T-10 Days to Quarantine
The sun rises hot and high above Argentina on the day I cross the border from Brazil. It’s early on the 9th of March when my passport is stamped, and I’m driven to the entrance of the Iguazu National Park to see what would be, the most powerful waterfalls of my life. There is excitement on everyone’s faces as we fill the bus to take us from entrance to falls. Cameras are overworked at every turn of the walking trails around the park. Laughter and awe fill the platform to view the devil’s throat while its whitewash splashes up to refresh those that get too close. It’s a unique bucket list experience that people have saved money for years to see. I thought I could foresee the future that day. Ten minutes after I stated that it would be a good place to propose a young fella dirtied his knee and she said yes.
If only I could foresee what would unfold over the next two weeks this would’ve been a very different story.
T-8-5 Days to Quarantine
A bus to Buenos Aires sees the falls replaced with apartments, bars, steakhouses and cafes. Guesthouse style hostels in Palermo greet me to the trendy area of town. I begin to hear the first real whispers of COVID-19. Backpackers are discussing what has become a threat to their homeland in Great Britain. They’re talking about the possibility of calling it quits on their adventure and heading home. I wonder how real it is considering there are people still arriving. No-one quite knows the seriousness of what COVID-19 might become having heard the fears of Zika virus, Bird and Swine Flu and Ebola thrown at us annually. Day to day life in Argentina carries on unchanged. Officials have said nothing of note regarding the virus, creating an air of comfort for the people getting information from afar. How reliable is information when it travels over oceans?
It’s hard to feel the impact of a whisper among the noise of a packed steakhouse of Argentinian asado, Malbec wine and a nightlife that never looks like stopping.
Argentina was only days away from pumping the brakes on a country that was moving at 100 miles an hour, without any warning. Travellers didn’t even have time to put on their metaphorical seatbelts.
T-4 Days to Quarantine
It’s 6pm. I’ve scrambled to print my bus ticket at a printing shop 30 minutes prior. Now I’m in a bus terminal on the western outskirts of Buenos Aires. Here I get my first look at people wearing masks. Word has begun to spread during the day of COVID-19 making its mark in South America. It’s slow news and its unconvincing when paired with a quarantine for anyone that has been to Europe or China in the past 14 days. A safe aura seems to be placed around South America as a whole. It’s when I try to board my bus to Mendoza that I see, in hindsight, what was my first look of fear of a foreigner in the eyes of my bus driver. After loading my bag in the luggage hold, I find myself blatantly refused entry onto the bus due to my nationality. A 15-minute conversation rife with translation issues has the decision overturned when the bus driver realises, I have been in South America for over 14 days. This is the first I’ve heard of any form of quarantine for any country.
T-3 Days to Quarantine
Mendoza sits in the foothills of the Andes, giving it protection from weather and creating an agricultural playground for wines, fruits and vegetables. A quiet city with beautiful parks, bustling markets and beautiful views. I saw one day of Mendoza’s status quo.
Kids are swinging on swings, fountains are spraying water into the sky, street vendors are selling books on the street and people are dining outside cafes in a social spectacle making even the most foreign people feel welcome. People are buzzing from winery tours, bike rides or hikes in the Andes. The hostel staff provide me with information on the quarantine that I heard at the bus terminal. It’s true, but nothing to worry about as I’ve been in South America for over 14 days. Tours are still running, so I decide to go horse riding in the Andes the following day. The local farming family cook an asado for us to give us a feel of day to day interactions between friends in Argentina. When I arrive home my hostel dorm is full of voices of uncertainty driven by the closing of Peru’s border. There have been no warnings of any South American country doing anything like this. It is a big surprise that begins to open my eyes to the magnitude of the situation. I having a flight booked to Peru in 4 days’ time, I guess that’s no longer on the cards. Now I’m thinking maybe its best to get a flight home.
T-1 Day to Quarantine
Winery tours are what Mendoza is all about. This winery tour would be remembered for a whole different reason. This was the day things started to change rapidly.
It’s early afternoon and I’m being picked up to be taken to three wineries. Just before departure for the tour, hostel staff explain that this will be the last winery tour in Mendoza due to the spread of COVID-19. Suddenly there is a slice of seriousness in the way people are handling the virus in Mendoza and Argentina alike. News makes its way from Australia explaining that travellers should come home immediately or risk not being able to return at all. My best option is to take a bus to Santiago in Chile the next morning, as I was going to originally. Santiago is the hub that most flights must go through in order to get across the Pacific, so I believe getting there and flying home was the most responsible point of action.
