by Rob Leachman
Eastern Caribbean
March 1 – 8, 2020
“What the hell were you doing on a cruise ship last March 8th?”
No one actually said these words to me, in large part because after the first week of March 2020, we largely ceased having face-to-face conversations with anyone but family. I suspect some were thinking those thoughts; I know there were times in the ensuing days and weeks when I had those thoughts myself.
But we were on a cruise ship on March 8, a Princess ship at that, and we were fortunate to get off that ship and back home before everything began to shut down. And despite the harrowing hours when we feared we wouldn’t be allowed to disembark in Fort Lauderdale, I would do it all again without hesitation.
While we aren’t the avid cruisers some are, we enjoy cruising. And because of the quality of service, food, and understated luxury, we particularly enjoy traveling on Princess Cruise Lines. Midwestern winters can be harsh and bleak, and a cruise ship traveling to tropical climates provides us with needed sunshine, warm temperatures, and ocean breezes that are almost spiritual in their rejuvenating powers.
For the past several years, we have traveled to Florida in the late winter to spend a week or two along the Atlantic coast. Our favorite oceanfront destination has been Daytona Beach, soaking up the seemingly unlimited sunshine on walks and runs along the wide beaches that have come to characterize this vacation mecca. When we found a right-priced cruise to the Eastern Caribbean scheduled to depart on March 1, just as we would typically be preparing to return home from our annual trek to Florida, we quickly booked it. We had no idea at the time that within three months, and shortly after this cruise was scheduled to end, the world would come to a screeching halt due to a mysterious but potentially deadly virus.
Pandemic on the Horizon
How crazy were we to board a cruise ship on March 1? Answering that question requires a little perspective about how the Covid-19 crisis developed, keeping in mind that we booked our cruise in early December when the term “pandemic” was barely a part of our lexicon.
On January 9, the World Health Organization (WHO) announced that a coronavirus-related pneumonia had been detected in Wuhan, China. Though this development was announced on the nightly news in the United States, what followed was a slow rollout of information regarding this mystery illness. Most Americans didn’t realize that coronaviruses are not uncommon, but according to health organizations, this one was different, potentially more contagious and possibly more lethal. The news was a little scary, but at this stage, as the virus was spreading through Wuhan, we had little reason to be alarmed.
A great deal was unknown, and news coming out of the Centers for Disease Control (CDC) was met with skepticism by some. While I wasn’t necessarily skeptical, I still had vivid memories of dealing with the last major virus outbreak in the United States. In the spring of 2009, I was preparing to retire as the superintendent of a school district in suburban Kansas City, Missouri. The country was experiencing an outbreak of H1N1, more commonly known as the swine flu. Across the country, health officials were terrified that the swine flu would spread and get out of hand and were in many cases prepared to take drastic measures to halt any outbreak. We were informed early on that any school district that had a confirmed case would be forced to shut down indefinitely. This was long before internet capability was sufficiently widespread to allow for “online learning,” and as a result, we feared we would have to end our school year early with no viable options for making up that lost learning time and end-of-year school activities. We experienced no cases, and local health departments were soon informed that their guidance about closing schools had been premature and excessive. (In time as the H1N1 virus was better understood, it became apparent that few young people had antibodies built up to fight this virus while many older folks had earlier developed some natural immunity against this disease. Like with Covid-19, an understanding of the swine flu virus developed over time.)
The first case of Covid-19 in the United States was diagnosed in Washington state on January 21. Later that month, the WHO announced that it was suspected that this mystery virus, which was believed to have originated in animals, could be spread through human-to-human transmission rather than just directly from the animals that were suspected as the original source. On February 25, two days into our car trip to Florida, CDC officials suggested that Covid-19 was headed toward pandemic status. The following day, President Trump stated, “The 15 (cases in the United States) within a couple of days is going to be down to close to zero.” Two days later, he asserted, “It’s going to disappear. One day, it’s like a miracle, it will disappear.” Though we viewed statements from this president with considerable skepticism, clearly there were indications from the federal government that this was no big deal. Then on March 11, the day we arrived home following the cruise, the WHO confirmed that the world was dealing with a pandemic. Two days later, Trump declared Covid-19 to be a national emergency and instituted a ban on non-U.S. citizens traveling from Europe.
