Dragon Diaries E-Book

Dennis W. Davis

• Herausgeber: Spines
• Kategorie: Lebensstil
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

In the midst of a global pandemic, Dragon Diaries by Dennis W. Davis offers an intimate look into one man's journey through a world in chaos. From the eerily empty flight to Da Nang to the heartwarming reunion with his wife Diem, Davis weaves a narrative that is both deeply personal and universally resonant. Against the backdrop of a rapidly changing Vietnam, he explores the tension between tradition and modernity, the resilience of the human spirit, and the small moments of beauty and connection that sustain us through the darkest times.

As Dennis navigates mandatory quarantines, deserted streets, and a temporarily shuttered world, his reflections on freedom, community, and the future strike a chord with readers who have lived through their own versions of this shared global experience. Through vivid descriptions and poignant anecdotes, Dragon Diaries captures the essence of a historical moment, offering both a snapshot of life during the pandemic and a timeless meditation on love, hope, and the power of human connection.

Join Dennis and Diem in their rooftop oasis, feel the palpable tension of uncertain days, and discover the magic of everyday moments as Dragon Diaries takes you on a journey through a world forever changed.

Leseprobe

Dennis W. Davis

Dragon Diaries

All rights reserved

Copyright © 2024

by Dennis W. Davis

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Isbn: 979-8-89383-854-1

DRAGON DIARIES

DENNIS W. DAVIS

CONTENTS

Preface

1. Homecoming

2. And So It Begins – Dealing with the Reality of a Pandemic Abroad

3. Sunset in Hoi An

4. Pandemic and Personal Observations

5. Notes from Vietnam

6. For Those Who Wander

7. Liberation Day

8. On the Road Again

9. A Very Different Road to An Lao

10. Waking in Paradise – Our First Morning in the Village

11. A Reunion of Sorts - A Day in Town

12. Paradise Lost and the Fall of Saigon

13. Reflections in Paradise and Our Return to Da Nang

14. Adjusting to a New World

15. Living In A Nation that Beat the Virus

16. Da Nang prepares for another lockdown

17. The Crisis Deepens

18. New Territory

19. Further Developments

20. Light in the Tunnel

21. Dragon City Comes Alive

22. Typhoon Noul

23. Monsoon Salon

24. The Endless Storm

25. The Tropical Blues

26. Here Comes the Sun

27. Days in Our Lives

28. Life Goes On

29. An Outbreak in the North

30. An Unexpected Return to An Lao

31. A Place Beyond Time

32. The Long Road to Buon Ma Thuot

33. Escape from Buon Ma Thuot - 3 days later

34. A New Wave

35. The Fall of Hanoi

36. Seven, Plus Three, Plus Ten

37. Zen and the Art of Instant Noodles

38. The Hope Constant

39. The Long Journey Home

PREFACE

Dragon Diaries was an idea that came to me during the pandemic. My wife, Diem, our daughters Jennie and Lisa, and I lived in Vietnam for most of its duration. At theconstantepicurean.com, my website devoted to travel, articles had come almost to a grinding halt as lockdowns shut down travel. To keep articles flowing on the site, I started a limited series discussing the challenges we were facing amidst the pandemic in Vietnam. Amidst the chaos brought on by the virus, we also suffered through one of the most intense typhoon seasons in modern history. Eventually, things spiraled almost into chaos, and a race began to evacuate the country for the U.S. The Dragon is the symbol of Da Nang, the city we lived in, so I coined it the Dragon Diaries. This book is the retelling of those articles.

1

HOMECOMING

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED MARCH 12, 2020

It's been two and a half months and many uncertain developments since I last walked the streets of Da Nang. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t at least a little worried about what I would find. My entrance process had changed, and my visa requirements had changed; it was obvious that the Vietnamese government was a bit apprehensive. There have been mandatory quarantine zones across the country, and visitors from many of the countries most heavily affected by the outbreak have been banned from entry.

As things were beginning to spiral out of containment and prevention and more toward full outbreak status back home in the States, I was desperate to get out before the U.S. was also placed on a banned list—or worse, locked down in its own right. Even if just temporarily, a travel ban from home would have been devastating for me and my wife. I hadn't slept well in a few days, as my anxiety about getting home to Diem was beginning to mount.

