Leaving Newfoundland

 

Leaving Newfoundland

18 Aug 2022

 

I was supposed to have left Newfoundland over a week ago, but Newfoundland did not want me to leave. Within days of my long-awaited vacation and visit to my friend here, I fell ill with COVID. 2+ years of being so cautious, fearing that “I got it” with every feeling of scratchiness in my throat or signs of extreme fatigue, I can now really say “I got it”.

And what an ordeal it has been, and continues to be. I will never know how I managed to catch it, as even these days I’m always masking when indoors or in crowded places. The first symptom, if I think back, began probably Thursday evening, when I felt like my throat was really dry, and felt like something was off whenever I swallowed. Then the next morning, I woke up and felt this throat ache. As I usually do when I show symptoms these days, I tested myself.

So many times before when I tested myself, I waited eagerly (or not?) for the results and was worried I would see two lines (…only to be disappointed if it were only one?) This time, I did not have to wait. I swabbed my throat, and there was clear thick phlegm. And sure enough, almost immediately the dreaded second line on the rapid covid test appeared.

I felt stunned. What now? What does this mean? How many people may I have potentially infected? What about my friend, whom I’ve been spending a lot of time with the past few days, and even shared a bed with at night? What of his older relatives, who are more vulnerable to the illness? How did it even happen?

All those thoughts flooded through my mind, and I was spiraling. I don’t remember initially feeling ill other than just the throat ache. But I had to tell my friend, and soon, the community knew.

Then, that night, the fevers began. So warm and weak I felt that my friend placed wet cloth over my forehead and back of my neck, and eventually advised me to take a cold bath (…later we would learn that that was not the best thing to do). I lay on the sofa, felt like I was burning up, felt my life force / qi drain from me as I imagine the virus took hold and the antibodies (thankfully boosted with a third dose of vaccines) started to fight off the invaders.

I’ve read about it, heard about it, but actually experiencing covid was an experience itself. Chills and hot flashes. Feverishness. Sweating that drenched my t-shirt, and bedsheets overnight (for several days, I needed to wash or hang the sheets to dry every morning). And then the fatigue and lethargy set in. I lay in bed, or on the sofa, and really did not do much over the next week or so. Even just going up and down the stairs would leave me feeling breathless, let alone other simple chores. I think it was day 4 that we needed to get groceries, and it was at most a 40 minute outing to the store, shopping and back. That left me napping for hours after I got back.

Then around the same time came the frightening part, which was the loss of smell, and my taste buds becoming very weak that I could only taste whether something was salty or not. For several days I could not even smell the perfume even if I stuck the spray bottle inside my nostrils. Why was that frightening? Perhaps it meant that I may not be able to smell whether something was burning, or if there were some kind of toxic gas leak. That was perhaps most worrying of all—other than the fact that I did not know what would come next. The coughing set in probably a week later, triggered by this constant trickle of phlegm that I feel down my throat, which causes my throat to itch. It makes my lungs and chest shudder and heave as the trickle of phlegm (or whatever it is) makes it feel like if I didn’t cough, I would choke. The coughing is persisting, even today, which would be day 13 since testing positive.

The illness, its effects on people, and just exactly how I caught it, are all a big mystery. Though, I suspect, it may have been my carelessness getting “screeched in” in a crowded bar in St John’s , where I also kissed a cod that around 25 other people had kissed. Even at the time I felt it was so risky, and I tried my best to kiss the cheeks of the cod. Though, that would have been less than two days from potential infection to the onset of the illness. But perhaps becoming an honorary Newfie was worth it?

Perhaps it was the delirium talking, but at one point I said perhaps Newfoundland is not the worst place to pass if my time has indeed come…

Though I’ve not been able to do much else other than venture on bike around the little community of Elliston, and the occasional drives that my friend’s relatives took me on when I was feeling better, what I saw and felt really touched me.

I’ve always fantasised of living in the countryside, being close to nature. And the past two weeks or so was the closest I got to experiencing that life of community, homeliness, and tranquility. From the small home I was staying at, you can see islands in a bay and the wide open sea. Rough at times, but calm like a mirror with a blue gray hue, the Atlantic is mesmerising.

The view never tires, for every moment of the day, the light hits and highlight the coastline and the water in such different ways. Whenever you look out, you are reminded that the world is changing, for the view is never the same. Yet time seems to have little meaning, or lost its meaning over the past two weeks or so.

