Fleeing Brazil: A COVID Misadventure

Me in Jericoacoara, Brazil, the day before my COVID escape from Brazil

Everyone’s got a coronavirus story. So, no shocker on this one: I’m no exception. While writing this, I’m cozily and safely sitting in my pajamas at home and can’t help but think about how only in February and March, I was in Brazil. At the beginning of the year, I thought I’d be backpacking in Chile or Argentina at this very moment. Funny how life—er, COVID—works, huh?

Before I dive into the chaos of me escaping Brazil during the outbreak of COVID, you should know my original travel plans. Back in February, I flew from Colombia to Brazil in order to explore the country for a month and celebrate Carnaval in with some friends. Luckily, I did (it’s funny how large crowds now sound barbaric)!

Then, when March rolled around, I was backpacking northward. Near the end of my trip in Brazil, I planned to fly from Fortaleza (a northern city in the country) to Rio de Janeiro, Brazil on March 18th. Then, fly to Colombia on March 20th. I had flights and accommodations booked. Naturally, like anyone else in the world this past several months (or has it been a decade? Because it sure feels like that), those plans were completely tossed out.

March 14th: Jericoacoara, Brazil

I couldn’t fully enjoy this quaint tourist town that’s completely surrounded by sand dunes and a stunning beach because things were drastically escalating in terms of the coronavirus and border closures. I planned to stay three more days in this town, but considering countries around me were closing their borders to all foreigners, I knew I couldn’t wait until March 20th to go to Colombia. Six days was far too long. In a panicked response, I bought a flight for the early morning of March 16th (less than two full days from then) from Fortaleza (a nearby city) to Rio de Janeiro, then to Colombia.

March 15th: Jericoacoara to Fortaleza, Brazil

I left this adorable, quaint, natural gorgeous town in a sweaty rush (after losing my passport for 30 minutes, as you do in a state of panic) and escaped to a hotel in Fortaleza with a friend. But, while driving over sand dunes in an SUV, my phone pinged to inform me of a new obstacle: Colombia closed its borders to any and all foreigners.

Nope. Not going to Colombia the following morning. Now what?

When my friend and I arrived to our hotel, we bought a couple of beers and I figured out my next game plan in a couple of hours. She’d be flying back home to Boston the following morning as per originally planned and I, ultimately, settled on flying to Peru. Why not? I’d never been and it was a place I’d always wanted to go.

Next thing I knew, at nine o’clock that night, I had yet another last-minute flight booked: at five the following morning to Lima, Peru.

March 16th

Only an hour after booking my flight, we’d heard a rumor that Peru was closing its borders. Optimistic, I not-so-carefully shoved my bags full of my belongings. At 1:30AM, with my bags ready to roll near the door, I got a call from a friend in Peru, telling me to absolutely not come to Peru because the president had indeed closed the borders to all foreigners— effective immediately. He himself was in lockdown in his hostel. Swiftly, I cancelled my flight— just three and a half hours before takeoff (and magically, got a full refund!).

I woke my friend and finally admitted what I just didn’t want to admit: I had to go home.

But how? I couldn’t go back home to my dad and get him sick. In her dazed state, she suggested something remarkable: join her on her trek back home the following day and we’d self-quarantine together in her parents’ summer home in Cape Cod, Massachusetts.

Who in their right mind says “no” to a proposition like that?

Without batting an eye, I booked my third and fourth flights in two days: one to Rio de Janeiro and one to Boston. I’d be leaving the following afternoon.

While drenched in a panicked sweat, I lied back down and couldn’t help but think, “Alright. What other problems will I encounter on my way back to America?”

I left my friend (we’d meet at the airport in Rio since we had different flights there) and blissful hotel behind me as I took a taxi to the Fortaleza airport in the morning. Fortunately, I managed to wiggle out of a paying a hefty checked bag fee (a positive!) and made my way through the typical airport process to get to my flight.

There weren’t very many other travelers in the airport. But, among the other few travelers, what stood out to me were the darting, panicky eyes above variously colored face masks. Nearly everyone had appeared this way— and I was no exception.

Rio de Janeiro

I’d landed in Rio with no issues, luckily enough. However, while walking through the heavily crowded airport, the coronavirus chaos showed its truly ugly face to me for the first time: people in masks running everywhere, crowds of jumpy people yelling, lines up the wazoo, exhausted workers barely clinging to sanity. It was pandemonium—and I couldn’t help but feel nervous as a result. Thankfully, that face mask covered most of my visible nervousness!

