From Indonesia to China: a pandemic travel odyssey

I am back in China! I had been out of the country since mid-January, just before the Covid-19 pandemic exploded in Wuhan. That was only nine months ago, but it feels like years. The time when I could just jump on a plane in any major city of the world and expect to be back in Beijing and free to roam within a few hours already seems like a distant dream. Entering China from abroad has become an ordeal that takes weeks and seriously drains your finances and patience.

Indonesia

My odyssey started off in Yogyakarta, on the island of Java, the place where I spent a good chunk of this year. Back in March, the Chinese government took the completely exceptional decision of forbidding all foreign citizens from entering China, including ones with valid residence permits who normally live and work there. The only exceptions were made for diplomats and holders of the (very rarely granted) permanent residence certificate. In some cases this policy left families divided, and quite a few foreign citizens who normally live in China found themselves stuck outside the country with no idea when they might be able to return. Luckily I was able to continue working remotely from Indonesia.

Slowly, over the summer, it started becoming possible for some foreign citizens to return to China if they could obtain an invitation letter from China's Foreign Affairs Office. These are however only granted to people working in important roles or for organisations that have particular clout with the government. Finally, in mid-August, the Chinese government announced that it was making it possible for the citizens of most European countries to enter China again, as long as their residence permits were still valid. It would not however be possible to just enter with the residence permit, as it normally would be. Instead it would be necessary to apply for a new visa, which would be granted for free to anyone in possession of a non-expired Chinese residence permit.

This announcement meant that I was now able to return to China if I wanted, and I resolved to do so, spurred by the promise of a new job. But I suspected it would not prove a simple matter, and indeed it did not. I soon found out that getting a new visa for China would not be possible in Indonesia. I contacted the Chinese consulates in Jakarta and Bali, but they were adamant that they could not give me a visa unless I had an invitation letter. As a European this was actually no longer necessary for me, but apparently they had not received the memo. 

Simply because of this fact, I had no choice but to fly all the way back to Europe just to get my Chinese visa. Given that no other country in Indonesia's vicinity would let me in at the moment, that was the only option. I also had to keep in mind that after getting the visa and flying to China I would be quarantined in a hotel for two weeks, as are all incoming travellers. Getting back to China would be a major hassle and take weeks, this much was clear. 

The Chinese embassy in any EU country would be able to process my visa, so I decided to go to the Netherlands, which has a lot of direct flights from Indonesia due to its colonial history, and where I have a friend in whose home I could shelter while I waited for the visa. I had not been on a plane since before the pandemic, and even taking the flight from Yogyakarta to Jakarta felt surreal. I had to take a blood test the previous day, since proof of a negative antibody test is now required to fly within the country (it would be much more useful to require a PCR test, but those are just too expensive and their supply too limited in Indonesia). During the flight I wore both a mask and a face shield to be on the safe side, given how fast cases were rising in Indonesia.

The Netherlands

The next day I flew from Jakarta to Amsterdam. In Jakarta's huge and mostly deserted airport, the staff at check-in were dubious that the Netherlands would let me in, since entry is currently suspended for most non-EU citizens who are not legal residents of the Netherlands. However they called their Dutch counterparts and thankfully received confirmation that I would be allowed to enter, in spite of the pandemic and of Brexit. After that, things were surprisingly lax. At no point was my temperature taken, either in Indonesia or in Holland. Mask-wearing was theoretically obligatory but not strictly enforced on the 13-hour flight. On arrival in the Netherlands all passengers were offered a free PCR test because we were arriving from a "risky" country, but it was not mandatory. By no means did everyone decide to take the test. Dutch customs let me in without a second glance. I was told that I should self-isolate for 10 days, but no one asked me where I would be staying and there was absolutely no enforcement whatsoever. 

People walking outside the Dutch parliament, the Hague (September 2020)

In spite of a second wave being well underway in Holland, virtually no one was wearing a mask on the streets. In the village near Amsterdam where I stayed, everyone seemed to be happily eating outdoors and enjoying the good weather. Restaurants and shops had limits on the number of people who could enter at once, but otherwise life seemed pretty normal. I went to the Chinese consulate in the Hague and received a new visa quickly and for free without too much hassle. A couple of days before I flew back to China it was announced that, starting the following Monday, foreign citizens with valid residence permits (except for students) would be able to enter China without needing a new visa at all! This means I could have flown back directly from Indonesia if I had waited a little longer, but there was no way I could have known this in advance. 

