Life Post-Quarantine

Every morning I wake up in a little tent on the second floor of my friend’s shop to birdsong and roosters crowing in the distance. Sometimes it’s to the sound of wind howling, wind so powerful it could blow me and my tent down to Lake Erhai (if I camped outdoors).

During the day I tend to the store, assisting the handful of customers that pop in for a quick browse before moving on. My friend, Xiaoxian, the twenty-something store owner who also lives in her shop, laments that pockets are too shallow these days to spend on novelties like hand-crafted bronze teapots and vintage clothing that her store is known for. 

As I walk around the ancient town, I see that this is true for most businesses, empty of people even at one of the busiest holidays of the year, Labor Day weekend.  The guesthouse I stayed in last year has closed, and so has my favorite pickled chicken-foot restaurant.

A taxi driver told me of his family’s financial struggles from the pandemic; before Spring Festival his daughter had ordered tens of thousands of 手抓饼, a popular Chinese street snack, to gear up for the rush of tourists that make up for most of the year’s income. When the coronavirus grew into an epidemic and travel was prohibited, the daughter had no choice but to freeze the food items. 

The food is not the expensive part, my taxi driver tells me. The electricity bill to keep the food frozen is what devastated their family. 

When Labor Day rolled around on May 1st, Xiaoxian stayed hopeful that it would bring in some business, but it made only a fraction of a difference. 

In the evenings when we closed up shop to stroll around outside, we saw that the main pedestrian paths were crowded with tourists. But mostly, they just walked around or lined up at the food stalls. 

The BBQ place we stopped at for a midnight snack, with the entire family working including a pair of school-aged twins, had a long waitlist. Although it was overpriced, I excused it as necessary post-quarantine prices. I was happy to see someone doing well.

I have been so ingrained in this new life that I barely remember what life in quarantine was like. I remember having a routine and bonding with my mom, but as soon as quarantine was lifted, my needs changed.

Quality time with my mom was the silver lining of those months stuck at home, but I craved personal space. I wanted privacy and to socialize with friends. I needed time to myself and distance from the negativity my mom had fallen into. 

Guilt-ridden and sad to leave my widowed mother behind, I left Kunming for Dali, a city just two hours away by train. 

I was nervous to be at the train station that seemed as busy as it normally is. My passport and history of my whereabouts in the last two weeks (monitored using my phone number) were checked three times: twice before departing Kunming and once upon arrival in Dali. 

At the registration point in Dali, I met three Israeli backpackers who had rushed into China from Thailand before borders closed off to foreigners. They were quarantined in a single hotel room for two weeks in Kunming before parking their bags in Dali to wait out the pandemic. 

On our second day in Dali, the four of us wandered into Xiaoxian’s shop.

Xiaoxian had quarantined alone in the store, her husband stuck out of town and unable to return. She had eaten so many packs of instant noodles that she can barely look at the packaging now. Her friends say she is more chipper nowadays, perhaps because I’m here now, keeping her company after a long bout of solitude.

After meeting just three or four times, Xiaoxian suggested I stay with her. I could help out at the shop (even though there’s not much business) and live for free upstairs. Sure, my “room” is just a tent and it doesn’t exactly provide the personal space I imagined to have, but it’s a temporary solution while I figure out my next steps. 

This is not at all how I pictured my post-quarantine life, but I’m trying to appreciate every moment of it. 

I’ve consumed more tea these last few weeks than I have in my 31 years combined. I’ve become a confident electric-scooter driver and pour-over coffeemaker. I eat fresh produce that I get every other day at the open-air market and baguettes from the baker upstairs. I hand-wash my laundry and enjoy zipping myself up into the coziness of my one-person tent every night. 

I also actively stay away from news and social media; this ignorance is as beneficial to my well-being as are tea and fresh air.

As I get into the groove of my new life, the month and a half of isolation in Kunming feels like just a moment in time. 

Life goes on. Not without a struggle as I’ve witnessed from the lives around me, but it does go on. You’ll see.