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Word went around one night while we were in El Chaltèn, a remote hiking town in southern Argentina.
"Get out now," they said. "Tonight, or first thing tomorrow.
"Get out now, the borders are going to start closing."
When we'd left for a long-planned bucket list trip to Peru and Argentina, nobody understood the scale of the Covid-19 crisis. Italy wasn't in lockdown, a pandemic hadn't been declared yet, nobody was infected in New Zealand or South America.
But a bit more than two weeks later, we're now quarantined in a hotel room, hoping against hope that our emergency flight out isn't cancelled as borders go into stricter lockdown.
Exhausted travellers slump together wherever they can find space at Buenos Aires airport. Photo / Frances Cook
After we heard got the warning that borders were closing, we packed up our things and left El Chaltèn.
First we had to get to the local hub of El Calafate. From there we could fly to Buenos Aires, and hopefully from there to home in New Zealand.
We got in touch with our travel agent on the drive, telling her we needed an earlier flight out.
At first she said it might cost $4000 for new flights. Then she said the airline was able to arrange it for free, with a connection through Chile.
Respond quickly if you want the flight, she said. You'll be taking two of the last three seats.
Outside El Calafate, after three hours of driving deserted motorways, we hit our first experience of how seriously the situation had changed since we disappeared into the back blocks of Argentina.
A military checkpoint, with tour buses, rental cars, local cars, queued up in chaos at the entrance to the usually welcoming tourist hub.
The army and police personnel refused to tell us what was happening, but whisked our passports away. We sat outside in our car for an hour, trying to stay away from other people.
Finally we realised the only way to get through was to join the crush of confused tourists and locals, forcing our way into the semblance of a disordered queue, shoulder to shoulder with strangers. No social distancing here, but we needed those passports back, and we needed to get to the airport.
After two and a half hours, a woman finally glanced at our passport, asked how long we'd been in the country, then waved us through. I still don't know what they were checking, or why I needed to press myself into a mass of strangers for them to check it. But at least we were through.
The next morning we got to the local airport, bound for Buenos Aires. Again a long queue, many people wearing face masks, all of us rubbing hand sanitiser into our hands at regular intervals, some people wearing disposable rubber gloves.
Cafes were open, but with barriers set up so you couldn't come too close to the worker at the counter.
Groups of people were slumped on the floor, exhausted from waiting hours hoping for a standby spot on a flight out. Few people talked, with an intense, quiet buzz of activity throughout the airport.
When we finally made it to Buenos Aires, the usually bustling hub of 15 million people looked like a ghost town. From the air, roads and motorways were clearly empty. Parks deserted. Nobody was on the street or in the few cafes still open.
An elderly couple in full hazmat suits at Buenos Aires airport. Photo / Frances Cook
We made it to our hotel, where we had to buzz to be let in through the locked front door. The woman who greeted us was nice, but firm.
You can stay here, she said. But you have to stay quarantined in your room until checkout. We'll bring you food. If you try to leave early, we'll call the police.
When the food arrived it was left at our door with a polite knock, the deliverer gone by the time we opened it. Social distancing is finally back. But at least this time it comes with a complimentary glass of red wine.
Today we attempt to fly out from Argentina, through Chile, and home. Argentina has closed all borders, allowing nobody in except returning Argentinians. Domestic travel has shut down, even public transport has tight restrictions on who is allowed to use it.
Chile has entirely shut its borders, but we've been told we should be okay to transit through. That reassurance came with a warning though - the situation is changing hourly, so keep an eye on the news.
If they bar even people transiting through, it could be several days before we can find another flight to get out. Or longer. Our hotel has warned us once we leave today, they're shutting for several weeks, so we can't come back.
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Please keep everything crossed that we get on that plane in Chile, and manage to come home. Two weeks of isolation at home has never sounded so peaceful and welcome.
• Frances Cook is a specialist multimedia journalist with NZME.
