Hi there:
How the world has changed since the last issue of this newsletter.
First, I hope you are reading this in good health and good spirits.
I will be extending our coronavirus coverage to the first eight to 10 editions of the newsletter, fueled by the belief that there are nuggets of hope and inspiration to be found in the China experience relevant to the English-speaking world, as it braces for its onslaught.
I’m not speaking on a policy or government level, to imply that the Chinese containment strategy was superior or what not. I simply think there is comfort in examining how the worst of circumstances often brought out the best in humanity in individuals across China, as I’m sure it will in the rest of the globe.
In this issue’s selection, first published on Feb. 15 by the non-fiction platform We Are People with Stories, Wuhan native Kang Shaoling tells the story how what was supposed to be a carefree Lunar New Year vacation for his family in the southwestern province Yunnan turned into topsy-turvy ride because of the outbreak. Kang penned his piece on the last day of a 14-day quarantine.
We Are People with Stories is run by the Huazhong University of Science and Technology Press in Wuhan.
Lastly, take good care and follow your local public health protocols!
—ML
How Outbreak Upended a Wuhan Family’s Yunnan Getaway
By Kang Shaoling
Edited by Deer
A rainbow forms after heavy downpour over Lake Dian, located south of Kunming, the capital of Yunnan province. The author and his family were quarantined for two weeks at a sanatorium in the town of Haikou on the western bank of Lake Dian. Photo by author.
1.
The alarm went off. A new day. I pulled open the curtains to reveal the bright red sun—about the size of an egg—rising above Lake Dian. The sunshine pierced through the clouds to cast a coat of gold on the lake surface. A thin film of fog partially obscured the mountains in the distance. Nearby, black-headed gulls coasted over the lake. I stretched my arms lethargically. It’s the 14th day of my quarantine. One more day until freedom.
I am one of the many Wuhan natives trapped in Yunnan because of the novel coronavirus epidemic.
My company held its annual meeting on Jan. 18. The Lunar New Year break started on the 19th. Our family of six flew from Wuhan to Lijiang on the evening of the 19th as planned. We had heard about the outbreak of an unknown form of pneumonia, but we didn’t take it seriously. First, there was limited news coverage. Secondly, word had it the virus originated in Huanan Seafood Market. We live in the Guanggu area, which is quite far away. Thirdly, we had made plans to spend Lunar New Year in Yunnan two months ago. We had booked our plane tickets and hotel rooms already.
En route, the two kids were the most excited. They sat near the window and gazed at the stars in the night sky with a sense of wonder.
Last year, our family spent Lunar New Year on Hainan Island. In six days, we hit all the coastal cities by car. The kids and us played with the silky white sand on the beaches of Sanya. My wife and I admired the sunset over the ocean. We took in thousand-year-old salt fields, imagined the perspective and magnanimity of Song Dynasty scholar Su Dongpo in his home of exile and spent Lunar New Year’s Eve in Boao. After such a splendid time enjoying the ubiquitous fireworks and local delicacies and cheerfully watching state television’s annual Spring Festival Gala as a family on the hotel TV, we decided on the spot to spend the next Lunar New Year on the road as well.
We budgeted six days for our tour of Yunnan as well. After doing some research, I decided not to drive, the main reason being train travel between Lijiang, Dali and Kunming was easy and efficient.
On the plane, I fantasized about the slow pace of life in Dayan old town, basking in the sunshine and strolling around town, playing with snow on Mount Yulong, making a wish on Mount Chang and by Lake Er, as well as feeding the black-headed gulls on the banks of Lake Dian. I never would have thought then that we would have to endure an unusual Lunar New Year and weather such a mental roller coaster.
The driver who picked us was quite tanned. He was polite and thoughtful, briefing us on the various tourist spots in Lijiang old town during the ride to the hotel.
On the first day (the 20th), we toured the old town. Spotting the ancient Chinese costumes and cloaks that are all the rage these days, we bought a set for our dress-conscious daughter. We captured her adorable, playful presence prancing on the old town’s stone paths, posing before building designs unique to the Naxi ethnic minority and wading in the slow flow of clear lake water.
