The first few days after I returned from Laos were filled with a blur of new people and places, as I left the apartment in Dang Xa and moved to Ecopark where I planned to stay for the next three months. Here, on the sixteenth floor of a towering block of flats, I met Quynh. He introduced himself to me as Thomas, as I struggled to pronounce his Vietnamese name. It was his little apartment that I would be staying in for three months, or so I thought.
I spent a couple of days getting used to my surroundings in Ecopark which I found to be much to my liking, with a beautiful park surrounding a lake and many charming cafes to visit. On Monday the 9th of March I had my first two lessons teaching English online. Technical difficulties combined with my nervousness made it a sorry affair, but I came better prepared the next day.
Wednesday 11th March 2020
On my third day teaching I rose early with Thomas, and we set off in his little car into the city. I still had five lessons to teach, but as there was maintenance going on in our building that day, there would be no electricity for the whole day. After a bowl of steaming Phở for breakfast, Thomas directed me to a café with a workspace and I ordered and coffee and set myself up in a corner. The day passed slowly, with many technical difficulties, and the constant static noise feeding through my headphones had my ears throbbing and aching by my fifth lesson. As I finally packed up my things and made ready to leave, I could feel a headache seeping into my skull.
Seeking fresh air, I walked briskly to a nearby park and sat on a bench overlooking a lake, watching as Hanoians streamed past me carrying out their various daily exercises. There was a soft breeze, but the temperature must have been around 22C, as indeed it had been for the past few days in Hanoi. It made a big change to the scorching heat of Laos the previous week, but I was still comfortable in shorts. However, as I sat on the bench, a sudden chill washed over my entire body, causing the hairs on my arms to rise. I looked around shivering, wondering if the wind had changed, but the chill disappeared as soon as it had arrived.
On the car journey back to Ecopark, the headache increased, and I began to feel uncomfortably hot. As the two sensations persisted alongside one another, I thought little of the heat initially, but by the time we pulled up outside our tower block the mild heat had turned into a fierce burning sensation all over my body. For the past couple of days, the security guard had been scanning the temperatures of anyone entering the building with a heat gun. 37.5C is the upper boundary of ‘normal’ body temperature. As we entered the building shortly before 18:00, my temperature read 37.2C. I do not know what would have happened had it been higher.
Feeling a little nauseous, I excused myself to Thomas and lay down for a while. At dinner, I had little appetite, and felt increasingly hot and feverish. Every now and again the same chill would rush through my body, as if someone were pouring ice-cold water into a heated pan. But the sensation of coldness would disappear a moment later and I would be left with the familiar burning feeling.
I am trying to describe these symptoms as accurately as possible, because in retrospect it is easy to dismiss them as nothing, but at the time I was quite concerned. For the past couple of weeks, I had had a slight cough. Having appeared slowly out of nowhere whilst I was in Chu, away from any coronavirus cases, I thought nothing of it, perhaps attributing it to my swim in Cam Son lake. But I after I returned from Laos, I noticed the cough seemed more persistent and regular. I am no stranger to flu and understood how numerous factors such as an extended period of swimming in Laos, the difference of temperature in Laos and Vietnam and stress from travelling could have contributed towards worsening my cough. But despite this, I was alarmed by the rapidity with which my temperature was rising. I rarely get headaches and can count the number of times that I’ve had a bad fever on a single hand.
I will admit that the headlines and fearmongering of the tabloids undoubtedly influenced my decision in some way, perhaps merely subconsciously. But later that evening the persistent cough and fever, combined with the sensation of nausea and the headache which would not go away, led me to the decision to see if I could get tested for Covid-19.
I explained my symptoms to Thomas, and we attempted to call the hotline, but could not get through to anyone, possibly because it was after nine in the evening by this point. Thomas decided to take me to the local hospital in Ecopark, which turned out to be closed, and so we drove back through the township to the Van Giang district hospital. Here we saw some health workers who gave me Oresol to drink to lower my temperature. Having been scanned at well over the 37.5C limit on the way out of our building in Ecopark, the thermometer under my arm was now reading close to 40C. They were unable to test me at this hospital, and suggested we go to a larger hospital in central Hanoi. Thomas kindly drove me there, where I was asked a few questions and told to fill out a form with my symptoms. Saying goodbye to Thomas, I was transferred into a little ambulance van and we drove out into the blackness of the city.