The flight from Doha to Da Nang was highly unusual. The last flight I took to Da Nang was pretty full. This flight was empty—eerily empty. There was only one other person in my row, a young African man sitting in the other window seat. The row consisted of three seats on each side and four in the middle. There were no travelers in the three rows in front of us or the two rows behind us. There couldn't have been thirty people on the entire flight.

The attendants were kind and attentive, and the flight was quiet and uneventful. I ate dinner, took two sleeping pills, stretched out the length of my row of seats, and tried to sleep. The plane would be landing at 6:45 a.m. Da Nang time, and it would be a rough day without any rest. I awoke about two hours before landing and ordered a cup of coffee. I settled into a pretty good movie called Driven. It is about the fall of John DeLorean. It was actually very interesting.

The attendants provided us with health declarations that are now required for all people entering Vietnam. It was a simple enough form: “Where have you visited in the past fourteen days? Have you exhibited any of these symptoms?” and so forth. Of course, I had only been in the metro Atlanta area and had had no symptoms of any kind except the stress-induced insomnia of the past few days. That, of course, was not on the list.

Diem had asked me, in a very concerned way, to please put my mask on before exiting the plane. The flight was early in, and I missed the last ten minutes of the movie. I thought, “I'll have to catch it on the return flight.” as I grabbed my belongings, put on my mask, and waited at the curtain for the signal to disembark. I was the first person not in first class off the plane and sprinted toward the exit. Twenty-six hours in the air, I was ready to run.

I submitted my health declaration, received my approval papers, and was waved past the temperature readers and physical station. I guess those are used for suspect travelers. My visa was fastened to the inside of my passport, and I headed to the immigration line. Most of the Westerners arriving did not have masks on, but every local and anyone of Asian descent did. And so did I.

With so much stigma surrounding the outbreak, Diem informed me that locals were very suspicious of foreigners in general not wearing masks, as all the cases in Vietnam had come from elsewhere. I was assured that once I got into our neighborhood, things would be fine. So, I dealt with the mask and waited for my turn in line.

There were only two agents at immigration, and it made for very slow progress. I’m sure they were running on smaller crews as travel and tourism had been hit hard in the region. It took about 30 minutes to get to the front, which I guess really isn’t that bad. As the gentleman in front of me handed his American passport to the agent, my line came to a stop. The agent kept looking past the line for several minutes when finally what he was looking for came into view—his superior. He waved him over and his boss took the passport and the gentleman and escorted him away.

Before the boss came over, the agent kept pointing to a stamp in his passport. I have no idea what his issue was; I’m assuming it may have been about his previous travels. Who knows, it wasn’t my problem; it was now my turn. No issues. Click clunk, click clunk as my passport was stamped and handed back. “Com on, (thank you),” I said, gave a slight bow, and rushed to retrieve my clothes and cooler of meat. The good news about the light amount of passengers was that my luggage was already waiting, usually it’s the longest part of the process.

I grabbed my boxes, threw them on a cart, and rolled them straight through the exit. This was also unusual, as I usually had to run everything through a detector and security. I guess now there are other things on the local authorities' minds than my undeclared USDA ribeyes.

As I walked through the exit, I spotted Diem immediately. Even with her covered face, her eyes would never betray me. It was so incredible to see her again. I grabbed her in a heavy hug and twirled her in my arms. I gave her a kiss through our masks, and she ordered our taxi. It was an amazing ride to our apartment.

The smells, sights, sounds, textures—everything came rushing back into my brain and coalesced as if I had never left. My second home, my wife, the world, the air—it was wonderful. I held her hand as we crisscrossed the busy streets in the back of the taxi on our way to our new apartment. We, or I should say Diem, had moved around a few times, and each time I returned to Vietnam from the U.S., we seemed to be in a new apartment.

We had been looking for something more permanent but struggled to find something that fit everyone’s needs. Diem almost refused to let me pay anything substantial for a nice apartment. On my last trip, we visited a few rooms looking for something suitable for the long haul, but I was not impressed. One room in particular we looked at had walls made of the corrugated plastic used for campaign signs in the U.S. That just wouldn’t do. 

