RESILIENCE IN TRAVELING ABROAD: QUARANTINES AND LOCKDOWN FROM DA NANG, VIETNAM

Jan. 2020. I’d recently returned to Da Nang, Vietnam, after spending a few weeks in Malaysia, visiting 12 countries in 2019.

It’s currently raining here in Da Nang on a Thursday afternoon at 12:35 pm. I wrote this story as a draft submission for a digital magazine called In The Fray. They’d sent out a submission call to writers on their mailing list. I’ve been on the mailing list for at least a few years and this wasn’t the first time I submitted something to them. This piece was rejected — the editor wanted more “vignettes” of my experiences — which I totally understand, but he said that I could definitely submit something else in the future. So, keeping score: writers have to earn a living elsewhere, mostly. The pay for a story would have amounted to something like $25–$100. That’s not very much, but it’s good to get your stuff out there I guess. And the point of this story isn’t about the money, anyway. It’s about getting better. Not everything I do and say and write is totally insane…

Last year, before there had been any signs of the oncoming COVID-19 pandemic, I was traveling abroad. At the beginning of 2019, I was in Da Nang, Vietnam. It was my first time in the beach city, during the rainy season. My Chinese girlfriend had flown to join me there, from India. Together we traveled south, to Ho Chi Minh City, and then we went to Cambodia for three weeks.

I had no idea what lay in store for us. But I realize now the freedom we’d taken for granted while traveling, as we later met up again in Da Nang to stay for three months, between March and June.

There were many tourists, at that time, and as the busy season approached, I left for Eastern Europe. I flew to Berlin from Ho Chi Minh City on one of the longest flights of my life, around thirteen hours.

During that summer, I saw Berlin, Prague, Bratislava, and Budapest. June and July were incredibly hot, and that trend continued when I met up with my girlfriend, once again, this time in Istanbul. We spent a month in Turkey, also visiting Antalya in the south — which was almost like living in a sauna, in August.

Our relationship had suffered many fights and setbacks. Once we spent three weeks traveling through Belgrade and Novi Sad, Serbia, it was time to separate (again). She went on to Bosnia-Herzegovina and I stayed behind in northern Serbia.

Some might have dubbed us as “digital nomads”. And there’d be some truth to that: She was working as an online English teacher for a Chinese company and I was entering into my fifth year as a freelance writer/copy editor. I had also done some online English teaching, but that resiliency factor hadn’t been kicked into another gear yet.

We met up for a fourth time, in Bangkok, after I flew there in early-September. Then we decided to go to Bali for a month. Exploring the island of Bali was one of our best times together, as we both enjoyed the beach, sunshine, food, friendly Balinese people, and their easygoing, laidback lifestyle.

Next, my girlfriend and I flew to Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. We only spent about a week or two there together, for personal reasons that are now a little too private to share with the world, she flew back to China. And I stayed behind, visiting Penang Island for Thanksgiving and Christmas. I finished the year in Kajang, Malaysia, which was quite the respite after a grueling twelve months of traveling the world.

I wanted to fly back to Da Nang. I missed the atmosphere, the familiarity of a place where I felt more at home than I ever had in America. That beckoned me to return, which I did around January 8th, 2020. Little did I know that it would be the same time as the Chinese New Year/Tet Holiday.

Da Nang was flooded with tourists, mostly Chinese and Korean. I told my girlfriend, or ex-girlfriend — I wasn’t really sure — that I almost felt like I was living in a Chinese city. That made me want to retreat to a town we’d visited together last year, Hoi An. It’s a French colonial city with a bright nightlife along the Thu Bon River.

Hoi An, Vietnam. Jan. 2020.

It was then, around the end of January when I started getting messages from friends and family back home. “Hey, did you hear about that virus? Be careful…”

I ignored those words of caution, responding that it would all be over and done with, in about three or four months. Still, when I talked to my ex-girlfriend back in China, things were getting worse by the day. Each morning when I woke up, I checked my phone to see the most recent developments. I had a delicious breakfast at my hotel as I read about the rapid spread of the coronavirus in China.

When I rode a bike into town, in Hoi An, my first interaction with the virus was at a local restaurant. They were asking their customers where they were from. I wanted to know why. One of the guys running the place told me they weren’t allowing Chinese people to eat at their restaurant.