Public concern about this virus continued to develop slowly, tamped down by a general lack of understanding and by conflicting comments from governmental leaders. Like most Americans, we watched these developments with interest, but it wasn’t until mid-February that we began to connect this developing issue with our upcoming cruise. As our departure approached, Bev and I discussed these concerns on several occasions but saw no reason to alter our plans. We had tentatively planned to depart by car from our Missouri home on Monday, February 24, six days before our cruise was scheduled to depart. We had purchased travel insurance that would allow us to recoup most of the cost of the cruise if we decided it was unsafe. And by traveling by vehicle, we could turn around if things changed. But as we left our home on that late February morning, it was still our intention that a week later, we would be in the Bahamas, traveling toward two islands in the Eastern Caribbean.
On the Road to Florida
For the past several years since retiring from positions with regular hours, we have enjoyed driving to Florida, where most years we spent the better part of a week in an oceanfront hotel. When factoring in hotels and meals (three nights each way this trip) and gas costs, we could likely fly to Florida and rent a car at little additional cost. But we enjoy taking our time driving, using different routes to visit sites we would otherwise not experience. In past trips to Florida, we have visited the Jimmy Carter sites in Plains and Atlanta, Georgia, the National Civil Rights Museum and site of the Martin Luther King, Jr. assassination in Memphis, the Rosa Parks Museum and other iconic civil rights sites in Montgomery and Selma, Alabama, the Andersonville Prison historic site in southern Georgia, and the Jesse Owens and Helen Keller childhood homes and museums in northern Mississippi, among countless other memorable locations. Some of these were planned destinations, but others were visited just by following unexpected road signs to the historic sites. We simply enjoy taking our time and exploring areas along the way.
We left early that Monday morning, with a reservation at a Drury Inn in Sikeston, Missouri. Sikeston is a nice midwestern town, but it is largely a stopover for travelers heading north or south along Interstate 55. As we were planning our initial itinerary, Bev mentioned that she always wanted to experience the “throwed rolls” of Lambert’s Café, a cultural phenomenon that has gained notoriety based largely on highway signs. Though not necessarily on the level of Rock City or Wall Drug as an iconic destination, this quirky restaurant has acquired its share of interstate fame. We had not experienced the thrill of a visit to Lambert’s, but it is a family-style restaurant known for the servers launching dinner rolls at waiting customers. Gastronomic fame can come from strange and unexpected sources.
With stops for breakfast and lunch, we had about eight hours of driving from our home in the northern suburbs of Kansas City to Sikeston. Just outside of St. Louis, it started to rain, hard, incessant downpours. For a good three hours of driving, water came down in sheets, making it difficult to see and treacherous as the rain pooled on the interstate. We both took turns driving, but it made for a very stressful afternoon. We pulled into the Drury Inn intending to have dinner at Lambert’s (and fulfilling Bev’s culinary dream).
It was still raining, and we were tired and a little stressed out from dealing with the heavy downpours all afternoon. In addition to nice and clean accommodations, Drury Inns are also known for their happy hour offerings, with each guest receiving several coupons for adult beverages and everyone being able to access enough different foods to constitute a simple dinner. After an afternoon of challenging driving, we longed for some of those alcoholic drinks and didn’t want to get back out in the rain. So, in addition to the aforementioned beverages, we had a filling meal of soup, salad, and nachos. For us, “throwed rolls” would still have to wait.
By the next morning, the interstate had dried out and the sun was shining, so we had a beautiful day for our drive to Hattiesburg, the home of the University of Southern Mississippi. We stayed in a nice, one-bedroom suite in a Residence Inn not far from the campus. Bev and I typically follow vastly different sleep schedules, with her typically going to bed an hour or so before me and then me rising at least a couple of hours before her in the morning. In a suite with a separate, enclosed sleeping area, she can get her sleep without being bothered by me, and I can go about my morning routine of making coffee, watching the news, etc. Certainly not a major issue (a true “first world issue”), but when we can find economical lodging with such a separate bedroom, we jump at the chance.
When we arrive at a destination early enough, we also like to explore the area to find available running/walking trails. On the edge of the Southern Miss campus is the Longleaf Trace, a Rails-to-Trails Conservancy project. Having dealt with on-campus parking at countless universities, we were a bit anxious about being able to find a spot near the trail. But we found ample spots in a parking lot just a few feet from the trailhead. The Trace is a beautiful trail, ten-foot-wide, paved, and lined with trees and other vegetation. After a day of sitting in a vehicle, it was good to stretch our legs as we completed our four miles.
