The Dawn of COVID-19 in Cape Town: A Backpacker’s Account of Travel During the Pandemic

A Fool’s Errand 

On March 11, an hour before boarding, Gate B17 was crowded with passengers waiting to depart Chicago for Munich when President Trump’s voice interrupted the regular TV programming.

“To keep new cases from entering our shores, we will be suspending all travel from Europe to the United States for the next 30 days,” he announced. “The new rules will go into effect Friday at midnight.” 

There was a collective pause at the gate as passengers realized they had no choice but to readjust their plans. A line formed quickly at the desk to cancel tickets and the gate began to clear out. As I weighed my options, I asked remaining passengers what their plans were. 

A girl from Missouri got off the phone with her boyfriend who was asleep in Amsterdam and told me she’d decided to travel anyway and was preparing to live out of her suitcase for an extended period. Another woman traveling home to Rome after being in the U.S. for a while was anxious to return to her now quiet and quarantined country. 

The decision weighed heavily on me. I found myself in ethically uncharted territory and it was rapidly transforming. On one hand, the layover in Munich was only about six hours before the flight to Cape Town, where I had booked my solo-backpacking spring break trip two months ago. Though it was a risky move, I felt I could still make it through Europe and into South Africa on the outskirts of the travel ban. But the uncertainties of how quickly things could escalate during my stay tugged at my judgment. 

The early, impending threat of the virus was vague at the time and had just begun to consume all forms of media, overwhelming us with a tricky mix of information and speculation. The synchronized timing of being an hour out from embarking on the “trip-of-a-lifetime” during the first day of a global pandemic didn’t give me much time to think rationally. Cases were spreading rapidly in the U.S. and part of me felt like I was fleeing to a safer land, as South Africa had only reported its first case the week prior. But my role as a traveler wagered a new threat as a carrier. 

I had been anxiously navigating the O’Hare International Airport, staying conscious about my personal space and what I touched. Social distancing and additional public health precautions hadn’t yet been put in place, so lines were back-to-back and only a few extra sanitizing stations were planted in crowded areas. Less-so concerned with my own health, I was fixated on the chance that I could contract the virus and carry it internationally—particularly to a country that might not be as prepared to handle the crisis. 

But a short, six-night stay at 91 Loop Bootique Hostel awaited me in Cape Town and a direct flight back to the U.S. meant I (so far) wouldn’t be trapped by the travel ban. A nervous adrenaline and bold tenacity urged me through the gate and the much lighter plane departed for Germany. 

The Traveler’s Bane 

Earlier that day, the World Health Organization declared the novel coronavirus (COVID-19) outbreak a “global pandemic” because of its rapid infection rate and the severity of cases. By March 12, the United Nations reported nearly 125,000 cases in 118 countries: the most infected being China and Italy. 

South Africa was lingering behind the curve with 24 cases nationwide by March 13, according to the Health Ministry—a number proportional to Wisconsin’s 19 cases reported at the time by the Wisconsin Department of Health Services. Though, at this stage, testing was more limited, and cases had only begun to spread exponentially. The majority of those infected in South Africa had traveled to high-risk countries including the U.S., France, Britain and Italy. 

At the hostel, my dorm room and a single bathroom were shared by 20 guests, who were traveling from high-risk countries including the Netherlands, France, Mexico, the U.K. and Germany. Private pods and shared spaced were cleaned daily, yet guests intermingled fearlessly with other travelers, sharing cigarettes in the courtyard and bumping fists. 

Cape Town relies on tourist activity, but that is accompanied by a heightened risk for tourist-borne illnesses like COVID-19. That weekend, Cape Town was open and active as if it were immune to the virus. The city was packed with people—only a few wearing face or hand protection. The City Centre and tourist spots like the V&A Waterfront, beaches and national parks were crowded, but now a few market vendors advertised sanitizer and masks. 

On March 15, South African President Cyril Ramaphosa addressed the nation to announce a set of preliminary public health guidelines that would help prevent the spread of the virus before it became as severe as it was elsewhere. Other travelers and I gathered anxiously around a phone screen waiting to hear the verdict for the country and our travel plans. 

The morale dropped to a dull apprehensiveness throughout hostel. International flight plans began to dismantle and the frustrations and fears of being trapped became the distressing reality of traveling during the virus. Concerned about the risk of being stuck if things escalated before our flights home, others and I frantically scanned airlines for repatriation flights, but they were already becoming limited, particularly for travelers from parts of Europe and North America. 

“Never before in the history of our democracy has our country been confronted with such a severe situation,” President Ramaphosa said in the statement. He announced immediate public health measures including limiting group gathers to less than 100 people, canceling events and public gatherings, a travel ban on people traveling from high-risk countries (including China, Italy, Iran, South Korea, Spain, Germany the U.K. and the U.S.) and screenings for high-risk travelers to contain the spread while treating the infected. 

