Carpintería, San Luis

Welcome to the Hotel Cuarentena

Quarantine

May 2020

Early 2020, D and I were traveling in Argentina whilst a pandemic was developing. With infections exponentially increasing, Argentine leaders acted decisively to implement a strict lockdown. In an instant, #quedateencasa became commonplace.

All mass transit was suspended and tourism halted. Only essential errands and razones de fuerza mayor permitted you to leave the house. Social distancing was enforced by security and shopping limits were in effect (maximum allowance of soaps, bleach, paper products, rice, sugar, flour, oil, canned goods, milk). Those who broke quarantine for no valid reason would be fined and potentially have their car impounded.

We found ourselves stranded in Córdoba: a crowded city hours away from our home and family in the neighboring province of San Luis. Along with thousands of others, we had to shelter-in-whichever-place we were. Every two weeks the quarantine order extended for two more weeks; continuing indefinitely. To leave Córdoba, we had to apply for permissions at both the national and provincial level. After quarantining for six weeks, we acquired three separate permisos to return home to Carpintería, San Luis.

We left Córdoba early on a Tuesday morning. En route, police questioned us and a nurse took our temperatures. We successfully passed through 10 highway checkpoints, crossed the Comechingones mountain range, and reached the province of San Luis.

Then, at the 11th checkpoint, we were detained.

Trapped out in the open

Unbeknownst to us, one of our permissions was cancelled right before we arrived to the provincial border of San Luis. Being that the provinces of Argentina are somewhat autonomous, this permission superseded our other two (federal) permissions. Without it, the guards would not let us continue forward into the province.

We were forbidden from moving backwards from where we came. Every district in Argentina was categorized as either “red zones” or “white zones:” red zones had one or more confirmed cases and white zones had zero cases. Since we were surrounded by white zones, the police insisted that we return to a red zone. But by not having a domicilio in Córdoba, we had nowhere to go.

Acampando al puesto limítrofe

We were stuck on the side of the highway in bureaucratic limbo about 20km from our home. We had no shelter, electricity, potable water, food, bathrooms or showers. Our family could not visit us. The guards said there were only two ways we could enter San Luis: 1) whenever the pandemic finished, or 2) when we received permission from the government. Both of these options had an indefinite timeline.

We weren’t alone. There were multiple parties who had been camping for days, awaiting the same permission as us. We later found out that this was a reoccurring problem at other zonas limítrofes around the province.

D, being an avid hiker, was remarkably prepared. He had a tent, survival gear, and a wad of small bills. We found the closest restaurant in town to deliver food and water. We pitched our tent and star gazed; although barely sleeping as the noises from heavy trucking traffic on the highway kept us up. We were safe; but the uncertainty was scary. I wondered, “How long would we sleep here?” mentally preparing myself.

Crucially, the one thing the guards gave us was the password to their WiFi! Armed with battery banks and a power inverter, we brainstormed our exit strategy.

We resubmitted our application to enter the San Luis province (the permission that had been abruptly rejected). Our neighbors had been emailing the San Luis government daily, trying to get back to their homes and family. These life-long residents had already been stranded for days. Given that we were foreign-born and raised, our prospects did not look good.

We sought advice from our Argentine family members: one who was the town mayor (of a distant province) and another who is a police officer. We appreciated their support but they were unable to advance our request.

As D charted an escape plan involving a moonlight hike through farm, forest, and riverbed, I pleaded with the US Embassy for help, explaining the conditions we were in. We also told them about the other Argentines having no money for food, how a mother and child had been stuck here for days, and that elderly people seeking medical attention were forced to camp out, too.

While the US Embassy could not supersede Argentine law, we believed that they persuaded the right people to check their email and process our request. By Wednesday evening, everyone camping on the side of the highway was simultaneously granted entry into the province of San Luis. The police escorted all of us across the border onto our next destination.

Hotel Cuarentena

San Luis had strict a quarantine protocol: anyone who enters the province had to isolate for 14-days in one of two government controlled facilities. There was a free option in university dormitories where four adults share a room; however, these rooms were at capacity with a weeks-long waiting list.

Hotel Epic

The other option was to pay for a private room in a four-star hotel owned by the governor and his affiliates. Alberto Rodríguez Saá claimed that Hotel Epic was chosen because it was the cheapest option ($3,500 ARS/night), yet no other hotel was asked for estimates. Lawyers from San Luis Unido, un partido peronista, are investigating the governor for profiteering from the emergency.

We splurged on the hotel room. Finally, our basic needs were met.

We were not permitted to leave the room. Our only human contact was during our daily temperature check by medical personnel wearing full-body PPE and face shield.

Meals were brought to our door twice a day (lunch at 13h and dinner at 21h), consisting of typical Argentine foods: milanesa, puré de papas, dulce de leche, medialunas. We requested more vegetables but were given boiled potatoes and carrots. After a few days of hunger, we reverted to the customary meat-and-bread meals.

Two weeks later, having finished the mandatory isolation with no symptoms, we were permitted to return home to Carpintería, San Luis.

After two months of uncertainty, we are happy to be home. Albeit frustrating, the journey was well worth the occasional shivering and hunger. We consider ourselves extremely fortunate. To this day, thousands of folks are varados, throughout Argentina and the world. Although repatriation flights existed, they wereexpensive and complicated. Otherwise, Argentina had sealed itself from the rest of the world.

Overall, both D and I support Argentina’s response to the pandemic. Although these hurdles were significant, we appreciate living in a country that prioritizing the health of its citizens. There were zero cases of COVID-19 in the province of San Luis, and these measures kept it that way for several months.

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