About a block from our hotel was a sports bar called Mugshots Grill and Bar. After getting cleaned up, we walked over to this large restaurant with one of the largest screens I had ever seen in an eating establishment. The Southern Miss Golden Eagle baseball team was playing, and the size of the TV was almost distracting. But the salads we ordered were serviceable and the beers and glasses of wine were equally enjoyed.
We had completed two of our four driving days and were a little over halfway to Daytona Beach. We had kept track of the coronavirus news, and still found no reason to reconsider our travel plans.
The rain returned as we continued toward Tallahassee, where we spent the night in another one-bedroom suite at a Homewood Suites. Not unlike our night in Sikeston, with the dreary evening, we decided to avoid getting out of the hotel for dinner, opting instead for another surprisingly nice happy hour. With pasta, pizza, salad, cookies, beer, and wine, and with families enjoying themselves at nearby tables, it was an enjoyable meal, and one we had not anticipated.
In November of 2017, Bev and I rode our bicycles through Pensacola and Tallahassee as part of the cross-country tour we completed. Regardless of the route we selected as we traveled to Florida, we always ended up on Interstate 10 as we traversed the Florida panhandle, each time passing through these two Florida cities. We stopped for lunch in Pensacola, eating again at a little seafood joint called the Shrimp Basket. This time, I ordered . . . the shrimp basket, and it was good and fresh, as if it had just been hauled in from the nearby Gulf of Mexico.
We were very much looking forward to getting to Daytona Beach, where we would spend the next two nights in an oceanfront room in an older Hampton Inn. Over the years, we have stayed in more different hotels than we could probably remember on this section of Highway A1A. Daytona has built a well-earned reputation as a hard-core beach town, but the section we prefer, officially Daytona Beach Shores, is far quieter and more laid back. After checking in and getting settled, we ventured out and completed a three-mile walk on the beautiful beach, the first of several such jaunts during our brief time at this location. As we have always found, with the sunny skies and light breezes coming off the ocean, our time walking or running on the beach had a restorative effect on our outlook.
We first traveled to Daytona Beach as a family around fifteen years ago, when Bev and I were still working and our son and daughter were still in college. One evening for dinner, we stumbled across an old-school Italian restaurant not far from where we were staying. Porto-Fino had, and still has, an ambiance and décor that would fit right into the 1960s. It features Italy-inspired art on the walls, clear plastic covering the vinyl on the booths, and authentic food that is both reasonably priced and well-prepared. Every time we have returned to Daytona, we eat at Porto-Fino at least once.
This first evening in town, we walked the short distance from our hotel to the restaurant. Bev had a seafood pasta dish and I had my usual selection from the menu, the Chicken Parmesan, a huge portion served with pasta with meat sauce, salad with Italian dressing, and warm bread. Both were excellent, as usual. We both have developed an appreciation for good wine, and with this meal, we shared a carafe of the house Chardonnay, which we are confident came from a box of Franzia wine. Not necessarily “good wine,” but we consumed and enjoyed every drop. Whenever we return to Daytona Beach, I am confident we will be enjoying another memorable Porto- Fino dinner. Then, as usual, we will jokingly discuss how much we had just eaten as we waddled back to the hotel. The second night, we walked across the street and had a nice, if less memorable, dinner at Red Lobster.
Another Daytona Beach dining habit we have acquired involves a quirky little bistro in a shopping area overlooking the Halifax River. The Dancing Avocado has a rustic, hippy vibe, not unlike the original Café Gratitude restaurant in California, but a place “where herbivores and carnivores eat together in harmony.” We began having lunch there several years ago at Bev’s urging, but in our numerous visits, my appreciation for the Dancing Avocado has grown exponentially. With a particularly unique blend of iced tea, I typically order some sort of “carnivore” sandwich and Bev some sort of salad. After our morning walk/run on the beach, we enjoyed a relaxed lunch at an outdoor table with a nice view of passing traffic and the river in the distance.
The remainder of the afternoon was devoted to some shopping at a new retail area at and near an outlet mall that opened just a few years ago. As we were driving rather than flying, space was less of an issue, and the afternoon was productive. Little did we know, but that relaxed afternoon at the Tanger Outlet in Daytona Beach would be the last leisurely shopping outing we would have for well over a year.
