We've been through typhoons before. We'll get through it.
Once again, the Pacific has delivered one of its great seasonal reckoning storms to the shores of eastern Asia. Typhoon Bavi — a system as wide as France — made landfall near Yuhuan in China's Zhejiang province on a Saturday evening in July 2026, carrying winds of 144 kilometres an hour and a history of destruction already stretching from Guam to the Philippines to Taiwan. Nearly two million people had been moved to shelter before the eye ever touched land, a testament to both the storm's fearsome scale and the hard-won institutional memory of communities that have learned, across generations, to read the sky and act before it is too late.
- A typhoon the size of France is pressing into eastern China, having already killed 18 in the Philippines, injured 113 in Taiwan, and contributed to at least 39 deaths from preceding storms across southern and central China.
- The region was already saturated and grieving before Bavi arrived — rivers had overflowed, farmland had flooded, and communities were absorbing loss even as a new and larger threat approached from the sea.
- Authorities launched what they called an all-out mobilisation, evacuating nearly two million people across Zhejiang, Fujian, Shanghai and Beijing, while cancelling over 400 flights and shutting down schools and public transport entirely.
- Forecasters warn the storm's slow northwest drift and enormous size mean torrential rain, flash flooding and river overflow remain serious threats even as the typhoon weakens — the danger is far from over.
- As of Saturday evening, no casualties had been reported from the landfall itself, but the hours and days ahead — when the full weight of the rainfall moves inland — will determine the true cost of the storm.
Typhoon Bavi made landfall near Yuhuan city in Zhejiang province on a Saturday evening, its winds measured at 144 kilometres an hour. The storm had already carved a destructive path across the Pacific — striking Guam and the Northern Marianas as a super typhoon, injuring 113 people in Taiwan, closing that island's main international airport, and killing 18 in the Philippines, where nearly 11,000 people were displaced. Separate storms in the days prior had already killed at least 39 people across southern and central China, leaving the region saturated and strained before Bavi even arrived.
The scale of the typhoon was almost impossible to hold in the mind: meteorologists compared its breadth to the size of France. In response, Chinese authorities launched what they described as an all-out mobilisation. More than 1.7 million people sheltered in Zhejiang alone, with tens of thousands more evacuated from Fujian, Shanghai and Beijing. Schools closed, trains stopped, outdoor life was suspended, and over 400 flights were cancelled before the storm made landfall.
In Wenzhou, at the heart of the affected province, a resident named Huang Xinghuan described his family's quiet preparations — water stocked for a few days, a measured worry tempered by experience. 'We've been through typhoons before. We'll get through it,' he said. It was the voice of someone who had learned to live alongside the storm season, steadying himself and others in the waiting hours before the rain.
Forecasters cautioned that the greatest dangers — torrential rain, flash flooding, rivers breaking their banks, farmland submerged — still lay ahead as the weakening but still vast system moved slowly northwest. As of Saturday evening, no casualties had been reported from the landfall itself. The real measure of the storm's toll would come in the days that followed.
Typhoon Bavi crossed into eastern China late Saturday evening, its eye making landfall near Yuhuan city in Zhejiang province with winds that had been clocked at 144 kilometres an hour. By that point, nearly two million people had already moved to shelter—a mobilization so complete that it had emptied schools, halted trains, and grounded more than 400 flights across the region before the storm even arrived.
The scale of the storm itself was difficult to grasp in ordinary terms. Meteorologists described it as roughly the size of France, a mass of organized wind and water that had already left a trail of damage across the Pacific. It had struck Guam and the Northern Marianas as a super typhoon on Monday, then moved across open ocean toward Asia, weakening slightly but retaining its force. By the time it reached Taiwan, it had injured 113 people and prompted the evacuation of more than 14,000 residents from mountainous areas. The Taiwanese government had closed Taoyuan International Airport, the nation's main gateway to the world, and declared a typhoon holiday across nearly every city and county.
In the Philippines, the storm's passage had already claimed 18 lives, most on the island of Mindanao, with nearly 11,000 people displaced and 313 vessels sheltering in closed ports. Across southern and central China in the days before Bavi's arrival, separate storms had killed at least 39 people and caused dozens of rivers to overflow. The region was already saturated, already grieving, when this new system approached.
Zhejiang province bore the brunt of the preparation. More than 1.7 million people sheltered there, with an additional 100,000 evacuated from Fujian province, 34,000 from Shanghai, and others from Beijing. Government officials issued a statement describing their response as an "all-out mobilisation, which is sparing no effort or cost," undertaken to guard against catastrophic outcomes. Schools closed. Public transport stopped. Outdoor activities were suspended. The machinery of ordinary life simply paused.
Meteorologers warned that the worst was still ahead. Coastal regions faced forecasts of torrential rain, flash flooding, rivers overflowing their banks, and farmland being submerged under water. The storm was moving northwest and slowing as it weakened, but its sheer size meant it remained dangerous—a system that could still deliver devastating rainfall across a vast area.
In Wenzhou city, in the heart of Zhejiang province, a resident named Huang Xinghuan described his family's preparations with the tone of someone who had lived through this before. They had stocked two or three days' worth of water. He acknowledged a certain worry, but also a kind of fatalism born from experience. "We've been through typhoons before. We'll get through it," he said. He added that supplies seemed adequate, that there was no need for panic or hoarding. It was the voice of someone trying to steady both himself and others, speaking into the waiting hours before the rain began.
As of Saturday evening, there were no immediate reports of damage or casualties from the landfall itself. The real test would come in the hours and days ahead, as the storm moved inland and the rain fell.
Citações Notáveis
The proactive, all-out mobilisation, which is sparing no effort or cost, is undertaken entirely to guard against the worst-case scenario.— Zhejiang provincial government officials
I'm a little worried, but I think it'll be OK. We've been through typhoons before. We'll get through it.— Huang Xinghuan, resident of Wenzhou city
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
Why evacuate nearly two million people before the storm even arrived? Wasn't that a massive disruption based on a forecast?
It wasn't just a forecast—it was a pattern. The region had already been battered by other storms that week. Thirty-nine people were already dead. When you have a system the size of France bearing down on you, and you've just watched what weather can do, you move people. The cost of being wrong about staying is measured in lives.
But two million is an enormous number. How do you even organize that?
You shut everything down. Schools, trains, flights, public transport. You don't ask people to choose—you make the choice for them by making normal life impossible. Four hundred flights cancelled. That's not a suggestion to leave; that's the infrastructure itself saying go.
The man in Wenzhou seemed calm about it. Was he representative?
He'd lived through typhoons before. That changes how you experience the warning. It's not abstract danger anymore—it's a known thing. You know what to stock, you know you'll survive it, you know your neighbors will too. That doesn't mean he wasn't worried. It means the worry was familiar.
What about the people in the Philippines and Taiwan? They got hit first.
Taiwan was lucky in a way—the storm brushed past rather than hitting directly. But the Philippines took it full force. Eighteen dead, nearly 11,000 displaced. By the time Bavi reached China, it had already proven what it could do. That's why the Chinese response was so aggressive. They weren't guessing.
And now it's moving inland, weakening but still dangerous.
Exactly. The real danger now is the rain. A system that size, moving slowly over land, can dump torrential amounts of water. Rivers overflow. Farmland floods. That's when the damage compounds—not from wind, but from water that has nowhere to go.