What it's like to take a last-minute transatlantic flight amid the corona virus outbreak

Like almost everybody else in the world, news of the novel coronavirus spread didn’t cause me much concern at first. Not until last week, that is. Throughout the months of coverage, since the news first emerged in China of a novel virus that was causing all sorts of problems, my mind clung onto the thought that there was no way the rest of the world could get as bad as Wuhan did — wasn’t the virus just a worse version of the flu?

But within just a few days, the global situation ramped up from bad to worse to appalling. It became clear that the pandemic was far more serious than anyone had anticipated. But even then, we didn't know just how complete the meltdown was likely to be.

I’ll never forget waking up to my 8.30 alarm last Thursday morning, and being immediately inundated with missed calls, emails and texts. Donald Trump had just issued a travel ban overnight, following the official declaration of the coronavirus as a global pandemic. Flights between the US and the EU would be restricted within the next 36 hours. At that moment, Ireland and the UK were still exempt, but it was only a matter of time before travel was restricted from Ireland, too. And so it has proved.

Extra Precautions
Back then, I was stuck with a difficult decision to make on the fly — pack up my life at less than 24 hours’ notice and hop on the next flight back to New York, or wait it out in Ireland, far away from my family, until the outbreak subsided. With a heavy, pounding heart and a mind that had essentially gone blank from shock, I logged-on to Google Flights to find prices for one-way trips ranging from €1,500 all the way to €3,000-plus. If this seems like a staggering way to take advantage of confused and scared travellers it is.

It all felt too dramatic, and in retrospect the news came too fast to adequately acclimatise to it – but I had to make the final call fast. I was going home.

The first leg of my trip from Dublin to the US was marked by a contradictory combination of chaos and unnerving calm. Terminal 2 was a swarm of American accents with an overwhelming sense of panic and sadness in the air. Travellers clad in face-masks lamented their last-minute flights home and, on occasion, snapped at anyone who dared to interact with them. Upon reaching a crowded holding room of people trying to get through customs, tensions further escalated, with the looming fear of missing a flight and being stuck in a tightly-packed area playing havoc with people's emotions.

The scariest part of it all was the fact that no one dared to mention the word ‘coronavirus’. Covid-19 posters were plastered throughout the terminal and the customs officer asked me with a laugh, “New York? Why the hell would you go there?” There were no screenings, no hand sanitising stations, just a few off-kilter jokes.

On the plane, any cough was met with a suspicious glare. The unnervingly friendly Midwestern flight attendants kept assuring us passengers that we would have a fantastic flight, but no extra cleaning measures were visibly implemented. The plane took off. It did what planes do, most of the time at least. It got us to where we were heading.

My entrance to Boston, and later on to New York City’s major airport, didn’t require any extra precautions either. It was all horribly surreal. Days later, I’m still worrying that I could have contracted the virus from travelling.

Day 5 of Self-Quarantine
Since that hellish, last-minute trip home, the world has reached a completely unprecedented level of panic and uncertainty. Airports seem to have stepped up their screening processes (perhaps not in the most efficient way, but there’s also no way to prepare for this), and most of the world’s major cities are on lockdown.

But the main takeaway from my journey is that, though the necessary precautions are finally being taken, the world is shutting the barn door after the horse has already run miles away. The response is picking up speed, for sure, but the appropriate reactions are coming far too late.

I’m not blameless here — I, much like everyone else, fully believed that everything would be OK until late last week when the shockwaves finally hit the world.

I live with two immunocompromised family members over the age of 70. I’m obsessively sanitising everything and staying far away from those I live with in my childhood home, terrified that I may have contracted the virus – and even more terrified that I could pass it on to someone at risk. Testing here in the United States is so limited that it’s nearly impossible to know if you’re positive or not, unless you can prove direct exposure – or you’re a celebrity.

It’s no longer OK to be unbothered by the outbreak, and I’ve finally come to terms with the fact that my panicked trip home was out of necessity and not paranoia. The world hasn’t dealt with anything like this in our lifetimes, and clearly it’s time to take personal action, even as governments scramble to pick up the pieces.

It feels redundant to say so, in a way – but it's time to take all of the precautions that have been recommended, like social distancing and self-isolation, very seriously indeed. Even small gatherings between asymptomatic friends can contribute to further spread of the virus. Cases are continuing to be diagnosed, not including the many who are positive but lack the resources to confirm the diagnosis. Everything is terrifying and overwhelming, and we're now finally reaching the point where almost everyone has been impacted in some way or another by the outbreak.

I’m on day five of my self-quarantine, and I’ll admit that it’s pretty terrible. But again, it’s no longer about protecting ourselves as much as it’s about protecting those around us. When the global governance system is so full of confusion and chaos, taking this simple action seriously is really the best we can do at this point.