Some tourists were already wearing surgical masks. Even though we weren’t overly concerned, we still bought a pack of masks as a precaution.
2.
The next day we took horse rides along an ancient tea trade route on the banks of Lake Lashihai. On Day 3, we scaled Mount Yulong for some fun with the snow. In between excursions, I read the news and kept up on my WeChat’s news feed. I noticed an increasing number of news reports on the new form of pneumonia. Many friends checked in to see if I was in Wuhan. I gleefully responded I was out-of-town on a timely vacation.
On the drive to Yulong Mountain, our tour guide found out we were from Wuhan and we started chatting about the outbreak. He said he had asked a friend to buy him a bit of Chinese caterpillar fungus, which reportedly helps stave off pneumonia. It seemed like even the general Chinese public had started paying attention to the epidemic.
The line for the cable car ride up Mount Yulong took nearly two hours. The queue moved slowly. We all wore masks at the time, but in retrospect it was a scary situation. If one of the tourists in line had been sick with the new coronavirus, our chances of infection would have been quite high.
The more news I read, the more worried I became, especially when I read about deaths due to the new coronavirus. After descending Mount Yulong, I started getting the chills. Add to that the fact that I had gotten up early the two previous mornings and lacked sleep, I started wondering if I had been infected. The more I thought about it, the more stressed I got. I felt I had trouble breathing. My wife said it was all in my head and that it was probably altitude sickness.
When I woke up the next day, all my symptoms had disappeared. We started reading in the news that folks were discriminating against visitors from Wuhan. After conferring with my family, we decided to cut short our trip by skipping Kunming and returning to Wuhan from Lijiang or Dali ahead of time.
It said in the news that Wuhan had started limiting outbound travel. I joked that thankfully we had left early. On the early morning train to Dali on the 23rd, we switched seats with other passengers so the six of us could sit together. When we discussed the outbreak, my wife reminded her parents not to use the Wuhan dialect, so that we wouldn’t draw attention.
3.
When we arrived in Dali, we were able to check in smoothly at the hotel where we had reservations. We were scheduled to stay for two nights. When we noticed a car with Wuhan plates parked near the hotel entrance, I joked to my wife that we were not alone. Later, another young couple noticed the car too and loudly pronounced, “Oh, there’s a car from Wuhan. Should we call the police?” When we heard the comment, our hearts leapt. It was a bad feeling.
There was a pharmacy near the hotel entrance. We stopped by to pick up more masks, but it was out of stock, which sent us into a state of panic. Luckily, we were able to buy some at Dali’s old city. My in-laws were still getting used to their masks and took them off frequently. Both of them are Wuhan natives, born and bred, so their first instinct was to converse in the Wuhan dialect, which drew quite a few angry glares from my wife.
The fact that Wuhan natives had to keep such a low-profile and be so afraid about exposing their identity pained me. We are just regular people. We are victims too.
My WeChat feed was flooded with information about the outbreak. I started wondering if we could make it back to Wuhan at all. Indeed, we soon got word that all flights from Lijiang and Dali to Wuhan had been canceled.
That day Wuhan also went into lockdown. The severity of the situation began to hit me.
4.
On Lunar New Year’s Eve, we took a minibus to Butterfly Spring. When we lined up to have our tickets checked, the ticket inspector took our temperatures. When he saw that our IDs listed us as residents of Wuhan, the inspector said we were under special surveillance.
Chills went down my spine. I felt the kind of embarrassment and panic normally associated with having a personal secret exposed.
Even though our body temperatures were normal, the discomfort was infectious. Our mood was spoiled. We returned to our hotel ahead of schedule. Still, we ended the day on a positive note by having a sumptuous dinner.
We then decided to change our itinerary again, opting to head to Shuanglang old town for two days and possibly longer, depending on how the situation unfolded. First thing on Lunar New Year Day I ordered a car for Shuanglang on my phone. Soon after we boarded the car, our driver/tour guide Xiao Zhao figured out we were from Wuhan based on our conversation. He kept reiterating that he was a professional tour guide, the kind that was licensed, and that he treated all customers equally. He said he didn’t frown upon the fact that we were from Wuhan.
