Beijing is known for its long winters, but this year’s has felt especially unforgiving. For the past two months, social distancing policies including lockdown measures have put normal life here on hold.
My experience of it started around the end of January. One weekend, I found myself at a hot spring spa with a number of foreign newspaper correspondents. While wallowing in the jacuzzi, we chatted about this outbreak in Wuhan, which they had been reporting on. But like most of the world at that time, none of us really knew what to make of it.
Rumours about the virus had been swirling, including that it was spreading between humans, and could lead to a grim, deadly illness. Still, not taking it very seriously, my companions and I joked that this steamy spa would be the ideal place to catch it.
That evening, we swapped the hot waters of the bathhouse for the bubbling broth of a traditional hotpot restaurant. I didn’t know it then, but that meal would be the last time I ate out for many weeks.
A typical Beijing hotpot, which would be my "last supper" out before the lockdown.
When I got home, I bumped into my neighbour, a septuagenarian Beijing native. He told me there was a virus going around and I should stay indoors. My other neighbours – an Italian family with very young children – left suddenly the next day for Milan, then perceived as a safe haven.
There was clearly growing concern over this mysterious virus, and things were escalating, fast. By the eve of the Lunar New Year, Wuhan and the entirety of its surrounding province had been put on lockdown. This effectively barred anyone from leaving or entering the province, with residents ordered to stay in their homes.
Here in Beijing, still with very few reported cases of the virus, we were not subjected to a mass quarantine like that in Wuhan. Nevertheless, a more moderate policy of community lockdowns was introduced.
All schools were shut, as were many shops and restaurants. Cinemas and bathhouses were forcibly closed. Gatherings of more than two people were banned. And a two-week self-isolation was mandated for anyone visiting or returning to the capital.
Where I live in the city’s historic hutong quarter, the lockdown visibly changed the urban landscape. The usual bustle of cars, bikes and pedestrians disappeared overnight. Entire compounds and city blocks were closed off to non-residents.
At the entrance to every community, makeshift barricades and disaster relief tents were set up, guarded by volunteers from the local Party committee. Residents were issued with a pass granting entry to the street or building where they lived.
Tents, guards and gates – the appearance an old Beijing community under lockdown.
The result of these measures has been a period of prolonged isolation for millions of Beijingers. It has brought severe disruption to many aspects of daily life, from working and conducting business, to buying groceries and receiving post.
By design, the lockdown has limited social contact. As the introvert that I admittedly am, adjusting to such solitude hasn’t been too hard. And I have valued the chance to spend some quality time with my partner and get to know my next-door neighbours.
In other ways, though, it has been rather terrifying. There are moments when my girlfriend and I feel as though we’ve suddenly been catapulted into old age, living the quiet and secluded life of a retired couple. Quibbles have been all too frequent.
Another unnerving feature of the lockdown has been the presence of the state watching over us. I’ve lost count of how many times the local authorities have showed up on our doorstep unannounced. Ostensibly it is to provide preventative information; in reality, these door-to-door visits are a way to keep tabs on people.
Yet, despite all of this disruption, emotion and intrusion, my time under lockdown has in fact been largely positive. With the benefit of hindsight, I can see that it has been a unique and fascinating experience, the likes of which may not be repeated for many years. And as Beijing increasingly returns to normality, I’m already feeling nostalgic for this peculiar chapter in my life.
During the lockdown, I’ve cherished the chance to take life at a slower pace, putting aside the stresses of work and focusing on personal interests and hobbies. For the first time in ages, I’ve read books cover to cover, enjoyed movie marathons, and played the piano for hours.
I’ve even been able to spend time on new pursuits, like writing this blog and preparing our patio garden in time for spring. When, in February, Beijing had its largest snowfall for years, we built a near life-size snowman, something I haven’t had the luxury of doing since my school days.
My lockdown snowman, complete with surgical mask.
The lockdown has also provided time to reflect, both on myself and the world around me. Without the usual levels of noise, traffic and pollution, Beijing has been more than accommodating. Old neighbourhoods like mine have been especially quiet, feeling more like a sleepy provincial village than the capital of the world’s most populous country.
Above all, my period living under lockdown has given me something quite unexpected: a renewed appreciation for the everyday. After weeks stuck mostly at home, it has been indescribably refreshing to step outside once again, eating out at restaurants and relaxing in the park.
This was brought home to me the other day as I was walking home and heard a busker singing for the first time in months. With the weather now getting warmer, people stopped to listen and sing along with the popular Chinese song, ‘In the Spring’.
People stop to hear a busker for the first time in months.
Moments like this have strengthened my belief in humanity. In Beijing, at least, the epidemic appears to have mostly brought out the best in people. There has been little of the panic buying or xenophobia seen in other parts of the world.
It may be, at least partly, because we’ve had lockdowns here before; the most recent one was last September during preparations for a huge military parade. In a sense, then, this period of paralysis has not been completely out of the ordinary, just much longer and stricter than in the past.
The same cannot be said for Britain and other countries, where the practice of locking down communities is highly unusual. In my correspondence with friends and family back home, their concern has been palpable.
As the seasoned lockdown survivor that I now claim to be, I’ve tried to offer some helpful words. The first thing I suggest is to recognise that it won’t always be easy. There will certainly be struggles and hassles to deal with. And for some, particularly those who live alone, the experience of lockdown will be especially solitary.
Nevertheless, I have urged people to try seeing the silver linings that this experience offers. From focussing on hobbies to savouring time with loved ones, there are many positives to be found. And, if my experience in China is anything to go by, you can look forward to rediscovering the beauty of everyday life.
So, as you prepare to hunker down for weeks or maybe even months, my ultimate advice is this: Don’t dread the lockdown. Instead, try to embrace it. For when it’s all over, you might actually miss it.
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