Spring Break 2020: a time

Hello. I write this from the Amsterdam airport at 6:02 am on March 12th, 2020. I have been awake for nearly 4 hours already and, in 3 more hours, will board an 11-hour flight taking me home to Oregon. This is not where I was supposed to be right now. A global pandemic and a panic-inducing announcement from the U.S. president led me here, as I’m sure they did for many of my fellow travelers today. It’s a strange time.

You all know this, but just for posterity: The world at-large is currently facing a global pandemic of a coronavirus strain known as covid19. It is spreading rapidly and countries are scrambling to respond in time to prevent catastrophic outbreaks. At this point, it is inevitable that hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of people will contract the disease, but governments are continuing to implement various measures attempting to contain its spread. In short, it’s an overwhelming time to travel. And yet, travel I did. We can chat about whether or not I should have later.

I’m not trying to capitalize off of our global terror or tragedy, nor do I think my story is the most important, interesting, or relevant one in the covid19 narrative. But as I feel history being written around me, I wanted to take a moment to document my experience. By the end of the day, I will have spent time in two European countries and on both U.S. coasts within the past week. I’ve seen the varying attitudes different people are having towards the virus, as well as the wide range of governmental and institutional responses. It has been fascinating and terrifying and exhilarating and terrible.

Let me back up a bit. My spring break this year was planned to be a globe-trotting reunion tour, split between visiting my best friend, Natalie, during her study abroad in Aix-en-Provence, France, and my German sister, Mona, at her university in The Hague, the Netherlands. On my original itinerary, I wasn’t flying home until this coming Sunday, and the home I was flying to was Washington, D.C. to resume my spring semester at Georgetown University. Everything had been set for months when doubts about the safety of international travel started to grow in the week leading up to my departure.

If you’ve been keeping up with the news at all lately, you might wonder why I decided to go on this ambitious trip in the face of rising infection levels around the world. In retrospect, I see what you mean. When I left, though, the primary American concern was being stuck in U.S. quarantine upon return from worse-stricken countries. We weren’t yet talking about our institutions shuttering, our economy tanking, or our domestic travel facing possible limitations. My biggest worry when I left was that the CDC would name France a “Level 3” in its travel restrictions, thereby requiring me to self-quarantine for two weeks upon return — a protocol that would have resulted in me having to withdraw from Georgetown under normal circumstances. I hemmed and hawed over what to do before ultimately deciding that I was willing to take the chance (provided I could bring my 75-pack of Lysol wipes and a bottle of hand sanitizer on the plane, of course).

Safe to say, the CDC had bigger things to worry about than my spring break plans. Even as France’s cases and deaths grew exponentially and the French government named covid19 a stage 2 epidemic, with an inevitable and maximum stage 3 ranking forthcoming, no new updates came from the U.S. government while I was in the country. In fact, no country’s ranking had changed since France’s neighbor, Italy, was raised to a level 3 on February 21st. I arrived in France on March 7th. My guess is that U.S. health officials were so overwhelmed with their own lack of preparation for addressing the crisis domestically that they couldn’t be bothered to monitor other countries, but I of course can’t confirm that to be the case.

Natalie on one of our walks around Aix-en-Provence.

Despite an ever-growing and anxiety-inducing addiction to Twitter and New York Times news alerts, my time in France still managed to be relaxing and rewarding. I ate crêpes and madeleines. Natalie and I took walks around the town and drank wine while watching movies in my charming Airbnb (which is now my dream apartment, by the way). Still, covid19 conversations crept up every few minutes or so, in part because the people around us didn’t seem to be taking the precautions we were devoted to so religiously. While we sanitized and social distanced, the French seemed to be doing business as usual. It was disconcerting, considering the country had the second-highest number of cases after Italy. Natalie and I were both stressed about what was going to happen and where we would end up when the crisis reached its peak. But we also found solace in one another, in being with someone who felt like home. We distracted each other and validated each other’s worries. I think it was exactly where I needed to be.

The institutions that ended up most shaping my decision to come home early were American universities. As more and more of my friends got word that their courses were being moved online and that, in some cases, they were being asked to leave campus, the more convinced I became that Georgetown wouldn’t be far behind. I knew I would need to get home as fast as possible once that email came. The severity of that decision felt like a harbinger of worse things to come and the situation was evolving rapidly. I had expected the outbreaks in Europe to be the greatest threat to my U.S. return, but it was quickly made apparent that U.S. outbreaks and response would claim that title. Getting somewhere stable with community infrastructure to support me felt essential.

Mona and I exploring The Hague during my brief time there.

Once Georgetown finally announced the switch to virtual learning on Wednesday, accompanied by a request that students not return to campus after spring break, everything changed. I was already en route to the Netherlands at that point, but it was suddenly clear that I would not be sticking to my original itinerary. Not only did it have me flying back to DC, it would have left me in limbo and panic in Europe for four days. No, I knew what needed to happen: I would head directly back to Oregon, flying over DC and all of my belongings on campus to the comfort of my cozy (soon-to-be thoroughly disinfected) childhood bedroom. Of course, this isn’t what I wanted to do. Mona and I had been looking forward to our reunion for months. I jumped into denial as soon as I saw her at the train station and we began our one, wonderful evening together, but in the back of my mind I knew I wouldn’t be able to stay.