We drove from Daytona Beach to our hotel in Fort Lauderdale on the Saturday before our cruise was to depart the next afternoon. We have often found I-95 to be rather hectic, and on this Saturday afternoon it was no different, particularly as we passed coastal communities like West Palm Beach and Boca Raton. We were staying in another Residence Inn in Plantation, around five miles from the cruise port. This hotel was older and rather difficult to navigate to the separate building in which our room was located. But particularly compared to back home in Missouri, there was no doubt we were in a much more tropical area, and we were enjoying the warmth. After settling in, we went for a walk in the neighborhood, looking for nearby restaurants to which we might walk for dinner, but found none. We ultimately walked next door to a Pollo Tropical restaurant common in Florida for a couple of salads and soup to be eaten in our room with an inexpensive bottle of wine we purchased at the front desk of the hotel. With seven days of cruising ahead of us, and what we very accurately anticipated would be a series of wonderful meals, we weren’t concerned about not getting enough to eat.
Since leaving home, we had closely watched the news for coronavirus developments, and beyond the CDC pronouncement about the virus approaching pandemic status, there was little news of much significance We also looked for signs of changing practices at hotels and restaurants, and other than more widespread availability of hand sanitizer, we continued to find virtually none. At this Residence Inn, it appeared to be business as usual, with no apparent changes in procedures. With no discussion, we knew our boarding of the cruise ship the next morning would occur as planned.
Regal Princess
The morning of our cruise departure, we left the hotel at around 9:00 a.m., and after parking at the cruise port and checking our luggage, we were in line to get checked in by 10:30 a.m. The cruise check-in process is interesting to watch, a form of organized chaos in which travelers are told when to arrive but almost always show up an hour or two earlier, hoping to extend their cruise by as much time as possible. The cruise companies know this is going to happen and seem to plan for everyone to board as early as possible.
The entire cruise turn-around process is particularly fascinating. Taking a day for one set of passengers to disembark and then for the crew to take the remainder of that day to clean and prepare the ship for the next group would make sense but would over time result in a huge loss of revenue for the cruise line. So typically, the cruise ship arrives at the port early in the morning, and one set of cruisers is disembarking as the next group is beginning to arrive. The previous evening as the ship approached the port, all but carry-on luggage had been placed in the hallway to be stored to allow for a quick move to the baggage claim area in the cruise port. When the first group of passengers starts to depart, sometimes even before 7:00 a.m., their baggage is waiting for them. Within a couple of hours, all passengers have disembarked and claimed their luggage.
Because we had completed much of the pre-registration process, and because we were returning Princess cruisers, check-in was particularly fast. Afterward, we had a brief waiting period until our group was called, but before noon, we were being welcomed aboard the Regal Princess.
We have an affinity for Princess Cruises, finding their ships to be luxurious but not ostentatious, with few if any over-the-top attractions designed to increase revenue, and with the ever-present opportunity to purchase add-ons like drink packages and internet access but with little undue pressure to do so.
And the Regal Princess was magnificent, a beautiful floating city. With a capacity of over 3,500 passengers and 1,300 crew, the ship was large but not a mega-ship. Less than five years old, it still had a modern feel and a “shine” that the most constant maintenance can’t maintain over time. The Regal is a “MedallionClass” ship, which allowed us to use a small medallion to board the ship and to purchase drinks or merchandise. Additionally, any time we approached our room, we heard a clicking sound as the medallion activated the unlocking mechanism to our door. While it took a while to get used to, it was a neat function to have the door to our stateroom automatically unlocked for us each time we returned.
To our surprise, our stateroom was ready, so we dropped off our carry-on bags. Like most on the Regal Princess, our stateroom was a balcony room. As our need for sunshine represents a major reason we have been drawn to cruising, we have always sought a balcony room when available. Simply sitting in the sun, watching the water pass by, we have found to be restorative. I almost always wake up at least an hour or two before Bev, and on a cruise ship, I have typically placed an early room service order for coffee, which I leisurely savor on the balcony while my travel partner gets a little more rest.
From the time we boarded the ship, we were on the lookout for Covid-19-related measures but surprisingly found relatively few. This was still early in the “coronavirus” crisis and there were just a handful of cases in the United States. But still, we had anticipated more changes designed to limit the spread of this mysterious disease. The lack of safety measures didn’t particularly concern us; if anything, it reaffirmed our decision to proceed with the cruise. There were hand sanitizer stations located throughout the ship, and everyone was asked to wash their hands before entering the Horizon Court, the buffet restaurant. And though we have found these ships to be very clean, we did note an increase in the number of crew members working to sanitize handrails, elevators, tables, etc. Among the passengers, we noted virtually no concern. That would change in a week.