Q-Day Surprise
It’s mid-morning and news has come across the hostel that Chile has closed their borders, and no one can cross by bus nor enter by air aside from transit to another country. Things are getting thick quick. I decide to implement plan B. With Santiago out of reach it seems best to take a bus in the opposite direction, back to Buenos Aires and fly from there. Rumours begin to spread of buses being cancelled so rather than book online I make a beeline for the bus terminal to book a bus with an immediate departure. Social distancing makes its first appearance as I enter the bus agency. Communication is hard enough at times when it comes to certain things being lost in translation, but in this case, I am completely understanding what is being said, however I am struggling in the comprehension department. The bus agent tells me that I am supposed to be in quarantine. I explain that because I have been in South America for over 14 days I don’t need to, however that’s followed with an explanation from her of a rule that has been passed down stating that I have to have been in Argentina for 14 days in order to avoid quarantine, not just South America. This means I am not allowed to take the bus to Buenos Aries for another 4 days due to coming from Brazil 10 days ago. Patience would be the key, so I head back to my hostel, book a flight from Buenos Aries to depart in a week, giving me plenty of time to get a bus to the capital. All I can do is wait as I begin what I think will be 4 days of isolation.
Q-Day 3
It’s been 48 hours since my hostel first became my quarantine crib. I’m joined by 5 others who find themselves in the same situation, however, they have decided to ride it out in Argentina as they have nowhere else to be and it would be cheaper than home. I’m on my own when it comes to making my escape. My flight home is cancelled around lunch time and I realise that leaving isn’t going to be an easy feat. To make things harder, a country-wide quarantine is put in place until the 31st of March. That means no buses, no shops, no exercise, no sun. Supermarkets and Pharmacies are the only shops allowed open and even then, it is nerve wracking to attend them. Police come to our door multiple times with complaints that foreigners are staying there and may be infected with COVID-19. Proof of time spent in Argentina needs to be shown multiple times and the police on each corner of the streets are insuring nobody lingers longer than needed in order to obtain essentials. Apparently, a valid flight ticket from Mendoza out of the country is my only way out, so I purchase another ticket home via Santiago from Mendoza due to depart in 4 days’ time as it is the soonest flight available.
Q-Day 5
The walls are closing in. The air feels tight. The couches are uncomfortable. The kitchen is small. The air conditioner is leaking. I’m beginning to lose my mind and my flight has been cancelled again. I search for my sanity through my small bedroom window. This window has become my only respite from the solitude. I find myself sitting on this windowsill often, dangling my feet over the street two stories below. My frustration must be showing because my roommate questions whether I will jump. Keyboard warriors all over social media ridicule those who are stranded overseas like myself. With no compassion nor understanding of how we have ended up in this situation they wish abandonment on us. Most people have been attempting to get back home for weeks. Claims that those who leave Australia don’t deserve help getting home are making me really question what it is to be an Australian. It is beginning to get in my head. Has life changed so much back home that we don’t support people in need anymore? What am I attempting to return to? Is it still home? I have been a prisoner in this hostel and now, I’m becoming a prisoner in my own head.
Q-Day 6
I’ve began isolating myself from my housemates. It’s not their fault. They’ve done nothing wrong. I’m just really struggling to deal with my predicament. I need space. I need exercise. I need friends and family. I also need food. I’ll use that as my avenue to a break from the mental monsters that are circling inside me. My first look at the world beyond my window is met with an overwhelming stillness. The stark contrast of the streets of Mendoza is clear in comparison to the day I arrived. The streets are empty, the parks are silent, the fountains are dry and suddenly I can feel eyes on me everywhere I go. Police on the street corners, neighbours looking out their windows or supermarket attendants are looking at me as an alien capable of giving them and their family the plague. I need a stroke of luck. I need out.
Q-Day 7
The clock has ticked into the early morning of Day 7. I am refreshing Skyscanner in search of tickets from Mendoza to Buenos Aires for the 200th time, living in hope. A flight appears. It is for 6pm today. I question my eyes then calm myself. I’ve been in this situation before. In that case they had been mistakes or cancelled soon after, but I have to try. I book it. The card fails. I try again. The internet cuts out. The Internet comes back and I try another card. The booking is confirmed. An hour later the first booking is confirmed as well. I’ve got two tickets to a flight just for me. It doesn’t bother me however; I just hope with all my heart that it flies. I’m thinking if I can at least get to Buenos Aires I will be able to get a flight to Australia as soon as they stop cancelling. I put my phone down and get some sleep and wait until the afternoon.
It’s been a long, anxious wait but no cancellations have come through, so I get in a cab with a backseat lined with plastic, not dissimilar to something out of Dexter, and make my way to the airport. The cab stops at the turnoff to the airport where I find around 30 people sitting with their luggage, waiting. I join them. After an hour a police officer comes and checks everyone’s tickets and permits us to enter the airport where our temperatures are checked, and we all sign documents stating we do not have symptoms of COVID-19. My plane flies as scheduled. What a relief. I’m heading to my new hostel in Buenos Aires along the airport’s main exit road when my cab is pulled over to ensure I have flown from within Argentina and was not breaking quarantine. Those sceptical eyes are just as strong in the capital as they were in the country.
