Day 101 without touching soil and this isolation from the world is far from over, the light at the end of the tunnel is yet to appear. It all started very differently, at the beginning it felt like a big unknown: what now? Deep down one felt a comfortable relief whispering vacations, although that was only the beginning, everything has been transforming. The quarantine has had its own metamorphosis.
The party
In my case, relations at work were tense, the news of the indefinite break from work brought me a smile, it was an air I needed. The ship was quickly left without passengers for the first time, it felt strange, one felt nostalgia, though far outweighed by the intrigue of knowing what it would feel like to be a cruise guest. The first stage of the quarantine was a party, we were one of the lucky ones to be locked on a floating hotel: pool, gym, bars open just for us, what else could we ask for? There was always room to discuss the concerns of the world out there, but the world on social media is very different. I was one of those who preferred not to read much about it for not knowing how to distinguish between news and speculation. Life on board was easier-going, we were at a private party at the end of which a big unknown was whispering: now what?
The distrust
The first news to spoil the party arrived: a fellow crew member from another ship was disembarked due to a medical emergency in very critical condition; she had been fighting with her lungs for 6 days to be able to breathe – frightening! That virus wanted to get to us, it was no longer just a thing on social media. Many of us knew her personally, we were wishing for her to recover. The party was already changing its atmosphere, yet there was still music in the background.
We started with the social distancing, looking at each other with suspicion, trying to avoid any risk of infection. At that time, we could all be victims or represent a danger to each other.
The emergency
At the same time, the company was suffering a crisis, one of the sister ships had the virus, they still had passengers on board because no country allowed them to enter port. Crew and passengers alike were getting infected, passengers began to die on the ship, they were all isolated in their cabins and there was not enough staff to survive the emergency. So they had to take a desperate measure: risking one of the ships that were already without passengers in order to transfer those people considered healthy and give a hand to the staff who were totally exhausted.
They started calling volunteers, brave and big-hearted people to go on the sick ship to help deliver food to each of the close to one thousand rooms. It was all very risky, but there was no government support in this humanitarian crisis. We had to resort to community support.
The news
At this point the party was over, the news was no longer figures we read online, but announcements from ship to ship, between colleagues, friends, people we had worked with.
At some point, an announcement arrived which sent shivers down our spines: a fellow crew member who had volunteered for this humanitarian mission had been infected and his body did not resist the virus. That day, when they announced the loss, they gave his name and blew the horn in his honor; this was deeply sad, indeed.
The separation
The quarantine started to mutate, we were still socializing but with a prudent silence. Rumors started to circulate about the possibility that people could be sent home. People were being sent to different ships, the small circles of friends built during this time were fragmented; repatriation processes began. Some few people could be sent home on charter flights, depending on the country and whether the governments authorized the entry of their citizens. Citizens of those countries with large numbers of crew members on the company were sent by ship, the other mixed groups had no choice but to wait.
Hopelessness
We were delegated to repatriate a large part of the Asian staff. We crossed the Pacific Ocean for three weeks; we were expected to arrive in the Philippines, disembark the Filipinos and continue towards Indonesia a week later; this expectation turned out to exceed both reality and human resistance, since the Philippine government began to see dollar signs in this situation and began to delay the disembarking process of the crew, thus earning ridiculously high amounts of money for each day from each of the 25 ships stuck with us in Manila bay, with more than ten thousand people wishing to see their families.
We were not the only disappointed ones: charter flights for mixed groups had been organized on other ships so that more people could be repatriated. But the plans had to be canceled or postponed as negotiations proceeded; the flight companies also wanted to get a bigger slice of the cake.
Hopelessness began to win this game, the first crew member jumped overboard, taking his life and torments, warning all of us to look around and identify among us those who were already reaching their limit. Three days later a second crew member ended his life, later two more, and at this point we did not want to count any more, we were horrified and scared. The memories of that party seemed like from many years ago.
The disembarking
After one month of waiting we were finally able to disembark the eight hundred Filipinos on our cruise. Meanwhile, the ships waiting at the coast of Mexico were finally able to organize some more flights; positive news began to spread. Now we could finally celebrate and sail towards Indonesia.
In Indonesia it was a different story altogether; the government said that the repatriation process had to be done in three phases over four days and that's exactly what happened; we disembarked more than 1,200 people there. We were welcomed by small boats saying "welcome home" to their people, making a welcoming gesture with their open arms; it was a beautiful feeling, a clean, clear and happy disembarking process.
The rescue
After having fulfilled our mission to repatriate our Asian group, the next step for the ship is to go into minimum operation, this is like putting the ship into a coma, only the minimum number of crew members remain on board so this floating edification can still move.
We had to sail towards Singapore to transfer our colleagues who are not part of the ship’s essential nervous system to another ship; they will be waiting there until they can fly home.
This day is going to leave a permanent mark on the people on board, it is in fact the reason why I decided to write about all this transition of events: On June 19, on the way to Singapore, the panorama was getting covered by a rain curtain, it was a dark gray day, with limited visibility. Around 4:30 in the afternoon, there was a kind of storm and when the dense cloud passed, a half-sunken fishing boat could be glimpsed from the Bridge, with six fishermen hugging the pieces of wood floating around. The accident had happened 3 days before that; one of them was holding on to a log like someone clinging to his life; as soon as he was lifted onto the rescue boat, he passed out. The other 5 told us that they had been a crew of 16 people; we needed to find 10 more souls. The rescue boat searched the surroundings while we watched from the balconies hoping that this ocean, so wide and deep, so beloved and mysterious, would give us back 10 more bodies.
We were not successful. We were able to save six lives. The next day the coast guard informed us that they had found 3 more fishermen alive; they had managed to swim to a nearby island.
The last spark
Those nine souls ignited the spark of life for many of us. Our ship has already gone into a state of coma, but our hearts are still beating in here. We hope for the news soon to be that our replacements have arrived and it's our turn to go home. As I finish this writing, 105 days have passed without touching soil, and there is still a big unknown whispering in the background: now what?
Note:
Views expressed on this website are mine alone and don’t necessarily reflect the views of my employer.
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