In the meantime, despite Bev at times having a scratchy throat (which we only half-jokingly wondered whether it was coronavirus), we had a wonderful seven days. We had breakfast and often lunch in the main dining room, choosing the table service and elegance of sit-down meals over the invitation to over-indulge offered by the buffet. We had chosen the “Anytime Dining” option, meaning we could arrive for dinner in the main dining room at any time. Though we ate at a table for just the two of us a couple of nights, most evenings we dined at a communal table with six or eight others we had never met. We met some fascinating people from both the United States as well as several from Canada. The food was typically excellent and the service was impeccable.
Cruises have gained a reputation, often deserved, as opportunities to eat and drink excessively, and this one was certainly no different. One could eat constantly if so desired, and could similarly spend the seven days in a perpetual state of inebriation. While we certainly didn’t go hungry, we seldom ate other than during meals. And while we had an occasional drink and enjoyed a bottle of wine with dinner each evening, we seldom over-indulged. The ship had a large and very modern fitness center with Precor cardio and weight equipment we were used to utilizing, and we worked out three times during our week at sea. As a result, as cruises go, for us, this was a relatively healthy one.
We continued to have very subtle concerns about transmitting coronavirus, something we thought about every time we passed one of the seemingly ubiquitous hand sanitizing stations. But otherwise, it was a great week. Most evenings we attended a show in the impressive Princess Theater, original musical productions, a comedian, and Beatlemania, a surprisingly good tribute show. We attended a wine-tasting, completed a tour of the ship’s impressive food preparation facilities, and participated in a variety of the countless other activities that seemed to be ongoing. And we spent time lounging in the sun, reading, watching downloaded videos, and just doing nothing.
We spent an afternoon on the beach of Princess Cays, the cruise line’s private island. With passengers needing to travel on a tender from the ship to the island, we stayed on the ship through lunch and missed the crowds rushing to the island, sharing the transit boat with just one other couple. By the time we disembarked after a pleasant fifteen-minute trip, a good portion of the sizable crowd had either returned to the ship or were preparing to do so. We found a couple of lounge chairs and just soaked up the sun for an hour or so, people-watching and listening to live music in the background. We had missed the crowds, were able to complete a workout in a fairly deserted fitness center, had a very nice lunch in the main dining room, and still had plenty of beach time in the sun.
The next day was a scheduled day at sea, and though we had been scheduled to depart from Princess Cays at 5:00 p.m., when we went to bed we had inexplicably not moved. We found out the next day that the departure had been delayed because of a medical emergency, with on-board medical personnel not allowing the individual to be evacuated back to the mainland until he or she was stabilized. When the captain described what had occurred in a mid-morning intercom message, he indicated that the several-hour delay would preclude us arriving the next morning in St. Thomas, our next port of call, until later than anticipated. As there had been several excursions scheduled to depart before the ship would arrive in port, the entire day’s schedule needed to be redone. As an example, our excursion was to originally depart in the early afternoon, but to allow a morning offering of the same trip to be completed, ours was moved to mid-afternoon. We really didn’t care.
St. Thomas and St. Maarten
St. Thomas is the largest island in the U.S. Virgin Islands, a group of islands purchased by the United States from Denmark in 1917. It was our first trip to this part of the Caribbean, and we found the folks we encountered to be friendly and welcoming. With an onslaught from the two cruise ships in port that day, the traffic seemed hectic for an island with a total population of just over 50,000.
Cruise line-sponsored excursions have a reputation for being grossly overpriced, and in many instances they are. But Bev and I have never felt comfortable enough in an unfamiliar nation or territory to simply hire our own guide or find our own transportation. We have found the added cost of these excursions to be outweighed by the lack of hassle and peace-of-mind that comes from simply getting on a bus and letting the operator handle all of the logistics. Our excursion in St. Thomas was called “Amazing Mountain Views and Villa Botanica,” and it made for a nice, informative, and relaxing couple of hours. Our driver was a nice young woman with a distinct accent who drove us all over the island, pointing out highlights and “amazing mountain views.” We ended up at Villa Botanica, a five-and-a-half-acre property that had been transformed from a sugar plantation estate into an event venue and gardens. After a brief orientation and tour, we spent an hour just walking through the gardens of this mountainside estate. It was warm but not oppressive, and the countless different tropical plants, old sugar mill, and waterfalls were uniquely beautiful. The views were particularly impressive, and from some points, we could see our cruise ship several miles away docked in the capital city of Charlotte Amalia.