The number of flights into China is still heavily restricted by the Chinese government, so tickets are extortionately expensive. Until a few weeks ago no direct flights to Beijing from abroad were even allowed, and every country was still permitted only one direct route into China. The only flights from the Netherlands to China go to Xiamen, on the South coast, and are operated by Xiamen airlines. The ticket I got cost around 2000 euros one way, and it was the cheapest by far. Thank goodness my job will refund it.

The Chinese authorities now require a negative PCR test taken no more than three days in advance for anyone boarding a flight to China. In many countries this can be quite hard to arrange. Luckily Amsterdam has places where tests can be taken specifically for the purpose of travel and results returned on the same day, but it is not cheap. The results also have to be authenticated by the Chinese embassy before the flight (this is done online). Three days is the very limit at which it is humanly possible to get this done on time.

When I got to my gate in Amsterdam's airport, there was no mistaking things: this was the flight to China. About 90% of the passengers were Chinese, and about half of them were wearing full white hazmat suits, as were all the Chinese staff working at the gate. Literally no one else in the whole airport was going to this extreme. It looked a bit like a gathering of astronauts, and it attracted quite some stares from the people waiting at other gates. It was already clear that this was no ordinary country I was going to. They did things differently, and they weren't messing around when it came to this virus. Another striking thing was that public announcements at the gate were provided only in Chinese. No English or Dutch, even though we were still in Holland. 

The hostesses on the flight wore hazmat suits, N95 masks and goggles, as if they were nurses in an IC unit. The contrast with the prevention measures on the flight from Indonesia to Holland was stark. There the hostesses had only worn a surgical mask, and everything else operated like normal. But on this flight passengers were not even given meals, just a bag of snacks. Wearing a mask was obligatory at all times except when eating, and this was enforced. Passengers were also given surgical gloves before entering the toilets.

During the flight special forms were handed out to the passengers, asking about our health and details about our employment and residence in China (which the authorities surely already know). What really surprised me was that the forms were only distributed in Chinese. There was no English version available, in spite of there being non-Chinese citizens on pretty much every one of these flights. I was sitting next to a couple of British girls who were flying back to jobs teaching in international schools. They knew no Chinese, and I had to translate the whole form for them. To be fair, the hostesses were friendly and would translate for passengers as much as their own English allowed. 

Quarantine in Xiamen

Once we landed, we had to wait an hour in the plane until they would let us out (this is standard nowadays). We were then taken by airport bus to the customs area. All of the airport's staff wore hazmat suits. Before going through customs, we were taken into little booths were a nose and throat swab where administered. The swabs were certainly done more thoroughly than I had experienced in Holland. I am lucky because I don't seem to find nose swabs especially painful, but the British girl who sat next to me on the plane told me she was in tears because of the pain. 

Staff at the sorting centre for arriving travellers, Xiamen.

Staff taking people's temperatures outside of the sorting centre for travellers about to be quarantined

After going through customs, we were put into buses and brought to a sorting centre where we were divided into groups and then taken to the hotels where we would spend our 14-day quarantine. There is a handful of different hotels where you might be taken, with different prices and levels of quality, but you do not get to choose which hotel you end up in.

I was taken to a fancy hotel in the city centre. The hotel was being used entirely for quarantining people; there were no ordinary guests. The lobby had a spooky air, with piles of chairs stacked up in the deserted entrance and staff in hazmat suits and masks checking us in. I have to say that I was quite satisfied with my living conditions. The room I ended up in was pretty comfortable, and the price (4900 Yuan for 14 days) was reasonable. I know people who paid more than double that to quarantine in Beijing. The wifi wasn't amazingly strong, but it worked, and the hotel allowed outside deliveries, which really makes all the difference. Some hotels don't allow deliveries during quarantine, and eating the hotel food for 14 days can become a real drag.

All the same, the whole experience was quite surreal. I could see normal life going on outside my ninth floor window, with a view of a swimming pool and a karaoke parlour, but I could not join in. Once you enter your room, you are not allowed out again for 14 days. You can open the door, but you are not even supposed to hang out in the corridor. Twice a day someone knocks on the door and takes your temperature on your doorstep. Staff never enter your room; you leave your rubbish outside for them to take away. There is no laundry service, but then why would you need it when you aren't going anywhere? Couples are sometimes allowed to quarantine together, but not always. Families have been divided, with the mother keeping one child and the father keeping the other. 

The number of tests you have to do varies by province, but in Xiamen it works like this: you do a nose and throat swab at the airport, a blood test on the second day, a nose swab on the seventh day and a final nose swab and blood test on the thirteenth day of quarantine. Once you are in the hotel the medical staff, who of course dress in full body armour, will also never enter your room. The tests are performed in the corridor, where there is a chair in front of your door for you to sit on. I'm not exactly sure what would happen if you simply refused to come out one day. 

