Ian detailed some of the story of our travel from the U.S. to Korea. I’ll pick up just before our paths diverged.
After we went through symptom screening at the airport and had handed over our pre-flight negative COVID test results, we started to walk over to the next area. Before we could get to the gate, our screener came running over with an in-ear thermometer. He had forgotten to check us for symptoms! He stuck the thermometer in Ian’s ear. He turned and stuck it in mine. Back to Ian, three checks in a row. Back to me. Back to Ian.
The screener turned and led us back to the symptom area and flagged down an inspector. The screener went running back to his booth to get us both green lanyards with cards labeled, "symptomatic," and had us put them on over our heads. The inspector looked at where our temperatures had been recorded, and took the lanyard back off my head, but he directed Ian to a walled off area labeled "Symptom Investigations." I stood with our things and made Ian give up his coat and sweater onto the pile of luggage, yelling after him to "Sit down and cool off!" I had read about people getting flagged for being overheated at temperature check stations before.
I texted with Ian through the cubicle wall between us and he reported a second temperature check 5-10 minutes later had clocked in at 37.1°C. Since this was lower than I had tested to begin with, I figured we would be in the clear, but nope. Apparently he needed to be detained at the airport until he could get COVID test results. I asked the ladies running the symptomatic inspection area if I could stay while he waited for his results, but they said no, helped collect his bags, and waved me off. I made sure I wasn’t accidentally in possession of anything Ian would need to navigate whatever came next and wished him luck before heading back into the next stage of immigration.
I was pretty dismayed at being separated as I continued through immigration (install an app—sit while they contact a resident to verify you’ve been requested to come—fill out paperwork about where you’re staying—sign a paper to promise not to leave quarantine or get deported). Part of the way through, my colleague texted me that one of his pieces of luggage was missing and one of ours was too. When I arrived at the baggage claim area, Ian’s roller bag and my duffle bag were there, but my roller bag was missing. Basically, I only had my pillow, some clothing and my work boots. Everything else I packed was in the bag that hadn’t kept up with us. Everything I planned for quarantine, everything for work, all my toiletries, and also, all of my socks. Not great.
At the lost bag desk, they assured me that bags usually show up a day later, and I filled out the paperwork. My colleague mentioned that there had been a sign saying our bags hadn’t arrived, so it was likely that they were still somewhere that was known, just not here. I refused to write down an address, since I still didn’t know where we’d be staying and I didn’t want them to deliver the bag to the hotel I’d be heading to in 14 days. They said I could call the next day to check on the bag, and tell them where to deliver it. I asked the ladies at the counter to please look after Ian’s bag, because it would be some time until he could come to claim it, and they said they would.
No problems through customs, as my colleague and I walked past the desk and out into a waiting area, to catch a bus to quarantine. There were two large groups of people already waiting, and about an hour later we were ushered forward outside and onto a bus. The full bus pulled out from the airport onto the road, and the sun was just coming up.
It was a hazy morning, and as the sun played hide and seek with the tall city buildings we passed, it burned a deep stoplight red. The bus ride was longer than I expected. After a half hour, I realized that Ian and I were basically going to be on our own to get to our destination in 14 days. I had heard the hotel assignments were not predictable, and there was no reason to expect we’d go to the same place. At 45 minutes, I started checking on Google Maps to see if we were approaching any of the common hotels I knew about. No. Maybe? There was one hotel very far out that we could have been heading to—The Golden Tulip. But before we got there, we pulled in at the Ramada. I knew people stayed at the Ramada, but I was pretty sure it was the worst hotel of the options. I hadn’t even mentioned it as a possibility to Ian, because I didn’t want him to focus on it. One colleague had found her room at the Ramada contained only hand towels, and was told to just make do when she called the desk to ask for a full-size towel.
They unloaded half the bus (and I hoped the rest of us would move on to another hotel), but then unloaded the other half. It was shockingly cold outside. They had us place all of our hand carried luggage to the side and sprayed it down with some sort mist. They conducted temperature checks, handed us rubber gloves and had us pick up our bags again before ushering us into a cold marble entry room. Our things were piled against the wall, and we were directed to sit at a row of counters and fill out paperwork. The paperwork was simple, with few questions. There was not much information, or many options to be had. Just some passport information, confirm our promise not to violate quarantine rules, and pick between normal or vegetarian meals. Then we lined up to pay for our stay, receive our room keys, and head up to quarantine for the next two weeks.
I’m in room 414.
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