And I began to see stories in the local news in Da Nang of hotels refusing to allow Chinese guests to stay at their establishments. This grotesque prejudice felt like something I’d never really experienced before. Little did I realize that I would have the same types of judgments aimed at me, after the virus eventually spread to Vietnam from foreigners and Vietnamese people returning from Europe, and elsewhere.

There was little resiliency on the horizon, then. It was starting to click in my brain, though, that this was bigger than I could’ve ever imagined … that it might even be historic. So I kept an English edition of a Viet Nam News with the headline “Making preparations” when the world’s COVID-19 death toll was only 130.

That was January 30th, 2020. Eight months later, and the global death toll from the coronavirus is nearly 1 million.

I’d returned to Da Nang and things seemed to be the same. But as the weeks progressed, it was clear that every country was getting infections that were spiraling out of control. Starting with South Korea, and then Italy. Before long, I found myself dealing with the question: What am I going to do about this? Am I going to go back to America?

I hadn’t been in the U.S. since October 2018. So, for me, flying back home was a big deal. It was plaguing me, for lack of a better word. Eventually, after bouncing around Da Nang, I found a studio apartment and told myself that I’d be riding it out here.

Da Nang was one of my favorite places in the world, after visiting twelve countries in 2019. It seemed that Vietnam was doing well with tracing their COVID-19 cases, shutting down international travel in March. Then, it finally came.

The lockdown in Da Nang — it happened right when my three-month travel visa was set to expire. I’d planned to fly back to Thailand in April. Instead, I spent my quarantine in a sixth-floor studio apartment with a small balcony overlooking the little side-street. The East Vietnam Sea was out there too. I felt lucky to be spending my first lockdown in one of the most beautiful places on the planet.

I was teaching English online again. And in the mornings, I’d get up and do some push-ups. Then I went out for at least thirty minutes of cardio. Sometimes I went for a swim. I felt safe in Da Nang. As each day, it was becoming increasingly clear that things were going haywire in the U.S.

Then I was the one messaging people back home about staying safe. It seemed like their worlds were quickly being turned upside down. People couldn’t work. They were staying inside for weeks at a time. One of my friends told me he was getting unemployment benefits that were better than his previous salary when he actually had a job as a chef. We joked about him visiting me in Southeast Asia.

But after a few more weeks, it was clear that traveling the world was basically impossible. Unless I wanted to fly back home. Which for me was out of the question.

So I stayed in Da Nang, learning about the resiliency of the Vietnamese people. Even though the local restaurants were closed for a few weeks, the convenience stores stayed open and they were well-stocked. Nobody was panic-buying and the local government ensured there’d be enough food and masks for everybody.

When I went out in public, I wore a mask. And when I didn’t, as the first lockdown wore down, I got a few more stares than usual. Previously, when I was in Da Nang — or anywhere in Vietnam for that matter — the locals hardly paid me any mind. Vietnam had about 18 million international travelers in 2019. One year later, that number was down by more than ninety percent.

View from Tượng Phật Bà Quan Âm (Buddhist pagoda). Da Nang, Vietnam. May 2020.

So, I noticed more and more that whenever I went outside in May and June, I was a rarity there in their country. However, in the month of July things were basically back to normal. At least they were for Da Nang.

Until something unexpected happened. There was a second wave of coronavirus cases. Da Nang was the epicenter.

I’d moved to a one-bedroom apartment in the My An (Mỹ An) section of the city where most of the expatriates and tourists lived. This time, Vietnam reported its first COVID-19 deaths. The lockdown seemed to be more serious and stringent. Luckily, I’d been able to extend my visa by three months and then again by two months.

I did the best I could, communicating with family members, staying in touch with my ex, and getting back into my “digital nomad” lifestyle with online work. (I’d spent May and June basically without any income.)

There was a harsh lesson to be learned about the freedom to travel the world, and just being healthy in general. I hadn’t realized how dependent I was on maintaining a social circle or having somebody to talk to every day. The second-wave lockdown showed me, also, how much I’d missed being able to travel around the world. Everything was starting to feel pointless, after spending nearly six weeks doing the same thing every day, hardly being allowed to walk anywhere around Da Nang.

The beaches were closed, as well as all the bars and restaurants. They weren’t even permitted to do take-out or delivery services. Da Nang was at a standstill as the city rushed to contain its community transmissions via three local hospitals. The source of the second-wave outbreak was unknown.

Eventually, things were brought under control. Cases were dropping. And the city began giving free COVID-19 tests to all the foreigners who were stuck in Da Nang. I got mine at the local university. Two days later, it came back negative.