Xiamen is said to be a good city to quarantine in, because the hotels are nice and the staff tend to be helpful and friendly, and I have to say that this was also my experience. The hotel staff tried to be reasonable and helpful with their "guests", and the medical staff performing the tests did their best to be gentle and reassure people who were nervous. Even so, what I found most unnerving about the whole situation was the lack of any control, the sense that I was not being given important information, and the dread that one of my tests might come back positive.

While riding the bus to the hotel I had made friends with a young Beijinger who had come back to China from Germany, and I had added him on WeChat. On the second day of quarantine, he sent me a message. Apparently he had received a phone call informing him that there had been a positive case among the passengers on our plane, and that the following day he would receive an extra PCR test to be on the safe side. The next morning he did indeed receive an extra swab test, while I didn't, so I assumed he might have been sitting next to the infected person. On day 9 of my quarantine, however, I was also given a surprise extra nose swab. I asked the nurse why, and she said she honestly didn't know, but the doctor had said I was scheduled for an extra test.

I was also in a WeChat group for people quarantining in Xiamen, comprised mostly of foreigners and English-speakers, which turned out to be a useful source of information. From the group I gathered that other people on my same flight had also received unscheduled extra tests on different days. Perhaps it just took them time to go through all of us. As for why my Chinese friend got a phone call and I didn't, I can only assume that they only phoned the Chinese passengers because they supposed that the foreigners spoke no Chinese. The lack of communication was unnerving however, and the thought of what might happen if I tested positive was even more so.

If you test positive to any of the PCR tests you will be transferred to an isolation room in a hospital, where you will be kept until you test negative for three days in a row. This can take weeks or even months, during which you have to pay for your stay. Once you are finally declared negative, you will still have to go back to the hotel to finish your 14 day quarantine! An American who tested positive (with no symptoms) posted a description of being isolated in a hospital on Reddit, and it doesn't sound like a great situation to find yourself in. 

What's more, people who only test positive to the antibody test (the blood test) also get taken to hospital, where they are subjected to more PCR tests and a chest X-ray just to be completely sure they no longer have the virus. One lady in my WeChat group tested positive for antibodies. She suspects she had a mild case of Covid-19 in March/April. She was taken to hospital in an ambulance and had to spend the night there (and pay for it) while they waited for her results. Once everything came back negative, she was returned to the hotel. Then on day 13 she had to have her second blood test, as scheduled, and of course tested positive for antibodies again. She was taken to the hospital again, because those are the rules and common sense be damned, and this time spent two nights there and missed her flight back to Beijing. 

All this is why, when I heard of a positive case on my flight, my worry wasn't so much that if I had caught the virus I might get seriously ill, but that I would end up being isolated from the world for weeks or months on end. Thankfully all of my tests came back negative, as I could see on a special WeChat mini-program where your results are displayed. I only knew of this thanks to the WeChat group of course, no one thought of officially notifying me about it. It strikes me that if I found it so hard to figure anything out in spite of my knowledge of Chinese, it must be even worse if you don't speak the language. 

In any case, I soon found I had an awful lot of time on my hands, especially since my quarantine coincided with the Chinese national holidays, and I had to find ways to keep myself busy. I read, wrote, exercised and watched films, and the 14 days passed quickly. All in all the experience was not too uncomfortable, but then I was relatively lucky. I have heard of people in other cities finding themselves stuck in rooms that are far less nice, unable to get deliveries and getting served cold meals three times a day. Being quarantined with small children is also an entirely different ball game, and it can drive parents up the wall. 

While I was at least not trying to entertain a four-year old, I would still not want to go through the whole experience again. Between the cost, the time wasted, the sheer boredom, the nose swabs that some find painful and the nightmare scenario of testing positive, Covid-19 quarantine in China is not something you can put yourself through regularly. It is effectively almost cutting off travel between China and the rest of the world. It is good to keep in mind that the scenes of "normality" that you currently see on the streets of China are achieved in part thanks to this very abnormal level of international isolation.

A view of the room where I spent every single moment of 14 days

Beijing

On a Sunday morning, exactly two weeks after the day I had arrived, I went downstairs with my suitcase and "checked out", as if I were just an ordinary guest who had finished his holiday in Xiamen. I was given a certificate stating that I had been through quarantine and done 4 PCR tests. I had a flight for Beijing booked for that same morning, and I was driven to the airport in a van with a few others. One you finish your two-week quarantine, freedom is still not absolute. Local regulations are that those who live in Xiamen need to self-isolate at home for an extra 7 days, and those who don't are driven to the airport or train station and have to leave immediately. 

