Covering coronavirus is a challenge for those of us reporting from around the world

Entering isolation after a period of travel is a surreal experience, writes Oliver Carroll

The border control area at Domodedovo International airport, Moscow (TASS)

A 45-minute stopover in Madrid was my undoing. That was enough to put me in the high-risk category as far as Russian immigration authorities were concerned.

I’d be allowed into the country amid the coronavirus pandemic – after having my temperature checked. But my instructions were to head home in a taxi, close my front door behind me, and stay there for the next 14 days.

So that was that. An extended period at home. No gasps for fresh air or brisk walks to the shop. Moscow’s new facial recognition-enhanced CCTV would be following me, after all. My only company would be my computer, the bare cupboards of a reporter constantly on the move, and Moscow’s not-so-extensive array of online delivery services.

Moscow has changed a lot over the 21 years that I’ve known it. The organic, chaotic growth of the post-Soviet era has morphed into something a lot less spontaneous – and somewhat less interesting. But the other side of the coin is a new rational order to the city.

On modern connectivity, Moscow now stands ahead of most major capitals. Transport links are world class. The taxi I took from the airport was booked on a mobile service that was in operation several years before Uber. That same technology company is also offering free door-to-door delivery of corner shop-style food within 15 minutes.

That corner shop delivery service has been a lifeline over the last few days – and for now, incredibly, it has been bearing up with deliveries of 10 minutes, 12 minutes and 16 minutes respectively. But other online delivery services are struggling with the demand. Most supermarkets are now taking several days to deliver (instead of the usual hour or so).

And yes, Russians also seem to be enjoying the panic fetish of toilet-roll hoarding – you can’t find those precious sheets for love nor money.

Arriving in from London, it’s apparent the crisis has yet to totally absorb Russia in the way it has done back in the UK. Official numbers remain low here – though rising fast and with very limited testing. For now, people are generally going about their business. Part of that is government policy to keep the economy going. Part of that – it seems to me – is the inbuilt cynicism of the Russian population.

In a country where trust is always an issue, and survival a daily instinct, the public has difficulty believing in abstract threats. Over the weekend, football fans even unfurled banners making coronavirus jokes.

As I write this from my flat, I can hardly claim to have my finger on the pulse of the man on the street. But I do sense that cynical default seems to be switching, as it should for us all.

Yours,

Oliver Carroll

Moscow correspondent