Slowly, the city came back to life. Or we were at least allowed back outside again. It happened in waves. Food delivery services were permitted and the beach was reopened. Some restaurants even had eat-in guests again. Then, there were domestic flights, buses, and trains.

The first few times I got food delivery, I couldn’t believe how it felt just to participate in the local economy again. I gave extra tips to the Grab drivers (an app much like Uber, here in Southeast Asia), and I did the same whenever I took a taxi around town. That was something I’d learned, too.

How important it was to contribute to society. Something I never deeply considered before. (As a freelance writer and an online English teacher, I can make my living online.) Where I spent the money I earned seemed to matter, greatly. And I thought about how unusual it was to no longer see any planes in the sky from the white sand beaches, here in Da Nang.

My An (Mỹ An) beach, Da Nang, Vietnam. Summer, 2020.

Everything seemed to be magnified exponentially once the city eased its social-distancing restrictions. There was a slight boost of domestic tourists again but nothing like it had been, back before the second-wave of COVID-19 cases. Even now, walking around the city feels very strange.

The weather is still blisteringly hot. But the tourists seem to be slowly returning. Nowadays, they are easier to spot. I can tell when somebody new is in town. They look so out of place.

One thing I’ve learned here is that the Vietnamese people are much more resilient than I could’ve guessed. In fact, I never would have known if I hadn’t been here during this year, the Year of the Rat.

The locals here in Da Nang played badminton in the streets, during the lockdown. Everybody wore a mask whenever they went outside. The government had acted quickly to shut down all the bars, restaurants, massage parlors, schools, and other businesses. Important stores for food and medicine remained open, where some of the employees were working seven days a week. And as far as I know, I did not see one story about any Vietnamese person refusing to wear a mask in public. People kept their distance. They respected each other and accepted the fact that this was going to take some time to get through.

It hasn’t happened overnight, obviously. But Vietnam has been one of the most resilient countries during the coronavirus pandemic. There hasn’t been a lot of reporting about it either in Western media outlets.

The only story, in fact, that became international news was when Da Nang had planned to evacuate half a million people during the second-wave of COVID-19.

My dad even sent me a link to that story. “I live here,” I told him, “I know what’s going on.” Of course, a big headline like that makes international news.

But what about the fact that, as of this writing, Vietnam has reported only 1,074 coronavirus cases and 35 deaths? Of those cases, 999 have recovered. This is a massive feat that I’ve witnessed this year.

After traveling around the world, I think I’ll always remember what it was like to see Vietnam dealing with this pandemic. From the explosion of tourism at the beginning of the year, during one of the busiest travel seasons in Asia, to the quarantines and lockdowns that were quickly put into place which probably saved hundreds, if not thousands, of lives.

Life right now, here in Da Nang, is slow to return. But it’s happening. The resiliency of the people is evident in their getting back to normalcy. Construction has resumed all over the city. Beachgoers and surfers are back at the white sand and green-blue waves. Bars, restaurants, cafes, and schools have reopened. And there was even a local clean-up crew to repair the damage that had been done by tropical storm Noul which battered Da Nang with rain and heavy winds, at the beginning of September.

There is some heart left of humanity, after all.

And even though it’s a little discouraging to see so many local businesses suffering through the aftermath of a battered economy, there are little signs here and there that can be celebrated as good omens for the immediate future. For example, there’s been a recent return of commercial flights between Inchin and Seoul, South Korea, and Hanoi and Ho Chi Minh City. Airline crews and airport workers are working together across international borders to get back to doing what humans are capable of doing best.

Innovate, evolve, and adapt to something beyond our control. To recognize the differences between what can be avoided, dealing with problems, and coming up with new solutions to get back to trade and connecting with each other for sanity and health.

For traveling the world is one of the most resilient things a person can do in times of tumult. The aftermath of coronavirus offers each and every one of us a chance to look at the world, anew.

Resilience is all around us, here in Da Nang, Vietnam. Where locals are doing whatever they can to change the world around them when it needs it the most.

Beach at sunset, around 6:00 pm. Da Nang. Sept. 2020.

The rainy season is now upon Da Nang and for most of the country. Today is the fourth day of rain, and another tenant in this apartment building — a guy from Arizona — told me yesterday there’s supposed to be ten days of rain. “Ten days is a bit much…” he said outside while opening his umbrella. The rain pattered down, swallowing everything in a wet and gray atmosphere totally opposite the nine months, just about, of total sunshine.