The Xiamen airport was packed with carefree crowds, many of them probably returning from internal travel for the national holidays. Once I had checked in and I was free to wander around the departures lounge on my own, I felt some sort of freedom for the first time in 14 days. It also struck me that for the first time in months I wasn't really worried about catching Covid-19 from other people, since in China this is no longer a serious concern. But I still couldn't completely relax, because I didn't know what might face me when I got back to Beijing.

Quite a few returnees from abroad report being asked to self-isolate at home for a further week, or even two weeks, after finishing quarantine and going back to where they live in China. This is not a general regulation in Beijing, but it may be required by your neighbourhood committee. Foreign teachers living on campuses have also been asked to self-isolate at home by their employer. Fortunately I am not a teacher, but I did worry about the folks from my neighbourhood committee somehow getting wind of my return and showing up at my flat to bother me.

I really did not want to have to spend any further time locked up at home, especially since it just isn't necessary. I understand the fact that people entering China from abroad are being subjected to a strict two-week quarantine. Now that the pandemic is under control it makes sense not to want to let the virus back in again. I also understand the fact that they want to test new arrivals, although personally I think that a single PCR test and then 14 days of quarantine would really be quite sufficient. But after two weeks of quarantine and a number of tests, asking people to stay home for any further length of time is simply unjustified. 

Such measures seem to be the result of an attitude of wanting to be completely on the safe side, but without taking common sense or the comfort of the people involved into any kind of consideration. This unreasonable level of caution is not limited to the authorities. Even my organization's HR manager asked me if I could continue working from home for 10 days after the end of quarantine, "for everyone's safety". I pointed out to my director that after two weeks of seclusion and four negative swab tests, I really posed no risk to anyone. He agreed with me, perhaps because he came back from abroad himself in May and knows what it's like. 

My flight to Beijing arrived at the city's new Daxing airport, which looked as fancy and shiny as I was expecting. I just picked up my luggage and took the train into town; no one asked me a thing. I had heard about how I would need a green "health code" once in Beijing, but nobody required to see it. I took the train, then the subway, and then got out at my stop and walked back to my old flat. At the entrance to my community there was no security and no one stopped me or questioned me, something I had been somewhat worried about. 

A few hours later, I began to realise that in fact there was a problem to solve: I still needed my health code. In China nowadays, every province has an app or mini-program that tracks your movements and assigns you a health code: green, yellow or red. A green code means you're considered safe, yellow means that you should self-isolate at home, and red means that you should be in quarantine. When you enter various public places and residential areas, you need to scan a QR code and show that you have a green code. Without one, your life will be pretty restricted.

This is what the English version of the Health Kit app for Beijing looks like. "Query on me" and "Scan the QR Code" will produce your colour code. 

I figured out which WeChat mini-program I had to use to get my Beijing health code (foreign citizens use a different one from the Chinese), and found that the app would not give me a code. I got a message saying that I had been outside of Beijing in the last 14 days, and I should contact my neighbourhood committee or the "relevant departments". I was loathe to contact them, as I suspected they would tell me to self-isolate at home. At the same time, I knew that without a green code I would not be able to enter shopping malls, hospitals, or the office building where I work, and I didn't know what other restrictions I might encounter.

That evening I went out for a walk in my neighbourhood, which looked much the same as when I left in January. Some people still wear masks on the street, but not everyone. I found that I could enter most restaurants and shops without presenting a health code. Apparently a few months ago things were much stricter, and most restaurants wouldn't let you enter. All the same, it was clear that without a green code I was still a borderline outlaw, and that my mobility would be restricted until I had one. This system of health codes may be part of what is keeping new outbreaks at bay, but it has also introduced a level of control on people's movements that would have been hard to fathom only one year ago. What you are supposed to do if you don't have a smartphone or WeChat I really don't know. I assumed this situation might last for 14 days. I wasn't keen on continuing to work from home for another two weeks, but I thought I might not have a choice.

Thankfully, the next morning I woke up and found that the WeChat mini-program had decided to assign me my green code. Why it took so long I don't know, but it seems like other people arriving in Beijing after quarantine are also finding that they need to wait until the following morning to get the code. This can cause a real problem if you don't have a place to stay. One person I know of was rejected by a number of hotels for not having the green code, until he found a place that would take him with only the "end of quarantine" certificate. 

In any case, with my green code I was now a fully functioning and legitimate member of Chinese society again, and could consider my quarantine to be well and truly over. A journey that had started over a month earlier and had taken me across three countries, back and forth between Europe and Asia, and involved the most surreal quarantine experience I could have imagined, had finally come to an end.