He suggested we hire his car for a daylong tour of Lake Er before dropping us off at Shuanglang. We were rebuffed at our first stop of the day. The Zhang Family Garden was closed. In Xizhou old town, we tried two types of baba, a type of local baked pastry. I still can’t get the ones made with rose-flavored sugar out of my head.
We took in the traditional homes of the ethnic Bai minority, square compounds that feature different configurations of rooms, courtyards, corner corridors and elaborately decorated walls. I was blown away by the huge sums that some families lavish on their walls.
Xiao Zhao also took us to a model village near Lake Er, which offered the most beautiful scenery of the lake. The uniformly white screen walls, the clear blue sky, the clouds of all shapes and sizes and their reflections in the water, coupled with the occasional seagull that flew by and the old, distorted trees on the banks made for a gorgeous picture that gave us brief comfort.
At that moment I saw the prettiest view of our entire trip up to that point. For those 10 minutes or so, we were free and happy.
Xiao Zhao’s WeChat group for fellow tour guides was inundated with messages. One said that Shuanglang’s tourist spots were about to close, which dampened our mood. Xiao Zhao could tell we were disappointed and called it a day, taking us straight to our hotel in Shuanglang.
5.
The staffers manning the front desk at our inn quickly exchanged glances after they inspected our IDs. One of them shook his head, saying they had orders from above to turn down guests from Wuhan.
We panicked. It was already near evening. Where was this ragtag family going to stay, kids and elderly in tow? The owner hesitated. He whispered to us to keep our voices down and agreed to let us spend the night. My wife and I spent the rest of the night contacting friends and doing research to see where else we could stay and how we could get back to Wuhan.
Enthusiastic colleagues, friends and relatives supplied loads of suggestions and information. In times of duress, you find out who really cares about you. I was very moved. My wife also joined a WeChat group set up by Hubei natives stranded in Yunnan and figured out which hotels in Dali and Kunming were still willing to take us.
In the end, we decided to go to Kunming after all, thinking it would be easier to return to Wuhan from there. At 10 a.m. the next morning, the owner of our inn told us that Shuanglang had been sealed off. He said he could no longer receive any guests and asked us to leave immediately.
I was able to buy train tickets to Kunming online, but I struggled to find a driver who was willing to take us to Dali station. Everyone made up an excuse once they saw my Wuhan number. I finally persuaded a driver after endless pleas and sweet-talking. We were in no mood to catch a final glimpse of Lake Er during the drive, instead focusing our prayers on a smooth trip to Kunming.
After we had our temperatures taken and entered the lobby of the train station without incident, I breathed a deep sigh of relief. Once we get to Kunming, we’ll be OK, I thought. In a worst-case scenario, we could rest at our hotel for a few days. If we wanted to be pro-active, we could figure out a way to get back to Wuhan. I read online that quite a few Wuhan natives were attempting to bypass the lockdown by buying tickets to destinations near Wuhan and trying to get off at Wuhan anyway. At that point we were keen to get back to Wuhan as soon as possible—even staying at home on quarantine was an option. We were completely oblivious to the severity of the outbreak in Wuhan.
It was quite muggy on the train, plus I was wearing a mask and feeling tense. It felt like my body was heating up. My head was drowsy. I prayed that I wasn’t falling sick.
We checked into our hotel smoothly. The owner is from Wuhan. He even set up a WeChat group for guests from Wuhan. I cheerfully declared that we were finally among family, that we had experienced tremendous love in a time of crisis.
Other members of the WeChat group had similar stories to share. They were also rejected by other hotels and saw the message posted by the hotel owner. The owner even turned away guests from other provinces to make room for his fellow Wuhan natives.
The outbreak evolved rapidly those few days. My mood was likewise in fluctuation, a downright roller coaster ride. But I was finally at peace after settling into our hotel in Kunming. That evening I got my best night’s sleep in days. I sent messages to all the friends and relatives who had expressed concern, telling them I could finally rest easy for a few days.