Perhaps it was the illness that made me so tired, and many days consisted of just sleep, cooking, eating, and more rest, interrupted by the occasion writing and work email. Surprisingly, even in my poor state of health, I did manage to write two articles that were published online, do a radio interview about Pelosi’s visit to Taiwan and China’s overreaction. And every evening, I would insist on going biking a bit, partly to test my strength and to prove to myself that I’m still capable of the simple joy of biking that is such an important part of my happiness and mental wellbeing.

The community itself is so quite and isolated from the rest of the world (there is no mobile reception, and wifi available through an amplifier that receives signals from my friend’s grandma’s vacation home next door). That sense of anonymity, and the ability to decide when you want to connect to the world is quite refreshing, and something I could get used to.

 

Nearby are sites where puffins migrate to and breed over the warmer months, and the main attraction of the town of just around 300 souls (…plus the claim to fame of being “the root cellar capital of the world”). To get anywhere, you really need a car, or have to rely on the kindness of strangers—even though in such a community, very soon you get to know people. There were two restaurants (that I knew of), one convenience store, a handful of souvenir stores and some homestays/B&Bs for the tourists that visit over the summer months. My friend said the winter months can last up to 9 months of the year, and life just stops. I have yet to experience that, as most of the time I was there, the weather was quite fine (actually unusually hot for that part of the country, and there were several wild fires raging in central Newfoundland while I was there).

Though some evenings and days, the temperature did plummet down to around 12C, and this was in the middle of Summer. When the mist rolls in, which seems to be frequent due to the Atlantic currents, there is a dampness and chill that hangs in the air (clothes left out to dry will remain damp…). It is both refreshing and eye-opening to have that experience of life in rural Newfoundland.

I was blessed that my friend’s family are mostly from the town (he himself spent part of his life in the town). Many of his relatives are just up the street from where I was invited to stay (initially just for a few days, but that turned out to be almost two whole weeks), and they were utmost welcoming and friendly— especially the grandma who is so young at heart and energetic, and offered to bring me groceries or whatever I needed. The orange juice, Fisherman’s Friend, ginger and honey she brought for those first few days of my illness were a real godsend. Then his great uncle one night surprised us with grilled fresh-caught cod covered with onions and spices that were just delectable. When I was feeling a bit better on the last few days, the grandma took us in the car to explore nearby hiking trails and towns so that I could at least see a bit of that part of the country. Truly, other than with my own relatives in Taiwan, I have rarely experienced such warmth and hospitality. They took me, a complete stranger, someone from such a different upbringing and background, in and made me feel at home and like I belong. There is such simple beauty in belonging, or being made to feel like you belong.

I did try to “repay” or at least show appreciation for their kindness with all the various goodies I brought with me, and when I was beyond the 5 day period of self-isolation as recommended by public health authorities—though how many people actually follow such advice nowadays is beyond me). I also treated some of them to meals. I had intended to even cook meals to share with some of my friend’s family members, but of course being ill, I kept my distance and wore masks even when I was cooking or in a shared space like the kitchen. Even so, some would come by and sit in the garden and enjoy whatever soup I cooked up (it felt like I was making soups every day, which was very healing and soothing for the state I was in).

Despite the illness, I really came to enjoy the lifestyle there. As I told my friend, it felt like a trial of living together, living together, being together, and getting used to one another. We were like a married couple enjoying the bliss of family life, and we would even joke about plans we had for the big yard behind the house, about how we wanted to clear the weed and plant Japanese cherries, and even set up a clearing with benches over a little mount (just above the root cellar attached to the house) so that we can enjoy the views of the ocean in the distance. It felt so domestic, so right somehow, even though we’ve just met and known each other less than a year.

The house itself was small, but very cozy. After standing for over a hundred years, it was admittedly a bit run down, and needed a lot of repairs and a real paintjob to bring out its charm and character. Though the essential appliances (especially in the kitchen, and the washer and dryer) are present, the house shows its age and creaks and groans with every step you take. I’m told the foundations are sinking, and being surrounded by wilderness insects like spiders, wood lice (pill bugs, as the locals call them) can be often spotted sharing the sofa or bed with you.

But really, how much does one need for a simple life? I felt really comfortable in that house (again, despite the fact that half the time I was really just so sickly and feeling feverish).