This was the one time during the entire week that I over-imbibed. Advertised as part of the excursion was “rum tasting.” We had done more wine tastings than we could remember, had toured numerous breweries that included beer tastings, and had visited several distilleries on Kentucky’s “bourbon trail.” But we had never done a rum tasting. In the Villa Botanica gift shop was a little snack bar that included a variety of different Cruzan-brand rums and flavored rums, all produced in nearby St. Croix. This was a little disappointing in that most of what was offered can be purchased in Kansas City, but we happily went along anyway. After trying several different flavors, we asked if we could purchase a drink while we waited for the tour to begin. The lady gave each of us a large plastic cup filled with some ice and told us we could fill it with any flavor(s) we wanted for $7.00, which seemed like a bargain to this Midwestern boy. Two of the many lessons I learned growing up in our hard-working, middle-class home were 1) don’t waste food, and 2) get your money’s worth. I filled my cup with a mango-flavored rum, probably ten to twelve ounces of a tasty liquid with a lower alcohol content than the 80 proof rums typically available back home. But with such a large amount, it was more than enough to pack a considerable punch. Bev did the same, selecting a similar flavor. We sat on an outdoor patio under a large ceiling fan and enjoyed our drinks in a surreal, tropical setting. In time, after I had finished mine, Bev indicated that she couldn’t finish her drink, showing some wise moderation. My childhood lessons kicked in, and of course, I finished her drink as well. It was enjoyable, but far more liquor than I had anticipated consuming when we arrived at this beautiful estate.
After departing Villa Botanica, we made a nearly complete loop around the island, and ended up at an establishment called “Mountain Top.” As you might imagine, this building was located at one of the highest points on St. Thomas and was pretty much a tourist spot selling t-shirts and other souvenirs as well as their “World-Famous Banana Daiquiri.” But there were observation decks that offered impressive views of most parts of the island.
On our fourth day at sea, we visited St. Maarten, an interesting island divided into territories of two different nations. We docked in Phillipsburg, the capital of the Dutch portion of the island; we would also visit the French portion, of which Marigot is the capital.
We had booked an afternoon excursion called “The Best of St. Maarten – Top Ten,” which was a bus tour highlighting the Dutch and French parts of the island. It was interesting to cross from the Dutch to the French side and back again, and the driver was knowledgeable about the various sites we were seeing. You could sense the laid-back feel among residents of the island, though it had been ravaged just a few years earlier by Hurricane Irma, and evidence of that destruction could still be seen through all parts of the tour.
An odd highlight of the excursion was a stop at the famous Maho Beach. There is nothing particularly spectacular about this beach except its location. It’s a narrow, rather rocky strip of sand at the end of the main runway of the Princess Juliana International Airport, the primary airport on the island, with large commercial jets landing and taking off throughout most days. And it truly was a fascinating phenomenon to watch. When landing, the approach of large commercial jets would take them directly over the beach, seemingly just skirting the beachgoers with a deafening roar. On takeoff, large jets taxied to the end of the runway by the beach to wait for tower approval to depart. When these planes blast off, beachgoers stand to feel the force of the exhaust of the jet’s engines. People have actually been injured doing this, but it has become the thing to do on Maho Beach; what fun!
Our tour bus driver dropped us off at the beach with instructions to reassemble in thirty minutes. I had enough knowledge of Maho Beach to be interested, but not enough interest to hang around in the sun on the off chance that a plane would land in the short time we were there. Next to the beach was the Sunset Beach Bar, which offered drinks and bar food in a shaded but open-air setting. We found a table and ordered a couple of tropical drinks and an order of mozzarella sticks. We noticed throughout the seating area little chalkboards on which had been written the estimated arrival times of incoming planes. In the thirty minutes we were there, two planes landed, and the roar of those jets literally shook the building. It was a rather strange but interesting highlight to a relaxing afternoon.
In time, we completed the tour and returned to the cruise ship. With just two tranquil days at sea ahead of us as we returned to Fort Lauderdale, we sensed we were home free, with no coronavirus drama or intrigue. We were wrong.