At around midnight I arrived at the National Hospital of Tropical Diseases, not far from Noi Bai international airport. Here I was taken into the emergency entrance and told to sit on a bed while I placed another thermometer under my arm and filled out another form. The nurses who gave me my instructions were fully clad in anti-microbial clothing, from the plastic wrapped around their shoes to the goggles and masks obscuring their faces. Although I could not tell what they looked like, and they could not understand English, they spoke and gestured to me kindly enough, and I filled out the form accordingly. As I was hunched over my form, a voice made my head turn. It was a young Vietnamese man speaking to me in English asking me where I was from. His name was Linh, and he was experiencing similar symptoms to me, but with more of a sore throat and less of a cough. He was a 21-year-old tour guide from Hanoi, who spoke English nearly perfectly, and was concerned that he had caught the coronavirus from a tourist when he was working.
We were taken together to the same room, which turned out to be immensely lucky for me, as over the next week Linh would prove to be the only means of communication with the nurses I had. We were given blankets, and I slept in my clothes until 02:00 when a brusque knock on the door woke us.
A doctor entered wearing exactly the same attire of baggy blue plastic. He told us to take our temperature again with the thermometers we had been given and held a stethoscope to our backs as we breathed deeply. He left after rattling off something in Vietnamese, and I fell into a deep sleep again.
Shortly before seven we were woken again by two nurses knocking on our door: it was breakfast time. I was still feeling feverish, and the cold rushes came more and more frequently now. I felt incredibly weak, and my thermometer was still reading around 39C.
Along with the thermometer and my blanket, I had been given a plastic mug (there was a water dispenser outside in the corridor), a toothbrush and toothpaste, a bar of soap, some sachets of shampoo and a very small towel. Our room had just two beds, and at the end by the window there was a little toilet with a shower fitted to the wall. Later that morning I was given a little blue pill of Aerius and two larger white Augmentin pills, as well as another sachet of Oresol to mix with water. Finally, a nurse came to take a small blood sample from my arm and used a long swab to take a sample from my throat. She disappeared, and Linh informed me that it could take two to three days to get the results. I spent the rest of that day sleeping, sipping water from my little orange mug and messaging friends and family to keep them updated, until in the afternoon I received a message from Jamie-Claire, one of the managers of Coins for Change, the charity with which I was volunteering in Vietnam.
In a brief phone call with Jamie-Claire, I was informed of the shocking news of the status of C4C volunteers in Vietnam. The Vietnamese government, having been incredibly strict with the spread of coronavirus since the very beginning, were now putting extreme pressure on organisations such as Coins for Change who work with foreigners in Vietnam. Jamie explained that all C4C volunteers were being forced to return to their home countries as soon as feasibly possible. After she hung up, I stared at the wall feeling empty. I was in disbelief at the fact that the seven-month trip I had planned was now going to be cut in half. At the time I was distraught, but in retrospect I understand better the seriousness of the Covid-19 pandemic. Vietnam clearly views travellers such as me as potential carriers of the disease, and it made sense for me to return to England to save putting the lives of Vietnamese at risk.
By the evening the fever had not relinquished its hold on my body, and I was certain I had made the right choice in coming to get tested. Never before had I experienced a fever that had lasted so long with such intensity. I failed for the third time that day to finish my meal and fell asleep early despite having slept in the day.
Friday came and went in a similar fashion, and I passed the time napping and watching films on my phone, doing everything I could to preserve the battery. All I had brought with me was my phone, passport, wallet, portable charger and the clothes I was wearing.
By Saturday both mine and Linh’s portable chargers were exhausted, and we were forced to borrow a power brick from a Japanese man in the adjacent room.
By Saturday evening I had recovered enough to finish all of my food, and it was now that Linh and I received the welcome news that we had both tested negative. My temperature had been dropping steadily over the past three days and was now within decimals of 37C. I naively hoped to leave the hospital the following day if I could only get my temperature down to a healthy 37 or lower. To my dismay, Linh informed me that the nurses had to run a second test and continue to monitor us to make certain that we were clear of the disease.
