The attempted way back home
Between the time we booked our flight to NYC, and the flight itself, not a lot has happened in our so-called ‘trip’: we mostly stayed confined in a small Airbnb (that had 5 beds, but no couches or desks), tried to eat out once or twice in empty restaurants and away from other groups of people, and follow the news. We also decided to book the most uncertain segment of the flight — New York to Montreal (where we live). When we booked, there was no indication if we’ll be allowed in (actually, there was. The indication was they will definitely not let us back in, and this whole plan was based on the assumption we can reason our way in with the border agents).
The biggest piece of news came in the afternoon before the day of our flight. Bill Blair, Canadian Minister of Public Safety, has announced in a press conference that work permit and student visa holders who reside in Canada, will be allowed in. This was what we were waiting for — and it took off a massive weight off our shoulders. Although still not an official document/statement by the government, we had something to hold on to.
Packed and ready, with all the sanitizers we had left, some gloves and alcohol-pads, we hopped on an Uber to the airport. Outside, people started lining up for food in the supermarkets, since Piñera, the Chilean president, has announced that a state of emergency will go into place starting midnight (an hour after our flight was scheduled to leave), meaning restrictions on leaving houses enforced by the army.
The airport, as expected, was packed with foreigners trying to make their way out before the border closes even further. Lines were overflowing into the sidewalks, passengers standing way to close to one another, but everyone seemed keen on boarding their flight ASAP. Overhearing some stories in lines it sounded like most people have just started their trip, or were somewhat in the middle, when they had to make their way back to Santiago and to their home countries.
Checking in and dropping our bags went smoothly, and so did going through border control. No one seemed to care if we had any symptoms upon leaving the country, contrary to the very efficient system Chile had in place for people coming into the country.
The flight from Santiago to Miami was pretty good — LATAM’s service is fantastic, when it does not involve calling their help line in a time of worldwide crisis (have been on the line for over 2 hours before giving up and sucking up the costs of a flight I couldn’t cancel). We were notified hand sanitizers are available in the galleys, and all flight attendants were wearing N95 masks and gloves, and seemed to minimize their aisle-traveling time.
Upon landing in Miami, I wondered what does coming into the US look like, a whole week after we left and passed there last. The answer was somewhat sad, disappointing and scary: it looks exactly the same. No one took our temperature when leaving the airplane or going into the terminal, or at any point later; no one asked about symptoms; and most of the staff was not wearing any protective gear. The urgency of the situation seemed to not have made its way to government agencies, but the positive side was the airport was quite empty, meaning at least citizens are starting to be aware.
After making our way to the ticketing counter (I’ve never in my life before booked flights with a person. Can you imagine that? This would be the third time this trip), in hope to change our upcoming flights from Miami to Newark and from LaGuardia to Montreal, to earlier as possible, and ideally without changing airports in NYC.
The first change was quite simple — and free. The American Airlines rep-lady was quite pleasant, chatty and kind, helping me forget for a bit longer that this is a super critical moment. As I was asking for the airplane type (I really hoped it wouldn’t be a tiny, ancient Embraer 140), the supervisor was walking between the counters announcing: “Ladies, Australia just closed its borders. If anyone is coming with requests to Australia, tell them they aren’t going anywhere”.
Our first flight booked, the rep started looking at the flights to Montreal. Now the stressful part started, with some questions:
AA: “Are you Canadian citizens?”
GT: “No, we’re residents” (handing out my Quebec health card)
AA: “OK good. What is this card? Do you have a permanent resident card?”
OJ: “We have a work permit, it’s in the passport” (taking his passport and opening on the permit page)
AA: “Ah ok, let me take a look.”
For a few minutes, the rep seemed to be struggling a bit with the system, trying to input our data. I, of course, went into a worry loop, that this is the point we’re going to get rejected, and OJ started mumbling something about getting a beach house for a while in Miami Beach.
But behold — after about 10 minutes, it worked. She didn’t ask anymore questions about our status in Canada, and we were checked in. We’re not staying in a beach house, but are one step closer to getting home.
An empty flight (10 people on board an A321) later, we landed in LaGuardia. As expected, no one talked to us when we landed, and we checked our bags again and sat down for a Shake Shack near the windows. I believe the entire terminal B had less than 100 people in it, and following Bill de Blasio’s instructions, all restaurants’ seating areas were closed to public.
Two hours later, when it was time to board, I expected the airline agents at the gate to check for symptoms, as we kept on reading in the news that Canada-bound flights will be asked to monitor passengers for symptoms and deny boarding to anyone presenting any of the 3 main symptoms. But again — the system seemed to not be working. No one asked anything, let alone taken temperature, and soon we were on our tiny, fragile Embraer 140 (😕) descending over the St. Lawrence river into Montreal-Trudeau.
Landing in Montreal, once again my hopes were up, that at least the Canadians must be doing it better than the Americans, when it comes to their healthcare. It was the case, but it was very minimal. As we made our way in the airport, two things happened:
- We got a small sheet notifying us about the 14-day mandatory self-quarantine
- We were asked if we had any symptoms.
- That’s it.
Once again, no actual screening was done at the airport, and it was all based on people’s will to tell the truth. This was a bit alarming at this point in time, as the minimum expectation was for temperature checks to make sure no one is presenting severe symptoms.
A few questions later about where we went and for what purposes, did we bring anything back (yes! two bottles of Pisco that will power us via the mystic energy of Pisco Sours), and we were allowed to cross back in, and make our way home.
But at that point, I really didn’t care much anymore. I was glad I made it across all borders, and go up the stairs of my apartment for the last time in the coming two weeks.