Though it was better than a lot of habitats in the country, I was not going to let my wife live in just any kind of place. So, running out of time, I put her up in a nice hotel for a month the day I last saw her. In that time, we were able to find a better place. She moved in when the month ran out at the hotel, and the new apartment was seemingly perfect: near both Jennie and Lisa's schools, near the church, near the beach, with a coffee shop on the bottom floor, and sweet landlords.

The only complaint Diem had, though not really a complaint, was that the apartment was just above the coffee shop and very noisy in the early morning. I assured her it was okay and that if it were a problem, we would work it out when I returned in March. Then the virus hit. Tourism came to an almost complete halt, and a recession began to set in Vietnam. The building emptied out, and the penthouse became available.

We negotiated a relatively modest long-term rental agreement, and Diem, with the girls, moved into our permanent penthouse—a separate kitchen, modern bathroom, air conditioning, a guest room, and an amazing rooftop patio. Did I mention the patio? The patio itself is worth the rent. A two-floored rooftop. We have an upper patio for hanging clothes and a 360-degree view of the city. The lower patio is complete with a dining table, a bench, a hanging swing, water sculptures, and plenty of plants. We can see the ocean, the mountains, and Lady Buddha from our lower perch. It's the most amazing place I've ever lived.

I mean no disrespect; I love my childhood home and residence in the States, but this is something I never thought I would have: a dream come true, a penthouse home in paradise. It is truly an incredible moment. In the past couple of years, my life has evolved into an absolutely amazing thing—a wonderful wife, an amazing family back home in the States, and an awesome in-law family here in Da Nang. Technology is an amazing thing as even with a massive language barrier I speak with my family here in Vietnam with relative ease.

The lady of the house and her family live in the building and run the coffee shop on the ground floor. They collected my luggage from the car as we arrived, and I was sent to our apartment to settle in as they brought my luggage up the stairs shortly after. It was the first time I had seen our permanent home here in Da Nang, and I was very happy with the accommodations.

A walk up to the top floor ensured that I would at least get exercise every day, walking up and down the central marbled staircase. I unpacked, stored my clothes, and packed the freezer with my still-frozen solid chunks of boneless chicken quarters, ribeye steaks, short ribs, pork belly, and pork shoulder.

Diem had already filled the pantry with Asian oranges, farm-fresh eggs, rice noodles, and countless seasonings and staples. As we walked in, I could already smell something delicious as Diem had the Instant Pot cooking chunks of pork for breakfast. After breakfast, a brief tour, and some time just enjoying Diem's company, I showered and lay on the bed. It was still early morning in Da Nang, but days of insomnia and naps on airplanes crossing the globe had caught up with me. A sleep without worry or stress overcame me and I drifted off into a most beautiful dream.

I awoke around six in the evening and realized that I was in trouble. I had slept all day, and it would be nearly impossible to sleep tonight. It was a good thing I brought medicine for such problems, and Diem and I walked to the market for some grapes and to stretch our legs.

We prepared a quick dinner of fried fish cakes, bun, and seared short ribs. We settled onto the patio for a delicious dinner in the cool night breeze. After dinner, we talked and cleaned up the kitchen. It was wonderful to be by her side again. Afterwards, we settled in for the night, and I took some medicine to force sleep. I knew I had to adjust as fast as possible, and that required sleeping through the night. It wasn’t long before sleep overcame me again. It was some of the best sleep I’ve had in months.

2

AND SO IT BEGINS – DEALING WITH THE REALITY OF A PANDEMIC ABROAD

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED MARCH 13, 2020

Dealing with the adjustment has begun as usual—lots of sleep. Sleeping the first two days mostly away, it seems every time I do wake, the world has slipped a little closer to chaos. This morning, I awoke to a canceled NBA season, NASCAR races without spectators, NHL, NCAA, and MLB; government buildings, schools, colleges, and the like shuttering their doors back home in the States. It really is a good way to cause concern for a current expat like myself.