Then, after taking all of this in, I checked my phone. I’d received a message from my friend, saying that our connecting flight to New York had been delayed— a whopping 12 hours. Instead of leaving at 10:30 PM that evening, we’d be taking off at 10:30 AM the following morning.

Wonderful. What was I supposed to do until then? It was only 4:00 in the afternoon! And what about our second flight from New York to Boston? We couldn’t miss that.

In order to answer that last question, I waited on line for an hour and a half to talk to an airline representative. And, as it turns out, you can even hit that language barrier at an international airport. Instead of simply answering my question about what was happening about the flight from New York to Boston the following day, this fellow took it upon himself to disappear for 20 minutes, then put me on a completely different flight leaving in just two hours to Atlanta, then another to Boston right after that.

I wasn’t given an option, so I had to take the flight and go. But, that meant abandoning my friend, who was currently somewhere in the air between Fortaleza to Rio de Janeiro.

While I was going through security, my friend had finally landed and was sprinting through the airport, trying to get on the same flight as me.

Alas, by the time she’d arrived to the airline’s desk, the flight had been full. She then was awarded a free hotel for the night (lucky!) and stuck with the original/delayed connecting flight to New York. Meanwhile, I was on my way to Atlanta, then Boston. Alone.

And, you guessed it: the dystopian drama didn’t end there!

March 16th & March 17th: Rio to Atlanta, Georgia to Boston

After being detangled from the frantic masses in the Rio airport, I boarded my flight to Atlanta, Georgia. Did you know that the Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta Airport is the busiest airport in the world? Well, I didn’t. Not until I got there myself, of course.

Through all of my planning to travel and travel during the evolution of the pandemic, one fear struck me the hardest: the health checks at the airports.

Granted, I didn’t feel slightly ill, so I technically shouldn’t have been worried. But, who knows what could go wrong? Plus, how long would those take? I only had an hour and a half to transfer on top of everything. In the world of airport travel, that is hardly enough time—and that’s not even during pandemic airport travel!

When I landed at the airport in Atlanta, everyone needed to get off the plane and pick up their bags. Then, if you were transferring, you needed to put your bag(s) onto a conveyor belt and it would get on your connecting flight. Yeah, strange and senseless system, isn’t it? Anyway.

After grabbing my bag, I went down an escalator and what was there waiting for me right after that conveyor belt? A long, snake-like line of possibly over a hundred frustrated, jumpy people.

Great. I joined the crowd and waited for the health check. And waited. And waited. And waited some more. I talked to some friendly folks behind me, who were on the same flight as I was to Boston. We increasingly got more and more worried about missing our flight as the minutes ticked past. By the time we reached the front, not only was it 10 minutes past our boarding time, but it wasn’t even a health check we were waiting for— it was just the typical understaffed security check!

I frantically unpacked my electronics, took off my shoes, walked through the detectors, tossed everything messily back together again, somehow lost my new friends in the pandemonium (sorry, not sorry), and sprinted through the airport. While sitting on the airport train to my gate, I was convinced there was no way I was making my flight. Absolutely none. I sprinted some more once the doors opened just in case and, by some sheer miracle, the plane hadn’t left. It was the final boarding call! There was one flight attendant behind the desk, raising his judgmental eyebrow at me, that final, last-second, sweaty mess of a passenger.

Regardless, I made it on my flight! I caught a break!

In contrast to my first flight, which was boarded to the gills, this flight was almost empty. There may have been 30 people in total on board, if that. So, yes— your lovely author caught another break: an entire row to herself! And even got two free snacks instead of just one!

I landed in Boston at 11:00 in the morning and realized that, throughout my entire journey, I went through 0 health checks. I can’t believe I ever worried about them in the first place.

Once in the completely deserted arrival hall (I swear, I saw a tumbleweed), I realized I was not going to wait over 13 hours for my friend to land and drive us both back to her place. So, instead, I ate a big, fat sandwich at the arrival gate, hopped on a bus with only 3 other people, then took an Uber to her place. And, in that little sanctuary away from the world and the virus, I showered, got into my pajamas, cuddled under a warm blanket, and didn’t move for the entire day and night.

And it was there I parked myself for 2 weeks, self-quarantined with a good pal. Not a bad ending to a nerve-wrecking trek home!