and I left Beijing for Germany on 18 January to visit my grandma. When I left, not even the people in China were wearing masks. From thousands of miles away, I watched the epidemic unfold. I intently followed the news as Wuhan was placed under lockdown and as the first case was reported in South Korea, Taiwan, and then, my current home of Hong Kong.
I was concerned, but not overly worried. Hong Kong had its share of trauma during the 2003 Sars outbreak and was, thus, very well prepared to handle the novel coronavirus, which wasn't even nearly as deadly.
None of the Western media outlets had reported on the events in Asia; there were a lot more interesting events around the world to be covered. It is safe to say, everyone, including myself, had underestimated the severity of the disease.
Within a week of arriving in Germany, first cases were reported in Europe and North America. Suddenly, the Western world began to care. When my grandma eventually got wind of the news through her local newspaper and began worrying about my safety in Asia, I continued to reassure her that everything was simply blown out of proportion.
While life in Germany remained completely unchanged, things were quickly changing in Asia. Disease prevention rules started being implemented in Beijing, and internationally, China started being labelled as a high-risk region. As major airlines began ceasing operations to China, our biggest worry was getting back in time and preparing to arrive in a very different Beijing.
Since face masks were selling out in China, we thought it might be wise to pick up some here in Europe. To our shock and surprise, they were almost completely sold out at German pharmacies and drug stores. Apparently, the few Chinese tourists on this side of the world had begun stocking up before their return home. In retrospect, seeing how sparsely masks were available under normal circumstances, it is quite easy to see how medical supply shortages ensued around the world.
At the very end of January, I boarded one of the last China-bound KLM flights to Beijing. I was lucky to have booked a ticket through Amsterdam, as Lufthansa, our usual go-to carrier, cancelled all available flights just days earlier. As I breathed my first few breaths through a surgical mask, staring out the airplane window and watching a quickly changing world pass below, I began taking the epidemic a lot seriously.
Upon arrival at the gate at Beijing's Capital Airport, the captain informed us over the P.A. that we would all need to take our seats again to allow for officials to check the aircraft. Moments later, a group of Chinese police and disease control officers boarded the plane in full hazmat suits to begin spot-checking passengers' temperatures. Later, in the terminal, there were forms to fill out and fever checks to be carried out; all the while, wearing masks. I had arrived in a very different China. At the time, I thought this was crazy; never had I experienced something like this before. Looking back, the arrival measures look quite laughable. As of June, the Chinese borders are still completely shut to foreigners, and citizens who do arrive, get tested upon arrival and placed in 14-day government-mandated quarantine.
Beijing had gone into wartime mode. Temperature checks and registration forms were in order at police stations, shopping malls and residential compounds; schools were shut, and work-from-home arrangements were enforced. The staff at our local supermarket wore full-body protective gowns, masks and goggles. Mentally, it was a lot to process, and I realised that life would not return to normal for a very long time.
With just a few days to relax, I had to start preparing for the next challenge: continuing my studies at university in Hong Kong.
Even when isolated cases of this new virus showed up in other Chinese cities, I didn't think this would be any more severe than the occasional seasonal flu outbreak. In fact, most sources likened the disease to a mild cold. There was obviously nothing to worry about.
My dad and I left Beijing for Germany on 18 January to visit my grandma. When I left, not even the people in China were wearing masks. From thousands of miles away, I watched the epidemic unfold. I intently followed the news as Wuhan was placed under lockdown and as the first case was reported in South Korea, Taiwan, and then, my current home of Hong Kong.
I was concerned, but not overly worried. Hong Kong had its share of trauma during the 2003 Sars outbreak and was, thus, very well prepared to handle the novel coronavirus, which wasn't even nearly as deadly.
None of the Western media outlets had reported on the events in Asia; there were a lot more interesting events around the world to be covered. It is safe to say, everyone, including myself, had underestimated the severity of the disease.
Within a week of arriving in Germany, first cases were reported in Europe and North America. Suddenly, the Western world began to care. When my grandma eventually got wind of the news through her local newspaper and began worrying about my safety in Asia, I continued to reassure her that everything was simply blown out of proportion.
While life in Germany remained completely unchanged, things were quickly changing in Asia. Disease prevention rules started being implemented in Beijing, and internationally, China started being labelled as a high-risk region. As major airlines began ceasing operations to China, our biggest worry was getting back in time and preparing to arrive in a very different Beijing.
Since face masks were selling out in China, we thought it might be wise to pick up some here in Europe. To our shock and surprise, they were almost completely sold out at German pharmacies and drug stores. Apparently, the few Chinese tourists on this side of the world had begun stocking up before their return home. In retrospect, seeing how sparsely masks were available under normal circumstances, it is quite easy to see how medical supply shortages ensued around the world.
At the very end of January, I boarded one of the last China-bound KLM flights to Beijing. I was lucky to have booked a ticket through Amsterdam, as Lufthansa, our usual go-to carrier, cancelled all available flights just days earlier. As I breathed my first few breaths through a surgical mask, staring out the airplane window and watching a quickly changing world pass below, I began taking the epidemic a lot seriously.
Upon arrival at the gate at Beijing's Capital Airport, the captain informed us over the P.A. that we would all need to take our seats again to allow for officials to check the aircraft. Moments later, a group of Chinese police and disease control officers boarded the plane in full hazmat suits to begin spot-checking passengers' temperatures. Later, in the terminal, there were forms to fill out and fever checks to be carried out; all the while, wearing masks. I had arrived in a very different China. At the time, I thought this was crazy; never had I experienced something like this before. Looking back, the arrival measures look quite laughable. As of June, the Chinese borders are still completely shut to foreigners, and citizens who do arrive, get tested upon arrival and placed in 14-day government-mandated quarantine.
Beijing had gone into wartime mode. Temperature checks and registration forms were in order at police stations, shopping malls and residential compounds; schools were shut, and work-from-home arrangements were enforced. The staff at our local supermarket wore full-body protective gowns, masks and goggles. Mentally, it was a lot to process, and I realised that life would not return to normal for a very long time.
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| Preventative measures at our resident compound |
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| Supermarket staff wearing protective suits |
With just a few days to relax, I had to start preparing for the next challenge: continuing my studies at university in Hong Kong.
nearly forgot we actually boarded on one of the last flights back to Beijing without stronger restrictions
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