Here in Vietnam, things started as usual. Lots of great food, trips to the mall and local markets, some time enjoying Diem's company. It is great to be home with her again, and it seemed things here, at least for now, would be business as usual. Then I woke up on Friday morning. I had received word that An Lao, the village my wife Diem is from and a place I always visit when in the country, would only host us if we quarantined for 14 days upon our arrival.

In short, we weren’t welcome. The local authorities called my father in law Ba, it’s a small town and everyone knew I was coming, and informed him that Da Nang has been declared an infection zone and anyone arriving from there would be quarantined. There are only a couple of confirmed cases in Da Nang, all in hospital quarantine, and I wonder if this is more about public comfort than actual real concern. I will not complain, maybe things will change soon.

The unfortunate part of this is our daughters, Jennie and Lisa, are in An Lao with my in-laws. They were rushed to the village at the beginning of the outbreak as a measure of caution but are now unable to return. If we go and get them, we will be quarantined for 14 days, and anyone who brings them to us cannot return to An Lao, barring a 14-day quarantine of their own. So, for now, we wait.

So Diem and I have settled into a wonderful routine of cooking, eating, sleeping, rinsing, and repeating. We are hoping to go to Hoi An tomorrow, but we are waiting for approval from the Hoi An authorities. It has been suggested to me, at least for the next week or so, to be a little low-key as a stigma is beginning to develop towards Westerners, as the tide has turned and it is now the Western world struggling to cope.

We did go to the mall yesterday during my few hours of lucidity. We sat next to the ice-skating rink, enjoying an iced coffee as local youths darted and slid around. While at the mall, we all had our temperatures taken several times, as the major stores had guards posted checking for fever. It was a sobering reminder that things, at least for now, were coated with an air of universal caution. After the mall we came home and I again found myself in a sunset induced stupor as my circadian rhythm struggled to cope with strange new hours of the setting eastern sun.

Diem prepared us a delicious dinner as I sat swaying, almost paralyzed by the hormonal adjustment taking place deep within my body. After dinner, sleep overtook me again like the Angel of Death, and it would be almost fourteen hours before I emerged.

I awoke around 10 a.m. local time, still feeling a bit of a hazy fog. Diem was getting restless in the apartment, waiting for that magical moment when I normalized, but that time had not yet come. I showered and tried to wash the haze away, but it could not be cleansed. Again, I fell into a dreamless slumber filled with semi-lucid images of blue dragons and the eastern sun.

Around two in the afternoon, I awoke to what seemed like a quasi-stable state. Diem was ready to move. I donned some appropriate attire, and we walked the six or ten blocks—I couldn’t be sure in my current state—down to the street market to pick up some of the bounty just coming in from the open sea. That is something that never grows old. The streetsides were laden with the day's catch, often still squirming, for my edible delights. We procured our favorite. Fresh ocean snails clambering to escape, in addition to some clams, fresh tidal oysters and a slipper lobster.

We headed back to our apartment to prepare our feast for the evening. Fresh lemongrass, mint, garlic, and chili—it was a dinner fit for a king. We ate our fill as the sun set over the mountains. As the fading light of the dying sun turned to darkness, sleep overcame me again. A few days more and the adjustment would be complete; until then, sleep would come at every turn.

3

SUNSET IN HOI AN

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED MARCH 14, 2020

My internal clock was still struggling to adjust, and I had slept most of the day away. Diem, ever so patient, was beginning to become a bit restless. I knew she was itching to get out and do some exploring and her favorite activity, taking pictures. So, after a quick afternoon snack, we climbed on our motorbike and headed south. We were going to one of my favorite places in the world, Hoi An.

I have written many articles on the UNESCO World Heritage Site, so I will just refer you here for the sake of redundancy. We have almost exclusively taken cars on the forty-five-minute trip south of Da Nang. Today would be a little special. Today, we would brave the trip down the coastal highway on our motorbike.

The breeze was sweet and the air cool as we left the congested streets of downtown Da Nang, the sea to our left, the wide open road in front, mountains to the right, and south we went. It's always a different perspective seeing the world without glass in front of you: sounds, smells, the feel of the wind against your skin—it's wonderful.

