Being in Australia instantly felt like a relief, a release from the uncertainty of getting locked down in China. The folks in the terminal weren't wearing masks. People were speaking English (of the Australian variety). I could read advertisements and make small talk with strangers. More than the transition to a English speaking country though, the world felt normal. Coffee shops, sandwiches, and not a security guard or temperature check to be seen. It was Saturday morning, February 1st. The sky was blue and the air was warm. Each day of the previous week was marathon of updates and rumors, each one entered into the great algorithm of when to take action and of what kind. Would it make sense to leave China for a week and then come back? Where should I go? The United States or somewhere closer? How long would the country be shut down? When would the airlines stop running? If I did stay in China, how would I get food? What if I got sick? What if I am sick? What would it be like to spend a month or two alone in my apartment? Will the campus reopen? When will we need to go back to work? If I leave China, will my plants die? What time is it? Why is Starbucks still open? The anxiety in these questions heightened by foreignness, illiteracy, and a lack of of control over my surroundings. All of this instantly gone after clearing customs. It helped that I was with two natives of Australia.
We rented a car and drove down the M1 from Brisbane. Jo and Dave had gotten an Airbnb in the town of Hastings Point, about thirty minutes south of the Gold Coast. I had made plans to spend the weekend with my old friend Jake and his wife Mary-Lou. The last time I had seen Jake was when I was living in New York, 2005, and had wrangled up a house paining job in the Berkshires of Western Massachusetts. Jake happened to be in Quebec at that time and I needed his help. We stayed at the house, painting all day and making use of the swimming pool, coming away with 3K apiece for ten day's work. Since then Jake and Mary-Lou had been living in Australia, mostly, and had been in the town of Ballina for the previous three years. Jake had mostly been painting houses in Australia, but had been diagnosed with Brain cancer three years previous, had surgery, made a miraculous recovery, and had since gotten a job working for a producer of mushroom extracts. He was also a serious surfer as many folk are down there on the coasts. Jake and Mary-Lou had heard of the coronavirus but didn't think much off it. Their news consumption was blissfully minimal.
Before getting to Jake's, we stopped at a Bunnings, a kind of Australian Home Depot, and ate sausage sandwiches, an Australian delicacy. A dad and his two kids were manning the grill at the Bunning's parking garage. I paid in heavy Australian coins. We drove a bit further to Coolangatta and got coffee, sat near the beach and marveled at the blue sky. People walked their dogs, surfed, ate, and rode bikes. We sat on the grass in the sun and talked about contamination, thinking about the 14 day possible incubation period and if we were bringing the virus to Australia. That we wanted to try and keep away from people as much as possible over the next two weeks, and for Jo and Dave, to keep away from their parents. I tried not to look at my phone to read the latest updates. I called Jake and made sure that he was okay with the risk of me coming there, that there was a chance that I carried the virus, asymptomatically or presymptomatically. He said he hadn't gotten sick for years and wasn't worried about it, that I was welcome. At the surf shop where I bought my swimming suit I told the clerk that it was my first time in Australia, that I had arrived that morning. I wanted to tell him more but thought twice. We had arrived in Australia, free and easy, but there was a residue of trauma from the whole experience. Like Indiana Jones reaching back to grab his hat as the stone door closed, we could not believe we had made it out.
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