On March 11, 2020, the World Health Organization (WHO) declared Covid-19 a pandemic, citing “alarming levels of spread and severity.” Almost immediately, international travel ground to a halt as countries closed borders, airlines canceled flights, and cities around the world went into lockdown.
The toll on lives, health, and livelihoods continues to mount. The blow to tourism and all who depend on it has been devastating: International arrivals at U.S. airports fell 98% in April 2020 compared to the previous year, and has continued to do so for months. According to the Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development, the global tourism economy is expected to shrink by about 80% when all 2020 data are taken into account.
As the WHO declared a pandemic, The New York Times looks at how some cities that rely heavily on tourism have adapted, including Hoi An, Vietnam.
Hoi An of Vietnam, before the Covid-19 pandemic
In a mood of mixed feelings and hope, Mr. Le Van Hung stepped out of his simple house under the coconut trees on the coast of Central Vietnam, amidst the crowing of roosters and took a shortcut to immerse himself in the waves, the sky, and the sun.
The sea was calm, which meant that after months of storms, he could rest assured to row his boat out to sea to catch crabs and fish to feed his family.
Mr. Hung, 51, spent many years as a fisherman on large boats. But he stopped going to sea in 2019 to help his daughter run the beachside restaurant they opened in 2017 in Hoi An amid the rising tide of international tourism.
Mr. Le Van Hung on the basket boat
Tourists and much of Mr. Hung’s family’s income disappeared when the coronavirus hit in early 2020. And in a devastating blow, a gust of wind swept their Yang Yang restaurant, perched on a sand dune, into the sea in November.
Now, like many others in Hoi An who have left fishing to join the tourism industry, working as waiters, security guards or speedboat drivers, or opening their own businesses to serve tourists, Mr. Hung has returned to what he knows best – riding the waves for a living. The short, hunched man now supports six relatives living with him in a few tiled rooms with wooden shutters.
Since September, violent storms, more recently strong winds and rough seas, have kept Mr. Hung out to sea, for fear his bathtub-sized boat would capsize. Looking out at the waves in late February, with half his restaurant’s bathroom still lying on the beach below, he thought to himself, “It will be safe tomorrow.”
Mr. Le Van Hung checks the new basket boat he bought last August.
So, at sunrise on a recent Tuesday, Mr. Hung boarded his boat and braved the big waves. About 400 yards from shore, on the undulating emerald-green water, he began to spread his net, circling a 500-yard area to trap schools of fish.
Mr. Hung grew up in Hoi An, a centuries-old fishing community nestled between clear blue seas and lush green rice fields. Over the past 15 years, Vietnamese developers and international hoteliers have invested billions of dollars in riverside resorts, while locals and foreigners have opened hundreds of small hotels, restaurants and shops in and around the city center. International tourists flock to the area, crowding the beaches during the day and spilling out into the old town at night.
The pandemic has been harder hit because Hoi An relies heavily on foreign tourists. In 2019, 4 million of the 5.35 million visitors came from abroad.
After 2 hours of fishing, Mr. Hung had breakfast and waited for dawn.
Mr. Hung sets his net and waits for the sea to calm down.
Empty nets worry fishermen
When hotels sprang up around Mr. Hung’s house on Tan Thanh Beach, near the Old Quarter, in 2017, the family borrowed from relatives to buy a few dozen sunbeds and umbrellas, and set up an outdoor restaurant on the sand dunes behind the house. His daughter, Hong Van, 23, prepares seafood dishes like shrimp and squid spring rolls. His two sons help cook and clear the table, while he washes the dishes. Mr. Hung quit his deep-sea fishing team in the summer of 2019, believing that tourism was their ticket to a better life.
"At that time, I was very happy," Mr. Hung told the New York Times through an interpreter. "Working at home really relaxed my mind and made me comfortable in my daily activities with my family."
He earned five times the 3 million dong a month he earned at sea. But the restaurant's tables stood empty as the coronavirus paralyzed Southeast Asia, and Vietnam imposed a lockdown for most of April.
Then Vietnam suffered a second wave of Covid-19 in July, 40 minutes north of Da Nang, just as locals were feeling hopeful about a domestic tourism recovery. Hoi An remained deserted for weeks more.
With his savings almost exhausted, Mr. Hung knew he had to return to the sea.
Not only Mr. Hung, many fishermen in Hoi An who quit their jobs in tourism have had to return to sea to make a living because of the Covid-19 pandemic.
By August, he was able to push his coracle through the waves with just one oar. His daughter sold his catch on Facebook. But the sea became too dangerous as the 2020 rainy season dragged into 2021.
On a fishing boat in calmer waters, Mr. Hung, wearing a plastic jacket and gloves, began pulling in the net, rolling it into a pile. He occasionally pulled out a baby jellyfish, transparent as a round ice cube, and after another 20 minutes he caught a silver fish and a small crab, and 15 minutes later another small fish.
Because of the rough sea, Mr. Hung had a hard time rowing. He planned to grill the fish instead of frying them to save oil. He hoped he would catch a big catch.
"We hope, but I will never know what is happening in the deep sea," Mr. Hung confided.