We headed past the towering Marble Mountains that climb quickly from the coast, just yards from the ocean. These ancient marble formations cascaded with jungle vines and the occasional pagoda. The area is also known for its marble craftsmen, and we zipped past the many vendors selling their marble and stone sculptures and jewelry. Everything from Lady Buddha statues towering overhead to the smallest bracelets and trinkets could be found here. The sun was beginning to hang low in the afternoon sky as we continued south towards our destination.

We took the turn off the coastal route about 30 minutes outside of Da Nang, and, like magic, there she was. It's like going through a time portal: the wide-open highway gives way to smaller local roads, and the rice fields, water buffalo, and ancient fishing gear in the waterways, begin to fill the scene.

The raised causeways crisscross the endless rice paddies, creating a patchwork of green fields with gray edges. The last time we were here, it was before planting, and the fields had just been flooded in preparation. Now the growing season is in full swing, and the fields are as green as emeralds. Local children stand on the causeways and fly kites in the warm tropical breeze. Across a few causeways, down some narrow village streets, we arrived in the heart of the city. We took a slip of paper from the parking attendant and headed into the village.

Hoi An is always so beautiful, day or night; it doesn’t matter. A romantic mix of French colonial architecture with ancient Vietnamese, Chinese, and Japanese influence, I have never questioned why Travel + Leisure voted it the most beautiful village in the world for 2019.

We headed down the streets lined with it’s ancient lantern and tailor shops. You could get a custom, made from scratch, hand-tailored silk suit here for under $200 USD. We continued on past the shop displays and made our way to the river delta and heart of the village. We walked the main bridge, first going past the ancient bridge built by Japanese traders some 400 years ago. It’s always a beautiful site. We strolled down the food market and grabbed a few snacks before heading back to the bridge for nightfall.

The sun was not long from setting, and the white egrets were beginning to set out from their daily hunting grounds in the rice fields. They flew over us in formation as we took a few pictures of the setting sun against the river. Within minutes, darkness came, and the beautiful lanterns that lent the ancient village its name came to life. It was such a beautiful sight mirrored against the lazy river. We wandered the streets for a while in the cool night and just enjoyed being out of the apartment. It's always a tough adjustment, completely switching time. I’ve said it before: the addictive qualities of time zones are absolute.

After some time just walking the beautiful streets lit by endless lanterns, it was time to head home. We mounted our two-wheel steed and headed north out of the river delta of the Thu Bon River and the village of Hoi An. The drive back at night was much different. We had to stop several times for directions, as the crisscrossing causeways and dimly lit streets, combined with the problem of no sun for bearings, often left us unsure if we were indeed headed north.

We ended up on DT607, which runs parallel to the coastal highway we took into Hoi An but farther inland. It was under heavy construction, very dusty, and not visible to the sea, leading us to question often if we were, in fact, going north to Da Nang. Everyone we asked said we were on the right path, and sure enough, about 45 minutes later, the southern edge of the city came into view.

Da Nang is always beautiful at night, and it is always wonderful to see her lit bridges and riverboats in their neon facades drift and cross the young city. We made our way across the expanse of the city and Dragon Bridge towards our home but stopped at the beach so I could get my feet wet. The beach is so beautiful here: light khaki sand, crystal blue waters, and at night, the bright neon city lights dance like fairies across the white-capped waves that gently lap onto the shore.

Back in December, with the monsoon season still in effect, the ocean was aggressive and dynamic. Now that the dry season had arrived, the temperatures were warm, and the water was calm and clear. I kicked off my loafers and walked the 50 or so yards down to the water and waded into the slightly cool surf. One can imagine, in the heat of the day, with the sun beating down, that the water was perfect.

After getting my feet wet, we headed back over to the apartment. Diem and I made some dinner, and I called some friends back home to catch up. My body was finally beginning to adjust, and as we finished eating, it wasn’t long before sleep took me again. For tomorrow is going to be a most wonderful day.