Yet all hell had broken loose when I woke up the next morning and caught up on messages in the WeChat group. My good mood evaporated after I finished reading the messages. It turns out that a few of our fellow guests had fled Kunming and returned to Wuhan by high-speed rail first thing in the morning without checking out.
That had local police on edge. They sealed the entire building. No one was allowed in or out. That meant shutting the other hotels that also operated in the same building. They all blamed the owner of our hotel, confronting the manager of the hotel with verbal abuse and even physical attacks.
The owner of the hotel had taken us 100-plus Hubei natives in out of generosity and love for his roots, but the unexpected happened. Our freedom of movement was curtailed. We could only order takeout. I felt slight regret for not seizing the chance to head back to Wuhan. The window of opportunity was fleeting. Now it was impossible to leave.
6.
A care package containing the local delicacy of flower-favored cakes the author received during his quarantine. The note in pink contains advice on dealing with the local climate and includes the weather forecast for the next week. Photo by author.
After two restless days, local community officials arranged for transportation in the form of two tourist buses on the evening of the 28th. Most of the hotel guests boarded. We were shipped to a workers’ sanatorium in the outlying town of Haikou. The living conditions were decent. We went with the flow and got a good night’s sleep.
I know we were stuck in quarantine for now. On the first few days of quarantine, I wondered when our quarantine officially started .Was it the 19th, when we left Wuhan, or the 26th, the day we arrived in Kunming, or the 28th, the day we moved into the workers’ sanatorium? And when would be able to head home?
The situation in Wuhan became increasingly severe. The number of confirmed cases jumped significantly each day it had no sign of tapering off. Eventually, I stopped overthinking. The 9 million people of Wuhan were doing their part for the country by sitting tight at home. We had a place to stay and were being fed properly. What else could we ask for?
The neighborhood officials in Haikou and the staff of the workers’ sanatorium attended to our needs meticulously. Breakfast was served with both milk and yogurt. Our menu was constantly changing. Sometimes they even mixed in Wuhan dishes, like pork chop and lotus root soup. Fresh fruit was provided after meals.
Our box meals often came with notes of encouragement, which were especially heartwarming to read. Our temperatures were taken twice a day. Employees at the sanatorium bought refills for guests on medication. They also fulfilled personal shopping lists from two neighboring supermarkets.
The most reassuring and heartwarming gesture to me was that local neighborhood officials and the sanatorium set up a temporary Communist Party branch for the 20-odd party members that were among the quarantined. Adopting special measures, we held two meeting to study the speeches of the top government officials about combating the outbreak. That calmed us significantly.
During our quarantine, I browsed my phone daily. There was a saturation of information and rumors ran rampant—and false ones were quickly shot down. The situation in Wuhan became increasingly clear. I learned the logic for the lockdown and realized why Zhong Nanshan, one of China’s leading respiratory disease experts, cried when the decision was made. He knew the huge sacrifice the people of Wuhan were about to make.
In the early days of the outbreak, too many people suffered immense pain or even lost their lives because they weren’t treated or couldn’t be hospitalized. Those who unfortunately passed aren’t just figures tallied up for senior officials—but rather individual human beings who once lived full lives.
There were too many people and stories who brought me to tears among my daily intake of information. I want to sincerely thank every single person who helped Hubei province battle the outbreak, regardless or their post or hometown. The blood, sweat and tears of the countless individuals on the frontlines are the reason why I was able to spend the past 20-odd days with my family. They are the reason we can peacefully go about our lives. I will treasure every day of my life going forward.
There was a heavy downpour over Lake Dian yesterday. A rainbow emerged afterward as expected. Nearly all of us rushed to our windows to marvel at the bright colors of the rainbow. A friend I haven’t been in touch with for more than a decade left me a message on the chat program QQ urging me to hang in there until “the clouds and fog cleared.” Indeed, the clouds and the fog have cleared, replaced by a rainbow. Our wait is over.