Here is the twenty-four-thousand-dollar question: If we knew then what we know now, would we have flown to Mongolia in February 2020? It had only been eighteen days since my spouse, John, and I had returned from Uganda. Our only concern there was not contracting malaria or Ebola. Now that we were home and watching the news again, we began focusing on the COVID-19 outbreak in China and its potential to spread around the world.
We were scheduled to fly to Mongolia on February 18, where John would be teaching at the National University of Mongolia for four weeks. I would be there for fifteen days visiting friends and traveling to Hustai National Park (HNP) to hand-deliver textbooks to HNP staff, and hopefully, see my namesake, a Przewalski’s horse foal named “Pamela.”
Now, focusing our full attention on our upcoming trip, we learned that our arrival in the capital city of Ulaanbaatar (UB) was just three days before the beginning of the Lunar New Year. One of Mongolia’s most important holidays, the country’s business pauses for several days as residents visit friends and family.
With COVID-19 and the Lunar New Year complicating our plans, I wavered back and forth on whether I should cancel my trip. While a few cases of COVID-19 were beginning to appear in the Republic of Korea, China was still the epicenter of the outbreak. Friends in UB forewarned us that the Mongolian government was requiring everyone to wear masks, preferably N95s, when outside their homes. At that point in time, purchasing N95 masks in Anchorage was still possible. Still uncertain about the trip, during my annual wellness visit, one week before our departure, I asked my doctor about the wisdom of traveling. She did not see any reason why I should cancel. That clinched my decision; I would go!
Prior to the trip, we scored mileage tickets from Anchorage to UB on Korean Airlines (KAL). John was flying Business Class out of Los Angeles; I was flying Coach out of San Francisco. The plan was to meet in Seoul. He left for the airport at 2:00 a.m. on February 18. While Anchorage had been under a high wind advisory, his flight departed on time. However, when I left for the airport about eight hours later, Anchorage was in the midst of a significant snowstorm. The flight to Seattle was initially delayed by one hour due to a late incoming flight. Then, because it was still snowing, the plane had to be de-iced, which was a slow, painstaking, but necessary process.
Once we were finally airborne for our three-hour flight, I was then concerned about whether I would have time to catch my connecting flight to San Francisco. Thankfully, after disembarking in Seattle, I arrived at the next gate with twenty-five minutes to spare. The next question was whether my luggage had made it as well. I’d hoped my flight to San Francisco would be running late, but as luck would have it, the approximately two-hour flight was on time, proving that planes are never late when you need them to be.
After landing in San Francisco, I made my way to the train to the international terminal, where I went straight to the KAL ticket counter to check in and determine if both my suitcases made it from Seattle. While the KAL agent was checking, I called Alaska Airlines. Their agent called the San Francisco baggage folks, who confirmed that both my suitcases did, in fact, make it and had been transferred to KAL. While that made me happy, I was concerned when the KAL agent said his system was only showing that one bag was on the plane. I was determined not to fret, since there was still plenty of time for the second bag to be loaded. The flight to Seoul subsequently boarded and left on time.
The KAL agent had upgraded me to a bulkhead window seat with lots of room to stretch my legs. That was nice. What wasn’t so nice was that the woman sitting next to me had what appeared to be a cold. While she was wearing a mask initially, she did not keep it on the entire flight. Most of the flight attendants wore masks as did many of the other passengers, except when they were eating and sleeping, which was a lot of the time since the flight left at 11:00 p.m. While I had an N95 mask with me, I chose not wear it. I assumed, mistakenly or not, that because there were few confirmed COVID-19 cases in the U.S., it was unlikely there would be COVID-19-positive passengers on this leg of my journey.
After almost twelve hours, I landed in Seoul at 5:30 a.m. local time. While Korea’s COVID-19 cases had not yet exploded, most everyone in the airport was wearing a mask, including me. It was easy to keep physical distance from folks, since there were significantly fewer people in the terminal than on our previous stops. John arrived thirty minutes ahead of me and was already checked into a room at the Terminal 2 Transit Hotel. With a six-hour layover in Seoul, we decided it would be safest to hole up at the hotel rather than spend time in public spaces. After our flight to UB was delayed by four hours, we appreciated having the room even more.
After ten hours in the Transit Hotel, we donned our masks, checked out, and headed to the gate. Almost all of the passengers in the boarding area also wore masks. Finally onboard after further delays, John turned left into Business Class; I turned right into Coach. Arriving at my seat, I asked a young man for help lifting my carry-on bag into the overhead bin. He then sat in a seat on the aisle, one row ahead of me on the right. I was behind him on the aisle in the group of five middle seats. Happy no one was sitting next to me on my left, I settled in for the last three-plus hours of our long journey to UB. This time, I wore my mask.