4

PANDEMIC AND PERSONAL OBSERVATIONS

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED MARCH 17, 2020

I have been in Vietnam now for seven days. Within days of my arrival, entry visas were canceled, and all foreigners were to be turned away or diverted. I, in a sense, threaded the needle. Things were spiraling out of control back home in the States. With a two-day travel time, I wasn’t sure what things would look like when I landed in Vietnam. As I have already told you, it was fine—a few extra documents and the very communist requests. My address while here and potential travel destinations, immediate family members here and back home complete with addresses and phone numbers.

The government here takes no chances, but they do it in a remarkably unobtrusive way. In no way did I ever feel threatened or put out. The government here, I must say, is quite warming in the midst of this pandemic. Here in Vietnam, similar to Christmas back home, schools and businesses close for the Lunar New Year. Like Easter in the West, the Lunar New Year holiday fluctuates from year to year, dependent entirely on the lunar cycle.

In what can only be described as an incredible bit of luck for Vietnam, its first cases arrived at the beginning of the holiday in early January. Vietnam ordered all schools to remain closed and has, to this day, not reopened. It’s been two and a half months since a class has been held. Many children here have been sent to the countryside to ride the outbreak out with grandparents and extended family, as my two daughters have also done. A great thanks to my in-laws, Khe and Ba, and my brothers and sisters there. 

Diem and I are not currently allowed to visit, as I landed in the midst of the second outbreak. We will be required to quarantine if we travel to An Lao, as I am one of only a few Americans to set foot there, and they are not willing to take chances. I completely understand. We are discussing dealing with the quarantine, as I would rather stay there for a month than anywhere else in the world. I miss our girls and family greatly.

The local police, in protective gear, deliver food every morning to any and all quarantined populations. In addition, if you suspect illness, local hospitals will pick you up at your apartment or hotel and take you for free testing. If positive, or if known exposure is determined, then treatment, meals, and care while in treatment or isolation are also free of charge. Vietnamese or foreign national, it does not matter.

In the beginning, this allowed Vietnam to not only be one of the first outside of China to confirm the disease but also one of the only countries to immediately contain it. In the first month and a half of the outbreak in Asia, Vietnam only accumulated 16 cases, and by February 26, had completely eradicated the disease.

Travel eased, and life began to go back to normal. Then tragedy struck again. The country was two days away from declaring itself COVID-19 free when, on March 6, a 26-year-old woman who had traveled across Europe during the outbreak landed in Hanoi. It was a nightmare scenario Vietnam was trying to avoid: a European tourist bringing the virus with her and wandering around the northern tourist areas of Vietnam.

The government began to pick up and quarantine everyone she had come in contact with. They were also providing all of the services to all I previously described. Because of one case flown in via the UK, from March 5 to March 17, cases spiked from sixteen, all cured, to sixty-six, and hundreds more quarantined. As I stated before, I landed in Da Nang on March 11, and shortly after, all visas were revoked. If you were not already here, then you are not coming.

We are doing fine, incredibly well actually, so don’t worry. The government did issue an ordinance that all people wear facial coverings in public. You can see people limiting exposure by spending less time in public spaces. The economic hit here is already apparent as tourism has ground to a halt. I don’t notice it that much because my wife and I shop at local markets and food stalls versus Western stores and eateries, but the empty beaches have been noticeable.

As we drive through the streets and travel through the tourist areas, many Western eateries are shuttered. The government here has already begun measures to prop up the local economies, and you get a real sense of the community coming together to get through this crisis. “This too shall pass” comes to mind as we traverse the uncharted waters of a new world reality. To all my beloved family and friends back home, I pray daily and often, especially for my friends and family in the trenches. Those who depend on customers but now also are wary of them: good luck to you all.

5

NOTES FROM VIETNAM

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED APRIL 8, 2020

It's been some time since I've written anything. Quite frankly, I haven’t felt like there’s much to write about. Things here in Vietnam have been incredibly controlled, and the sweeping efforts to contain the virus have been beyond impressive. As of the morning of April 8, there have only been 252 confirmed cases since the virus first reached Vietnam on January 23. We just had our third morning in a row with no new cases, though, sadly, on the afternoon of the third day, four new cases were reported.

