So that was how it was to end, our ship of dreams fleeing across an empty Atlantic ahead of the hurricane of Covid. This heralded the termination of our South American cruise.
Cunard decided to cancel our cruise once we had reached the top of the Southern Continent at Curacao - an Island made famous for its 40% proof blue liquor that matched the cerulean sea surrounding the Dutch Caribbean Island that was covered with brightly painted houses and floating bridges. We didn’t know it at the time, but our stop here was to be our ‘last hurrah’ on our South American Odyssey, our last chance to pretend nothing was happening - that the world was really as it should be, not as it really was.
Many who returned to the ship that afternoon carried armfuls of duty-free bottles that would fuel our coming days and calm our anxious nerves.
In the midst of so much infection across the world’s cruise ship fleet, Cunard was running scared so once we were back onboard, they slammed shut our hull doors, dropped our lines and fled northward to the nearest American port and a chance at what we thought was safety. It wasn’t to be, the virus was moving so fast that by the time we docked in Florida a few days later, America too, had become a petri dish of germs and POTUS closed its ports only a few hours after our arrival.
Our next option was Cunard's home of Southampton some 11 days sail away so despite the closure and whilst the port officials were looking in the other direction, we quietly slipped our berth and made for the open seas. Refugees of a virus once considered so insignificant as to be dismissed by the WHO, but now an earth and economy shattering pandemic. Some of our passengers had taken the opportunity to abandon their staterooms and take their chances on American soil, but the airports were quickly closing and escape routes diminishing. Some found themselves stuck in the States for weeks while we sailed on. Our ship’s company decimated, we sailed nearly empty.
As we sailed northward, it seemed that every day brought about a new set of challenges as the world closed down, flight routes closed and transit countries began to refuse entry. It was at this point that one realised how freely we had previously traversed this world and how fragile that state really is.
Now everything had changed.
Stuck on a ship halfway across the Atlantic there was an incredible feeling of helplessness as distant families pleaded for us to get on planes and come home asap. An impossible task made not so simple when you were surrounded by water with not an Uber in sight. Our Internet was stretched to its limits and at US$35 per minute, the ship to shore phone line exorbitantly restrictive when planning flights. Trying to plan a return trip home from somewhere half way around the world isn’t as easy as you think when the world isn’t in its normal equilibrium.
Every flight I booked and paid for, cancelled within days, each escape route closed - sometimes within hours while travel agents worldwide became bogged down with pleading customers trapped in foreign countries, their travel funds running low. Emails went unanswered, phones rang off the hook, but unsung heroes to many, they persisted. Four flights down and an astronomical bill of $21,000 sitting on my credit card for useless flights which would never be used. It looked bleak.
Finally, an agent in Scotland answered her phone early one morning and managed to wheedle me on to one of the last Qatar flights leaving Heathrow, however with a proviso that by the time our ship reached the UK three days hence, the chances were, that they too would not be flying.
Qatar, the airline that used the byline – “We will get you Home”, did. Despite the risks to their crew and their reputation in a sky of uncertainty, they continued to fly at great financial risk and indeed helped thousands to get home.
The joy of getting off the plane in Auckland and being met by a 6’3 Samoan New Zealand Policeman with the greeting of “Welcome Home, glad you made it” was all I could do to not drop my bags and give him a grateful hug.
There’s a world-wide pandemic out there, we are in an enviable position here and Godzone NZ, is the best place in the world right now. It’s time to get out and explore more of it.
Farewell Armageddon
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