Because of our delay, it was around 8:00 p.m. local time by the time we landed in UB. As soon as the plane came to a stop, the flight attendants (all of whom wore masks), instructed everyone to remain seated. We then sat on the plane for another hour while technicians in protective suits and masks came onboard to collect health forms everyone was required to complete, and to take every passenger’s temperature.
I noticed that my helper was extremely nervous about this process. He was fanning himself, rolling up his shirt sleeves, texting frantically with shaky fingers, drinking from a water bottle, and putting his hand to his forehead as we all do when we are checking to see if it feels hot. In addition, he kept turning around to look down the aisle as the technicians slowly made their way from the back of the plane toward the front. It seemed obvious he thought he had a fever. At a minimum, I assumed he would be pulled off the plane along with some of the surrounding passengers, like me, and quarantined. Worse case, the entire plane would be quarantined, which would include John as well.
Feeling a sense of dread, I waited for the inevitable, glad I had worn an N95 mask during the flight. What was totally surprising was that after the technicians questioned my helper and took his temperature, they simply moved forward to the next row. I felt like I had just dodged a huge bullet. Now I could only hope that if he were ill, it was not COVID-19, or if it was, I had taken adequate precautions to prevent me from contracting it.
After deplaning, I headed for immigration. The immigration officer took a long time to examine the East Africa visa in my passport. Landing in Mongolia on February 20 meant I was literally just over the twenty-one-day incubation period for Ebola. On my way to baggage claim, after ducking into a restroom, I took care to clean the outside of my carry-on suitcase with disinfectant wipes.
When I met John at baggage claim, he already had his two checked suitcases in a cart. One of mine had just come down the baggage belt. A few minutes later, the belt stopped. My heart sank as it became clear that no more suitcases were coming off the plane. In vain, I checked suitcases stacked on the floor. Much to my dismay, my second suitcase was nowhere to be found. So, the KAL agent in San Francisco had been correct after all. Only one of my suitcases had made it onto the plane.
While John went to find our friend, Tsegi, I began filing the claim for my luggage, resulting in a further delay. I was informed that the missing suitcase would arrive in UB tomorrow on the same flight around 4:00 p.m. That was a disappointment, since Tsegi and I were leaving for HNP the next morning. Because the textbooks were quite heavy, I had divided them between my two checked suitcases. Now, as a result of the flight delay in Anchorage, I would now only have half of the textbooks to take to HNP. After all the delays, it was late by the time we reached our rental apartment, settled in, and confirmed that six of the twelve textbooks were, in fact, in the missing suitcase.
When Tsegi arrived at the apartment the next morning, I was packed and ready for our trip. Before heading out of UB, she called KAL to check on the status of my missing suitcase. Much to our surprise, she was informed that it was already at the airport in UB.
While I experienced some challenges on my journey from Alaska, things began to fall into place as if they were meant to be. My time at HNP could not have gone better. The gift of the textbooks was greatly appreciated, plus I was privileged to see my namesake, Pamela, in what was one of the most joyous experiences of my life.
On the drive back to UB, traffic coming out of the city was much heavier. Many UB residents were heading to the countryside before a mandatory nationwide road closure the next day. The closure, due to COVID-19, was meant to discourage travel during the holiday. A few days before our flight to Mongolia, in response to the COVID-19 outbreak elsewhere in Asia, the Mongolian government closed all schools and universities until the week after Lunar New Year. After we arrived, the closures were extended through May 2020. COVID-19-related government restrictions were becoming more severe. Now, just outside UB, all vehicles heading into the city, including ours, were stopped. Technicians in protective gear reached inside the vehicle to take the temperature of every person to ensure they were not ill.
After returning from HNP on Saturday (February 22), I kept tabs on the travel situation, which was very fluid. On Monday (February 24), the U.S. Center for Disease Control (CDC) issued a Level 2 Travel Health Notice (i.e., Practice Enhanced Precautions) for Korea. Worried that my return flight through Seoul might not be possible, I began checking the Travelocity website. There were still flights to the West Coast via Tokyo, although those flights were limited to twice a week. It was worrisome to see that the CDC had also issued a Level 2 Travel Health Notice for Japan. Proactively, I reviewed the fine print of my trip insurance policy; confirming it did not cover missing a flight when a country no longer allows your ticketed airline to land.
The option of flying home via Seoul with my existing ticket was short lived. The next day (Tuesday, February 25), the Mongolian government banned all flights to and from Korea, just as it had previously done for China. The same day, I purchased a $1,210 ticket to fly home through Tokyo on Monday, March 2.