As most know, travel ground to a halt, specifically for foreigners, shortly after I landed on March 11. I had about a week to get out and about, but only in Da Nang, before things began to tighten further. As of midnight on April 1, the entire country is now on lockdown in all but name. The directive calls for a halt in all unnecessary transportation and most businesses shuttered. There haven’t been any international flights in or out since early March and now most domestic air traffic has been reduced as well.

Only passengers are allowed now that are necessary in containing the spread. There are currently two flights each day from Saigon to Hanoi and vice versa, and one flight each way from Da Nang to Hanoi and Da Nang to Saigon. In addition, there is one train traveling each way from Saigon to Hanoi each day. All other buses, taxis, and public transportation of any kind are suspended. Even ferries from the islands to the mainland are shut down.

They wish people to stay isolated, and they mean it. They are keeping grocery stores and corner markets open—there is usually one every block or so—to minimize movement over distance. No place other than a domicile is allowed to have more than two persons under any circumstances.

The Prime Minister has ordered all exports of food and basic supplies halted as stockpiles are being established in the five major cities. The Prime Minister has ordered that food stocks be prepared as a total lockdown may be coming soon. It is feared here that Saigon and Hanoi may have no choice but to take these drastic measures. Da Nang, for now, may be spared from that fate.

My flight back to the U.S. was canceled by the airline about a week after I arrived, so my return date of April 28 will not be possible. It is expected that international travel will still be grounded here at least through May and maybe beyond. The Vietnamese Immigration Authority has also shuttered for the foreseeable future as an additional measure to stop the spread. If all the borders are closed, who needs an immigration department? There is, however, a silver lining to this situation.

Vietnam is a country that does require a visa to visit; just a passport is not enough. My visa is not unlimited, and I must be out of the country by June 11. I received an email from the U.S. embassy yesterday stating that all visas are hereby frozen. There will be no penalties or overstay violations from expired visas due to immigration department closures during the pandemic, so there is that.

Now that the dirty stuff is out of the way, let’s talk about life in isolation. We are doing very well. We have plenty of food, Netflix, Disney+, Hulu, and all the other crap that I am now so happy to have. Diem and I have found ourselves in this shampoo-bottle cycle of sleep, cook, eat, watch television (she loves action comedies), cook, eat, practice English, cook, eat, play games, have a few cocktails, rinse, and repeat.

I try to avoid too much of the news, as it’s just getting really depressing. We got stuck here in a small window that ensured we were together but also ensured we would be separated from all of our children. Both of us are getting very homesick for our children, so we talk to all of them often and make the best of it.

The building has emptied out, so we have a whole apartment building to ourselves, which is actually kind of eerie at times. You don’t know how nice it is to say “good day” to someone when coming up the stairs or pass a neighbor until you have no neighbors. The landlord opened all the doors to the rest of the building, so I find myself wandering sometimes out of boredom. We stockpiled so much fresh food the other day that I took a refrigerator from one of the lower apartments. I don’t think anyone will be needing it anytime soon.

We have a fishpond on our rooftop patio, and sometimes I sit out there and feed the albino catfish bits of scraps after dinner. The rooftop is an absolute lifesaver, as I’d probably have gone mad without it. It’s not so much the isolation as it is the noise, or lack of it. I stand on the patio and look down at the streets in the afternoon, and there is just nothing: no bustling street vendors, no karaoke off in the distance—a major city where the sound of songbirds drowns out everything. Usually the noise of the coffee shop on the bottom floor rises up the central stairwell beginning early in the morning, but now, nothing.

There are some wonderful positives, though. With most road traffic gone, the skies emptied out, and industry halted, the view grows every day. Previously, on extremely clear days, I could only see a hazy purplish-black silhouette of Cham Island, sitting about 14 miles or so off the coast. This afternoon, I was able to make out features of the island’s jungle-coated cliffs and rocky outcrops. The mountains around the city are growing in number as visibility improves. It’s actually quite beautiful. The air is crisper and cleaner than it’s ever been. I can see Ba Na Hills from our kitchen window, and the texture of the jungle leaves are becoming visible from our patio view.