On past cruises, we had not purchased wi-fi coverage for our phones and tablets, wanting to disconnect as much as possible. This cruise, however, occurred in the middle of the 2020 presidential campaign, and the day we were headed to St. Thomas was “Super Tuesday” on which voters in several states, including our native Missouri, would cast their ballots in the presidential race. We had already voted but I wanted to keep tabs on what was happening back home politically. That was the day Joe Biden somewhat surprisingly took control of the Democratic presidential race. Additionally, we felt it important to keep track of any developments related to the growing Covid outbreak.
There had been a major outbreak on another Princess ship, the Diamond Princess, which was quarantined in the Port of Yokohama in Japan. At least fourteen passengers and crew on that ship would ultimately die of Covid-19 complications. Closer to home, there had been rumblings about a possible outbreak on another Princess ship, the Grand Princess, which was sailing in the Pacific Ocean. On March 4, an elderly man with underlying health conditions in California passed away and had tested positive for Covid-19. This was the first death from the virus in California, and health officials were concerned that the virus had been contracted while on a cruise aboard the Grand Princess in mid-February. On March 2, another Californian had tested positive and had been on the same Princess cruise. Concerned that an outbreak had occurred on board the ship, working with the Centers for Disease Control, the Grand Princess returned to San Francisco, where it was anchored offshore as Covid test kits were airlifted to the ship. While there had been multiple turnovers of passengers since the two who had tested positive had been on the ship, most of the crew had remained on board. And as anyone who has been on a cruise can attest, crew members often work in close proximity to the passengers they are serving.
Of the forty-six tests that were administered, twenty-one were positive, including nineteen crew members. This represented a significant outbreak, and one that would test the limits of both our understanding of this virus and the government’s ability, and desire, to adequately deal with the situation. Ultimately, at least seven deaths would result from this outbreak. As the leader of the White House Coronavirus Task Force, Vice President Mike Pence announced that the ship would dock at the Port of Oakland and that passengers would be allowed to disembark and then be tested and quarantined as appropriate. After slowly and methodically disembarking over several days, many of the passengers were transported to nearby Travis Air Force Base where they were quarantined. Donald Trump had suggested that passengers on the ship not be allowed to disembark so that they would not be counted as American coronavirus cases, the number of which would otherwise “double because of one ship that wasn’t our fault.”
We watched this all unfold from our stateroom on another Princess cruise ship, and we were concerned that a case of Covid would be found among the nearly 5,000 passengers and crew on our ship. At the time, that didn’t seem all that unlikely. More than our fear of Covid, a disease the magnitude of which we didn’t yet fully grasp, was our real concern that we would be stuck in limbo off the coast of Florida, confined to our stateroom and unable to get home. That is exactly what almost happened.
Two Tests and a Possible Quarantine
As is the practice on most large cruise ships, before going to bed on the last night of the cruise, we packed our suitcases and placed them outside our room to be made ready to be quickly transported to the baggage claim area when the ship arrived in port early the next morning. We packed a carry-on bag of personal items we would need overnight and before departing, but as we went to sleep on Saturday night, March 7, we fully planned to depart when our group was scheduled to leave the ship the next morning at 8:00 a.m.
I customarily woke up early, and not wanting to awaken Bev and with room service not available on the morning of disembarkation, I slipped out of the room and went in search of coffee. As I stood on the deck drinking that first cup, it seemed that we were not as close to shore as we should have been to disembark on schedule, and we seemed to be barely moving. But I assumed the captain and crew knew what they were doing and walked back to our stateroom.
With our early departure, Bev was awake by the time I returned to our room. At around 5:30 a.m., we heard crackling from the in-room intercom speaker, something almost unheard of at that early hour. When we heard a voice say, “This is Tim your captain from the bridge . . .” Bev and I looked at each other, and I muttered under my breath, “Oh, sh*t,” knowing that this early morning announcement could only mean bad news. The captain suggested that two crew members had recently transferred from the Grand Princess, at that time still anchored off the coast of California. Though the two crew members were not experiencing any symptoms, the Coast Guard was not granting clearance for our ship to dock until both were tested and both tests came back negative. He stated that the Coast Guard was in the process of shuttling medical personnel to the ship to test the two crew members and that he suspected it would take four hours or so to get the results. If the tests were both negative, he indicated that the ship would be allowed to dock and all passengers could disembark. Unstated but understood was what would likely happen if one or both crew members tested positive, but we believed that if that was the result, we would not be leaving the ship anytime soon.
