Postcards from the global pandemic: how people around the world are dealing with isolation

At 6 o’clock I’m back at the balcony to hear the daily rendition of the nation’s greatest hits emanating from unidentifiable apartments across Rome.

This is the only time of day when you actually feel like you are still living in a capital city as people’s faces appear at every nearby window.

Evenings are filled by trying out new recipes or online aperitivos with friends. As lonely as it sounds, the supermarkets here are still fully stocked and the internet continues to allow some form of social interaction that my generation craves so much, making this bleak situation practically bearable.

Musa Okongwa, 40, writer and broadcaster, Berlin, Germany

The message still hasn’t got to some of us in Berlin, and why would it? The weather is glorious, the streets are peaceful, and so, on a trip across town for work, I see strangers clustered together on half-empty trams, unaware or not caring that they should be keeping their distance.

I can understand those strangers, because just last Monday I was one of them. But now I am buying food and household supplies like everyone else for whom the warnings have finally sunk in.

Slowly, the reality is cutting through. Last night, on a weeknight that would normally have been busy, it was as quiet on my road as that ghostly period between Christmas and New Year. Although I hope that this isn’t the new normal for months to come, I fear that it might be.

Anna, 35, ICU nurse, Melbourne, Australia

We are in the “containment” phase where cases are associated with overseas travellers. Supermarkets are being stripped; initially just toilet paper and non-perishables, now almost everything. I have friends with small children who are struggling to get basic supplies like nappies and formula. Fruit is increasingly hard to track down. Most people are working from home and adopting social distancing. As a health professional that’s not an option for me. In the city’s main ICU, we are yet to treat any confirmed Covid-19 cases. However, an emergency plan has been activated and we are bracing for an onslaught of critically unwell patients in the coming weeks/months as the virus inevitably spreads through the community. We have new breathing machines arriving, pop-up ICU beds being organised and specialist staff on stand by. The anxiety is growing but also a sense of unity.

James Taylor, 28, English teacher, Fuzhou, China

I arrived in Fuzhou in November to work as an English teacher. Everything went into lockdown at Chinese New Year, peak season for the economy. Most places closed down, there were restrictions on when to leave and enter our apartment complexes, and some of my colleagues had to stay in quarantine at home for a week or more. But vital services kept running, and while certain fresh fruit and vegetables saw shortages, everything else was well stocked. The people also adopted a stoic attitude: concerned about the virus, but determined to weather it. We get daily text messages from the local government, providing either advice or words of encouragement. The virus seems on the wane here in China, but we’re still having to teach classes online, wear surgical masks and undergo temperature checks to go outside. The guards on the gate at my security complex will scan you. If you have a temperature, you’ll be taken for testing. You will also be checked for a high temperature going into any restaurant, shopping centre or on public transport.

People are now worried about a “boomerang effect”, meaning the virus being brought back into China from overseas, and as visible foreigners we are sometimes more likely to face heavier checks and testing. It wasn’t quite the new experience I was expecting, but spirits are strong, and we’re all hoping for a full return to normality quite soon.

Nicholas Schou, 31, account director, Oslo, Norway

As two British nationals living in Oslo, we have seen Norway hit pretty hard by the pandemic, with one of the highest infection rates per capita. This was mainly due to a huge part of the population being on their annual winter holiday, when many Norwegians travel abroad. More than 50 per cent of domestic cases have been linked to either Italy or Austria. Once the first Norwegian cases became apparent, the government was fairly quick to act and asked all citizens to stay at and work from home where possible and stop non-essential travel or movement. They even closed the borders to foreign nationals not living in Norway.

My wife travelled back from the UK yesterday and was almost denied re-entry even with all her documentation. I have lived my entire life in Oslo and have never seen such drastic measures. Bustling streets are empty, traffic has quietened, some of the airports are closed or operating at limited service and few people are to be seen around parks and public areas.

Once the panic set in a week ago, most supermarkets sold out of certain goods like rice, pasta, bread, flour, and fresh fruit. Anti-bacterial gel is next to impossible to find. People are taking this situation very seriously

Matthew Coleman, 30, British lawyer based in Paris, France

The rumours started on Sunday evening. Everyone, it seemed, knew a friend of a friend in the Interior Ministry who had got wind of an imminent six-week military quarantine. I spent the next few hours calling friends and relatives looking for a place to stay: my flatmate didn’t want my boyfriend staying for longer than a week, and he lives in one of those tiny Parisian bedsits. A few British friends based here jumped on a last-dash Eurostar back to London.

By Monday evening, we had our plans sorted — a two-bed Airbnb was available at mates’ rates. We sat down to listen to President Macron’s speech. He was calm, measured and reassuring. The reality of quarantine sounded much more banal than we’d anticipated: just 15 days at home (initially). We’d be allowed out for food and exercise provided that we write and sign a declaration (a new one every time) that “my trip is linked to one of the reasons authorised by the first article of the decree of 16 March 2020 on the regulation of movement in the fight against the spread of Covid-19”. We moved our bags into the new flat late on Monday night, and went for a final midnight walk along the Seine. It was eerily quiet. A few people were loading up cars to escape to the countryside — l’exode, as they’re calling it now.

Quarantine started officially at midday on Tuesday. So far, I don’t feel too cooped up, though I’m lucky — I know a few friends who are stuck in small flat shares with virtual strangers. The streets aren’t totally deserted — I’ve been nipping out for a bit of fresh air every few hours. Tobacconists have been declared essential to the life of the French nation and remain open.

Georgine Grant, 35, cafe worker, Amsterdam, Holland

So far we haven’t been told we must remain in our homes, but it seems inevitable, and that is going to be really hard. I work in a popular café but it closed its doors when the government ordered all hospitality and leisure centres to shut down.

Our bosses have said they are setting up a delivery service so they will still need some of us to come in, but for now all my shifts have been cancelled and it’s unsettling. Like many, I’m on a zero hours contract and so far the government hasn’t been clear on what, if any, help we are going to receive. I think the hardest thing is not knowing how long all this will go on for — how long our savings will last us, how long we’ll need to restrict our movements, and how long before life returns to normal.

Ryan Colet, 32, advertising business director, New York, US

The city that never sleeps is going into hibernation. Subways are the emptiest and the cleanest I’ve ever seen. Broadway and Times Square are deserted.

I’m fortunate that my job allows me to work from home, but NYC is not known for its large living spaces. Some have left the city to stay with their families — others like me have set up makeshift workstations in our apartments and are developing a semi-normal routine. Gyms have closed, so running outside provides some welcome fresh air and exercise. Group video calls have switched from gimmick to necessity — not only for work, but also for seeing friends.

We’re being cautious without having felt the effects of the virus first-hand, which is rather strange. Supermarkets are emptying, yet bodegas remain stocked and food deliveries go on.

I’m seeing small acts of kindness: heavy tipping for takeout, people paying cleaners for months upfront. The people and processes that keep this city running are still working, and I’m very grateful for that.