“The hardest part of traveling during the coronavirus was the uncertainty of if I was able to go home,” said Dutch traveler Irina Nisette, who had been traveling in Cape Town for two weeks and had number of failed flight plans before she was able to return to Amsterdam. 

Quarantined in a Hostel 

An indefinitely lasting term of quarantine, as many countries including the U.S. were already beginning to experience, was nearing for South Africa. And the thought of quarantining in a hostel seemed absurd. 

In the week following President Ramaphosa’s address, sanitizing stations were propped in shared spaces throughout the hostel. I returned to my bed and found a notice saying that the hostel would be adjusting accommodations to “mitigate the spread of COVID-19.” 

Rooms were reserved for guests who exhibited symptoms while other rooms were vacated to constrict occupancy. The restaurant in the hostel once open to the public was reserved for guests only and complimentary breakfasts were limited to a choice between two sandwiches as the kitchen cut its hours. 

Activities like hiking Table Mountain National Park became more challenging than they were less than a week prior; the cable cars that shuttled tourists up and down the mountain stopped running and hikers were left with no choice but to make the six-hour round-trip climb. Then, beaches, wineries, nightclubs and bars closed, and the city prepared for lockdown. 

By March 26, a week after I left, 91 Loop had shut its doors entirely. Thomas Roux, the hostel’s general manager, said it was one of the most stressful days of his job. Roux and his colleagues had been on high alert observing what other, particularly European, hostels were doing to practice public health precautions, many of which had already closed their doors to travelers. 

The decision to close the hostel meant the remaining guests needed to find someplace else to stay within the following two days. For longer-term guests and staff who had been living in the hostel, the abruptness of the ruling came as an additional shock as they scrambled to make a plan. 

“It’s a hard line to walk between economic uncertainty and people’s lives,” said Roux. “For us as a business, we can only do what’s mandated by the government.” 

South Africa’s COVID-19 Temporary Employee/Employer Relief Scheme offers financial support to employees who are unable to work because of the lockdown. 91 Loop’s managerial staff have applied for the funds to support their employees while the hostel is closed. 

Levels of Liberation 

South Africa’s first day of lockdown was on March 27, just as the country reported its first COVID-19 death. Meanwhile, other countries and parts of the U.S. were already weeks into their lockdowns. The lockdown in South Africa was broken into five levels of risk and activity allowed under COVID-19 restrictions. Under level five, all inessential economic activities are banned including tobacco and alcohol sales. Even public activities like dog walking are prohibited under the most severe stage.  

On May 1, the country moved into level four, which granted a partial opening of industries in agriculture, manufacturing and financial sectors. At this level, national borders remain closed, public transport is limited and gatherings are prohibited but residents can publicly exercise near their homes from 6 to 9 a.m. 

In Cape Town, the Sea Point Promenade has been crowded during the morning hours with people biking, jogging and taking advantage of the relaxed restriction. Social distancing precautions are enforced in areas by law enforcement and the military, with a heavier presence in the surrounding townships that have been rioting during the lockdown.  

The enforcement has been stringent to keep South Africa ahead of the curve, which has so far succeeded in keeping infection rates low.  But the nation’s people and economy are taking a hard hit. In townships like Khayelitsha, one of the poorest neighborhoods in the Cape Town area, residents are caught in crowded living conditions and many are upset having lost the ability to support themselves during the economic freeze. 

President Ramaphosa urged citizens to “not give up,” in a statement on April 23. Restaurants, bars, sporting facilities and events will remain restricted until level one lifts, and it may be a while before international travel and tourism activity returns. 

Staying Home 

I was fortunate to have my originally scheduled flight back to the U.S. depart on time to Newark Liberty International Airport, though I missed my connecting flight to Chicago because of long COVID-19 screening lines. 

Throughout the trip and in the weeks of self-isolation following, any tingle in my throat, mysterious ache or sneeze would seize my attention. Each day I monitored my health and retraced my activities to determine where I could have potentially encountered the virus, though I never experienced explicit symptoms. 

A strong sense of guilt lingers with me, though, as I consider the future of international travel in the wake of the pandemic. My motives were admittedly selfish, but the prospect of that being my last trip for the foreseeable future and the unprecedented experience of traveling during this moment in history was arguably worth it for me. If my flight had departed any later after the travel ban and pandemic were announced, I probably would have reconsidered the risks. But hindsight is always much clearer. While I am eager to travel again, I realize that will have to wait. And, as Roux said, I hope that “this will be a good way for us to reassess and rethink a lot of things. We’ll hopefully get to a point where we can say we’ve gotten through this and we’re stronger for it.”