“Special Isolation Area” 
When I woke on Sunday morning, the fever was gone completely, as was my headache, and I finally felt a little stronger, although my cough remained for the rest of the time that I was in hospital. Linh and I were moved to a different room with four beds, where we were joined by the Japanese man from the neighbouring room and another Vietnamese man. Later, a nurse came to take another sample, the same as previously, for a second test. By this time, I was indescribably bored from spending each and every day shut inside the same four walls. We had been given pyjamas, and I gratefully changed into them, having previously loathed the feeling of showering only to dress once more in my dirty clothes.
The Japanese man had come prepared, with multiple chargers for his laptop, two phones and iPad, and a bag full of spare clothes. During the day he tapped away on his laptop and responded to call after call in rapid Japanese. The Vietnamese man was cheery and spoke very quickly to me, not caring that I could barely understand a word. He had also come somewhat prepared and had even managed to bring some pot noodles with him, which I declined when he offered some to me. The food in the hospital was far better than I had expected, and the nurses who knocked on our doors at 07:00, 11:00, and 16:30 were very friendly, hiding smiles behind their masks and goggles. Breakfast varied, but often consisted of noodle soup in strange polystyrene bowls. Lunch and dinner consisted of a large portion of rice with one meat dish, one vegetable dish and one miscellaneous. The taste of the food itself was not particularly impressive, but it was filling, and the cooks had made an effort to ensure that we never ate the same style of dish twice in a row. Every meal saw a new type of boiled vegetable, and chicken and beef alternated cooked in several different methods.
Downloading the kindle app on my phone, I spent the majority of my time from Sunday until Thursday reading. Finishing one book on the Sunday, I finished three more books and one play in the following three days, having absolutely nothing else to do but stare at my phone screen.
It became apparent that a mass repatriation was commencing in Vietnam, and the airlines responded in due course by doubling or tripling the prices of their flights back home. I had hoped to return to Chu to wish a final goodbye to my host family at Sun School, but I realised with a heavy heart that this would not be possible. Ha informing me that the authorities were now quarantining anyone who travelled from Hanoi to Bac Giang put the final nail in the coffin of my plans for reunion.
Bitterly disappointed to find myself booked onto a flight at 00:40 on Friday the 20th of March, I tried my best to think positively about my return. I had been informed that I would be allowed to leave on Thursday, and I awoke itching to get out of the place. Much to my frustration I was not allowed to leave until 15:00 that afternoon. I took a taxi back to Ecopark and, after packing my things, soon found myself sitting down to my final meal in Vietnam with Thomas, his friend Phuong, and Anh and Vu who had come to wish me farewell. The whole evening felt surreal, and before I could process the fact that this was goodbye, Thomas and I had left Anh and Vu behind us and were driving to the airport.
I could barely believe what I was doing as I said a sad goodbye to Thomas and miserably dragged my suitcase to the check-in gates. None of it felt real. I flew via Dubai and was lucky enough to have no delays or cancellations.
I had been in quarantine at the hospital for almost eight days. Less than 36 hours after this I arrived at my home in England. My stay in hospital had been most perplexing. Lying back on my hard mattress for hours on end, watching the world rush past me through my phone screen as Covid-19 became a pandemic and cases continued to rise with increasing rapidity. I felt powerless and, once I had recovered, frustrated and bored. But throughout the whole experience I became increasingly thankful for the professionalism of the Vietnamese healthcare workers. The nurses and doctors, despite being unable to communicate with me, remained friendly and I found it impossible not to trust them. Moreover, having expected a large bill for a week spent in hospital, I was shocked when on leaving the hospital I was given a certificate of my negative test and sent on my way. It seemed the government had funded all treatment of coronavirus cases including the cost of keeping patients such as me in isolation while they waited for their test results.
At the end of the experience I was left with a newfound respect for the Vietnamese healthcare service and a certificate confirming that I had tested negative for Covid-19 twice. Above all, while cases of the virus continue to rise globally, the efficiency with which the hospital operated and how successful Vietnam has been in restricting the spread of the virus (at time of publishing, Vietnam had just 163 confirmed cases) fills me with hope and an inexplicable certainty that everything will be alright.
A Glimpse of Laos