A few hours after Georgetown announced their plans, the World Health Organization declared covid19 a global pandemic, immediately elevating the likelihood of drastic government action. We were making dinner when the news broke. By the time the food was ready, I had called my dad and determined that I would be leaving the next morning if I could, and no later than Friday. The KLM flight from Amsterdam to Portland leaves every morning at 9:50 am, necessitating a 7:50 am airport arrival and a 6:30 am departure from Mona’s apartment. I wasn’t thrilled about the prospect of leaving The Hague after less than 12 hours, but I acknowledged it was what I needed to do. I told Mona and her boyfriend, Oscar, while choking back tears. They were incredibly understanding, of course. We shared a meal together, and she and I chatted for a few hours in an attempt to make up for the three days together we were losing. It was a lovely evening, even as I felt the looming stress of traveling the next day. Around 11:30 pm, she went to bed and I set about getting my things ready to go. I sent updates to my friends, watched some Netflix to calm my nerves, and crawled into bed around 1 am with an alarm set for 5:40. At least I would get a little sleep in.

At 2:26 am, I was jolted awake by my ringing phone. Confused and thinking it was my alarm, I picked it up and answered in a haze. It was my friend, a fellow YES Abroad alum that I’ve stayed in touch with thanks to an active WhatsApp group, calling to ask if I’d seen that the president was banning all travel to and from Europe starting Friday. I had not. But it sure did wake me up. Immediately full of adrenaline, I stuttered out that I had a flight booked for that day, thanked him for calling, and said I needed to check in with my parents and other friends I knew were still in European countries. My entire body was vibrating. I struggled to compose a message to my parents thanking God that we had already booked my flight home. Friends around the world got similar shaky bursts of text while I waited for my parents to offer guidance on next steps. In moments like these, any façade of adulthood vanishes. Mom and Dad, what do I do? Get to the airport, they said. It was 3 am at this point, still 6 hours before my flight was supposed to board, but fears of Americans across the continent rushing to get home made an early arrival seem prudent. In an attempt to stop shaking and become a functional person, I chugged a bottle of water and counted my gulps. It helps, try it sometime. Very hydrated and nearly calm, I gathered my things, called the most expensive Uber I will ever take, and set off for Amsterdam.

Since I was awoken and sent into extreme panic in the early hours of the morning, it has been revealed that the president fully misled the American public in his explanation of the ban on European travel. U.S. citizens, permanent residents, and their families are still able to enter the country from Europe, but will undergo screening upon arrival. The ban also only applies to countries in the Schengen zone, with an exception for the U.K. I was already in the car by the time I learned this, and already quite deep in the throes of panic. Misinformation is extremely dangerous in a crisis and that is all I will say on that here. Oh, and also: Please vote.

I am now in hour four of sitting in this airport. Coffee has been consumed, as has a piece of banana bread and a stroopwafel. More coffee and some real food to come, I’m sure. You can tell I’m exhausted because I usually drink no coffee and now I’m planning on minimum two more cups in the next 24 hours. Since being here, I’ve been in touch with friends all around the world who have reached out to make sure I’m okay and have a way home. If you are one of those people, thank you. I felt so loved and supported this morning, when I easily could have felt alone and scared. You did that and I will forever be grateful. When not answering Instagram DMs, WhatsApp messages, and texts, I’ve sent regular updates to my parents, been amazed at the civility of Dutch airport security, and tried six different outlets before finding one that works. Riveting stuff, I know.

We are two hours from my flight’s boarding time. The airport is bustling. Aside from a few masks here and there, it feels like a normal day. From what I’ve seen here and in France, as well as what I’ve heard from friends in other countries, it seems that Western Europe is less perturbed by the pandemic than the U.S. It’s somewhat frightening, to be honest, how many people are going about their normal days. In a little while, I’ll head to the gate. A friend from Oregon saw my Instagram story reassuring everyone that I was getting home and responded saying that she’s evacuating Europe on the same plane! It will be nice to see a familiar face and share in this surreal experience. By the time you’re reading this, I’ll hopefully have edited it on the flight home (in the rare moment when I’m not sleeping) and posted it from Oregon. I’ll add a little note below to let you know if that is indeed what happened. Georgetown didn’t give an end date for the virtual learning transition, so it seems I will be back on the West Coast for the foreseeable future. If you’re in the area, hit me up! We can sit six feet apart on disinfected chairs and not touch our faces together.

Note: Since writing this, I have made it home to Oregon, where I am now in two weeks of self-quarantine in accordance with government recommendations for people returning from Europe. Georgetown has officially moved courses online for the remainder of the semester, so I will be here through late May at least. Generous friends who are still in D.C. have offered to pack and ship some essential belongings to me. I cannot thank them enough. This experience has taught me how powerful we are when we come together in a crisis, but also shown me the dangers of ineptitude as the U.S. government continually fails to provide adequate information or appropriately address the pandemic. I urge you all to take every precaution possible to protect yourselves and your communities. Overreact. Feel silly. It will help us all in the long run.