Q-Day 8 (The Emotional Roller Coaster)
I awake to an email from friends trying to help me from around the world. They have been in contact with someone on the inside at LATAM Airlines in Buenos Aires who is able to get me a flight to Australia, so they say. I’ve heard all this before, leaving me sceptical. The email says I have to leave immediately to catch this flight. I also need an invoice of the flight in order to get past the police checks on the way to the airport. I havn’t paid yet but she has sent me an invoice for tangible proof for the police. I check out immediately and call a cab. This new flight is due to leave in 2 hours. The airport is an hour drive away and my cab hasn’t arrived, it is being delayed by police checks. My newfound hope is dwindling fast. Eventually the cab arrives with an hour and a half until departure. My request for speed is acknowledged and we drive like the wind.
We’ve been stopped 3 times by police to check my flight invoice. That one hour that it was supposed to take to get to the airport has taken us 30 minutes due to the lack of cars on the road and some above limit speeding. Time is still ticking. The flight leaves in one hour. Not only do I have to buy the ticket and check-in I will also have to clear customs and get safety checks too. I sprint to the LATAM desk and show the lady my invoice. She pulls it up, tells me it is flying and that I just need to pay the balance. Relief! Pure relief! Like when your foot touches the ground after you miss the last step of a staircase. I insert my card into the machine. Declined. Take two. Declined. This card has never failed before. There is enough cash. I move some funds over to another card. Insufficient funds, It wouldn’t take it across immediately. I try the first card again. Declined. My blood begins to boil. My heart starts to race. My head starts to spin. Can I pay online? No. they haven’t put these flights online therefore they can’t be paid online. I can’t use an ATM either because the cost exceeds my withdrawal limit. The only way to pay without my card is over the phone I’m told. I start calling people frantically asking them to call LATAM and pay it while I transfer the funds to them but It is 3am in the morning in Australia. No answers. I try my friends in America. One absolute gem of a bloke is offering to do it on the spot however the lines are busy. “Sir, if you can’t pay it ill have to ask you to move aside. The flight closes in 5 minutes.” I’m out of ideas. I felt sick. How could I be so close and yet so far. I have the money but no way to hand it over. The plane is there, ready to take me home, but I can’t get on it. The attendant then asks if I have booked with LATAM before, to which I answer “yes”. LATAM were the airline of my last cancellation. She begins her last-ditch effort for me on her computer. With credits from that cancellation and a discount to cover the cost of my flight she has been able to provide me with a ticket. I take my receipt from her; tell her I love her and sprint to the check-in desk. I begin to believe I’m heading home when the check-in attendant raises my blood pressure once more. 10 minutes of phones calls and typing and she still hasn’t handed me a boarding pass. Surely not. It can’t end here. The flight is about to board and I still don’t have it. She looks at me, phone to her ear, and gives a weak, defeated smile. My heart sinks. It’s over. A minute later she explains that because it was a late booking it was difficult to give me a boarding pass. The defeated smile was because she had to do extra work, the phone calls were for protocols on how to process it so late. I grab my boarding pass off her, get my temperature taken, get screened by security as normal and head to the lonesome immigration officer. The lineless room speaks volumes. Is this the death of travel and immigration? Time will tell. I get my passport stamped and board my flight to Chile, ecstatic!
Transit
First stop, Santiago. I’ve made it to my original destination of departure from South America. My 8-hour layover is broken down by a 3-hour wait in a line to receive a handwritten boarding pass for the next leg of the journey. That 3-hour line travels a mere 10 metres. People are being impatient and frustrated, but nothing can bring me down after the efforts I’ve had to go through to get here over the past 2 weeks. I’m on cloud nine. A 6 pack of coronas at the airport bar accompanied by a burger is my sentimental send off to bars all around the world as they close for the foreseeable future. Then I’m back in the air from Santiago to Auckland for another layover. These planes have all been virtually empty. Everyone on board is getting a full row to themselves with a stroke of luck in the comfort department. As I Land in Sydney, I’m met with strict health testing protocols. Nurses are taking temperatures and explaining how to quarantine. Had I landed 18 hours later I would be marched onto a bus and forced to quarantine in a hotel in Sydney for 14 days. I got lucky. A bus to the domestic terminal and a wait until my flight to Brisbane follows. The domestic airport is empty. There is one flight leaving. Mine. The check-in lady tells me that my flight is the last Jetstar flight from Sydney to Brisbane. I got lucky. Then word reaches me that Argentina has officially closed their airports. My flight out was the last flight that left. I got lucky.
Q-Day 1
The clock has reset. I’m home. My bed is as comfortable as ever. I can hear my parents outside the door bickering about trivial stuff. I can smell a homecooked dinner for the first time in months. I can sleep soundly. There are a lot of problems that I will have to face regarding the extinction of my employment industry and what comes next for me. But right in this moment, where I am now, I feel happy, I feel safe and I am incredibly grateful to be here.