After learning the following morning (Wednesday, February 26) that Mongolia was likely to cancel flights to Japan beginning Thursday (February 27), I canceled my ticket through Tokyo, just in time to receive a full refund. I now had only two options; flying through Istanbul or Moscow. With Russia and Turkey on the brink of armed conflict over Syria, flying through Istanbul was not appealing. Though historically, Aeroflot did not have the best reputation, as they say, beggars can’t be choosy. I subsequently purchased a ticket via Moscow, leaving UB on March 2. I felt fortunate this ticket was only $1,273, especially since my options were becoming more limited every day.
Later that evening, I checked the price for the same flight through Moscow on Tuesday, March 3, rather than March 2. I was surprised to find that the price was only $860. Still within my “free cancellation period,” I first purchased the flight on Tuesday and then cancelled my flight on Monday. With the situation being so fluid, I could only hope I had not cut off my nose to spite my face, since Tuesday was still five uncertain days away. With the decision made, three tickets cancelled, including my ticket to Anchorage via Seoul, I was counting on the fact that the number of COVID-19 cases in Russia would not surge before Tuesday morning.
On March 3, I kissed John goodbye and headed to the Chinggis Khaan International Airport, where only ticketed passengers wearing face masks were allowed into the terminal. Upon entering, everyone had their temperature taken.
The flight to Moscow was seven hours. Because Sheremetyevo International Airport is so large, it took more than forty minutes to taxi to our terminal once we landed. I only had one-and-a-half hours to catch my flight to LA; the minutes were ticking away. After deplaning, I followed the crowd, making my way into a very long queue in front of security. After waiting, and not moving for over ten minutes, it was music to my ears when I heard a security agent asked in a loud voice, “Is anyone going to Los Angeles?” I raised my hand and shouted, “Yes!” Happily, I was directed to the front of the security line. Following the screening of carry-on bags and me, I emerged into the main part of the terminal, where there were many beautiful shops. However, with no time to spare, I hurried to my gate, where my next flight was already boarding.
In contrast to the flight out of UB, this flight was packed. While I was toward the back of the plane, I was lucky to be on the aisle for the thirteen-hour flight. Most passengers wore masks, but not everyone. Landing in LA at 1:50 p.m. local time, I assumed I would be subject to a health screening. Instead, I simply walked off the plane, went to a Global Entry kiosk, scanned my passport, placed the four fingers of my right hand on the screen, and in less than a minute, the machine spat out an entry paper with all the requisite information, including my photo.
After receiving my paper, I walked to baggage claim, where I was happy to see both checked bags emerge on the luggage belt. After loading the bags onto a cart, I pushed it outside into seventy-plus degree temperature and proceeded to the terminal where Alaska Airlines is based. It felt very surreal because almost no one, except me, was wearing a mask.
The ticket I had purchased in UB included a ten-hour layover in LA before my flight to Seattle. Knowing there were earlier flights, and taking advantage of the fact that I am a frequent flier with Alaska Airlines, I relayed my story to the ticket agent and requested an earlier flight. Normally, as long as there were open seats on the flights, which there were, I could have switched without any problem. However, since I bought my ticket online, I was told that changing flights was not an option unless I paid the difference in the fare. After explaining my extenuating circumstances and throwing myself on her mercy, the agent disappeared into the Manager’s office. She reappeared thirty minutes later with a boarding pass for a Seattle flight that was leaving shortly. I thanked her profusely and scurried through security and on to the gate. Breathing a sigh of relief once I was onboard, in short order, we were in the air for our two-hour flight to Seattle, which was now a COVID-19 hotspot.
Upon my arrival in Seattle, I had just enough time to deplane and get to the next gate in a different terminal before the plane departed for Anchorage. I was dismayed to find there were no health checks being conducted, and I was one of only a few people wearing a mask. Once again, it felt very surreal.
After the flight to Anchorage was delayed due to mechanical problems, we were switched to a different aircraft. We finally left Seattle at 8:30 p.m. local time, which was four hours late for our three-hour flight. Almost forty hours after leaving the apartment in UB, including twenty-six hours onboard four different planes, I was relieved to walk into our condo with all of my luggage in the early morning hours of March 4. My trip to Mongolia had literally taken me around the word.
As for the question of whether we would have flown to Mongolia on February 18, if we knew then what we know now; it was still too early to answer that question. One week after my departure, Mongolia shut down all flights to and from the country, which left John stranded. The next challenge was finding a way for him to return home as well.