An Ordinary Person's Travelogue Amid the Pandemic: A Journey to Jiuzhaigou

At the start of my Jiuzhaigou trip in late July, Zhengzhou was hit by torrential rain, Nanjing had a COVID outbreak, Wenchuan experienced an earthquake, and Typhoon In-Fa made landfall. Jiuzhaigou and Huanglong were in their rainy season, with continuous rain for half a month, posing risks of mudslides and rockfalls—truly not a good time to travel.

Departing from Chengdu by bus, we made our way up the plateau with small traffic jams along the way, taking a full 12 hours to reach Jiuzhaigou County. Midway, we were stuck for nearly an hour due to a truck rollover ahead.

The mountains of the Western Sichuan Plateau are majestic and vast. Unlike the sharp, towering peaks of Huangshan, these mountains are broad and imposing, like a wall of rock ready to collapse over your head, inspiring awe.

Having lived in the Yangtze River Delta and Pearl River Delta for nearly 30 years, I was thrilled by this unfamiliar beauty as we set off.

The milky-green Minjiang River rushed alongside us, its waters swift due to the terrain, accompanying us all the way up the plateau.

Even in July and August, the higher we climbed, the colder it got. When it rained, the temperature dropped to single digits.

Unprepared, I had only brought a denim jacket. During a stop in Wenchuan, I considered buying a windbreaker and thermal leggings at a tourist-trap shop but was put off by the prices. A friend with me bought a pair of thermal leggings.

My iPhone weather forecast, which can pinpoint Huanglong Scenic Area, consistently showed temperatures around 11–12°C, with constant rain. I worried about catching a cold up there and having to quarantine—such a headache. Although it later turned out I didn't go to Huanglong due to a strange misunderstanding, that's another story.

Fortunately, the road up was cloudy but rain-free—until we reached Chuanzhusi, where a sudden downpour hit. The winding mountain roads, the roaring Minjiang River, and the storm made for a terrifying ride. The plateau weather changes in an instant, and the temperature plummeted.

My friend had advised me not to come during the rainy season, but I was bold and insisted on going.

During a stop at Songpan Ancient Town, I rented an electric scooter (yes, there are shared e-scooters on the plateau) and went to a Yishion flagship store to buy a down jacket. Once I put it on, I was warm all over. That saved me from being overcharged by roadside sellers. The town even had a ChaPanda and a Shuyi Xiancao—unexpected finds.

Along the way, I was deeply impressed by the Tibetan five-colored prayer flags, Qiang watchtowers, a statue of Yu the Great, and the Long March Monument.

At 11 p.m. on July 27, while staying at a "regular" hotel in Jiuzhaigou, I suddenly saw news of a COVID outbreak in Chengdu on Weibo. The official announcement hadn't been made yet, but rumors were flying everywhere. That night I couldn't sleep—if we got off the bus there, we'd be stepping into the outbreak zone. Our health codes might turn yellow, and we could be quarantined upon returning to Guangdong. I considered all the consequences. The next day, while touring Jiuzhaigou, I kept waiting for the official COVID update.

Now, about Jiuzhaigou itself: it was truly worth the trip. Although we never took off our masks except to eat a piece of bread in a deserted area, due to pandemic precautions.

At high altitudes, oxygen is already thin, and wearing a mask made it harder to breathe, leaving me easily winded. But I didn't suffer from altitude sickness.

As for how beautiful Jiuzhaigou is, I feel words can't express it—let me just show the photos. I started the tour in my down jacket, then switched to a regular jacket. The weather was surprisingly decent, with only a brief ten-minute downpour.

After finishing my Jiuzhaigou trip, I settled in Chuanzhusi Town, planning to visit Huanglong the next day to see the travertine pools. But our guide suddenly told us that Huanglong had announced a requirement for a 48-hour negative nucleic acid test result for entry.

The nearest testing site on the plateau was 20 kilometers away, and results wouldn't be available immediately. I was disheartened.

I checked Huanglong's Weibo account, and indeed they had posted the notice. So I gave up, deciding to cooperate with Aba Prefecture's pandemic control efforts.

Two days later, that news was debunked. It turned out that the notice requiring 48-hour test results was fabricated by some mischievous netizen, but it was so convincingly done that even the scenic area staff were fooled. They mistakenly treated the rumor as an official announcement. Later, Huanglong's Weibo deleted the previous post and only kept the clarification.

It was both frustrating and amusing. Missing out on Huanglong became a hidden little anecdote.

That night, I bought bread at a small shop in Chuanzhusi Town. And honestly? My friend and I agreed that the pastries from this unremarkable little bakery—cheese bread and a purple cheese bread with a straw—were amazing, even better than those from famous bakeries in big cities.

We never expected that the best food we'd eat on the plateau would be Western-style pastries.

There was also a little incident: I lost my phone at the hotel. I asked the staff—who had never operated surveillance before—to help me look for it. It turned out to be a silly mistake: the phone was found under the front desk.

At noon, Chengdu officially announced three cases related to Zhangjiajie in the Youpindao area. But that was far from the end. That night, I suddenly saw news of a case: an employee at Tianfu Airport who had returned from Changde was infected.

That timing coincided exactly with our arrival at Tianfu Airport.

We immediately felt like close contacts. So we scrambled to find ways to report ourselves (online reporting channels are still lacking), called the Chengdu pandemic hotline, and informed our guide.

Our guide was quite calm—he had experienced earthquakes, falling rocks, a sudden descent on a plane, and being swept by waves. He didn't bat an eye at us, two suspected close contacts.

I checked my health code over a dozen times that night—it never changed color. Meanwhile, I tried calling Tianfu Airport and Air China, but the lines were always busy and couldn't get through.

I told my friend we should just fly back from Jiuzhaigou Huanglong Airport instead of going down to the outbreak area.

But unfortunately, flights from Jiuzhaigou back to Guangzhou aren't daily; the next one was on August 1st.

The Huanglong trip was also canceled. Above us were snow-capped mountains; below was the outbreak zone. We couldn't go up or down—stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Thankfully, the Chengdu government acted swiftly: sealing off neighborhoods overnight, conducting mass nucleic acid testing. All key contacts tested negative.

We steeled ourselves and returned to Chengdu. With the free ticket change and cancellation policy, we switched from a flight to a high-speed train.

We rushed to a hospital for nucleic acid tests—negative. Now back in Guangdong, we took a second test. Hoping it's just a false alarm.

Friends, next time don't travel during a pandemic. When we first arrived in Chengdu, we thought the outbreak was thousands of miles away on the shores of the Qinhuai River, completely unrelated to us in the Land of Abundance.

But soon we were affected, and we were filled with anxiety.

Later, my friend even received a call from the Aba Prefecture Public Security Bureau asking about our travel route.

I love Sichuan. Stay strong, Chengdu. May the heavens bless Jincheng.