This was very early in the pandemic, much was still unknown about the virus, and the capacity to administer and process Covid tests was barely existent. It would be a couple of hours before the little Coast Guard cutter reached the ship, another half hour before it departed, and considerable time for it to reach the shore. (We were floating around ten miles off the coast.) Where the tests would be processed was unknown, but it was clear we wouldn’t be disembarking in three or four hours as the captain had originally suggested.
To their credit, the cruise ship staff rallied to make the day as pleasant as possible. It was cloudy and chilly, so most passengers either stayed in their rooms or found a comfortable spot in one of the public areas of the ship. The cruise director and his staff pulled together some entertainment that was announced throughout the day. And the dining rooms opened for breakfast, offering a full menu when no formal meal service had been planned for the morning of scheduled disembarkation. But as we sat at our table in one of the main dining rooms after ordering breakfast, we noticed some subtle but still significant changes. When we asked for cream in our coffee, our server poured in as much as we wanted, not allowing us to touch the dispenser. Even when I asked for salt and pepper for my eggs, the server used the two shakers to my specifications, not allowing us to touch anything that might then be touched by another passenger. Up in the buffet restaurant, where we ate lunch, while passengers previously could largely serve themselves, now servers were dishing requested foods onto plates which were then handed to passengers. We noticed even more crew members cleaning public areas, handrails, elevator buttons, and other areas commonly touched by passengers. While for the previous week the anti-virus procedures had been subtle and largely covert, now they were obvious. It was as if the cruise line had a detailed plan of action for dealing with any sort of outbreak and had instantaneously put that plan into action.
Every few hours, the captain came on the intercom to provide updates, though after the Coast Guard cutter departed with the two test samples, there was really nothing to report. The attitudes of the passengers as they sat around waiting for news and hoping to get off the ship were surprisingly subdued, with little observed hostility or griping. Like us, they were likely doing probability math in their heads trying to determine the likelihood that either of the two crew members in question had contracted the virus. The cruise line was doing its best to be helpful, allowing passengers to make ship-to-shore calls at no cost and working with the countless individuals who needed to reschedule flights home that had been missed due to no fault of their own. It might have helped that by the afternoon, drinks at the bars throughout the ship were also offered at no charge. But the reaction of this mass of people who simply wanted to get home was rather impressive.
Like us, most were likely simply wondering what was going to happen, and if and when we might be allowed to get off the ship. Like many people, my mind occasionally wanders to more negative thoughts, in this case to the broader ramifications of one of the two Covid tests being positive. If one of these crew members tested positive, then (at least in my thought process) it was likely that that individual had infected other crew and passengers. As a result, just like on the Grand Princess (and the Diamond Princess, which had earlier experienced an even larger outbreak as it sailed around Japan), everyone on the ship was at risk. In essence, we didn’t understand the virus and we didn’t know what was going to happen; with the world moving toward a lockdown, we simply wanted to disembark and head for home.
Before we went to dinner, as we were standing on our balcony still wondering how this situation was going to be resolved, we noticed three different cruise ships leaving Fort Lauderdale to begin their scheduled trips. It was like the world, and the cruise industry in particular, was in a sort of limbo, concerned about what was about to occur with the coronavirus but with insufficient information to justify cancellations. The Regal Princess had been scheduled to depart on another Caribbean cruise at around the same time, but obviously with the uncertainty of the status of our cruise, and whether we would even be allowed to dock, that trip had been canceled. Timing is critical, and most passengers on that next cruise had already arrived in Fort Lauderdale when they learned of the cancellation of their trip, many when they arrived at the cruise port. Likely not a particularly fun morning for Princess Cruises customer service representatives.
We were having, under the circumstances, a surprisingly enjoyable dinner in the main dining room with two couples from Canada and two from the United States when Captain Tim started an announcement over the intercom. We realized the next minute would largely dictate what might happen to us for the next few days or weeks, so my heart started to pound just a little. When he indicated that both tests had been negative, a cheer erupted throughout the dining room. With that announcement, I felt a great sense of relief, knowing that barring any additional unforeseen events, we would soon disembark and head for home.
The captain further indicated that a “pilot” had been requested, but that he was unsure when one would be available. Entry into and out of Port Everglades in Fort Lauderdale passes through a fairly narrow channel, and large ships are required to utilize a “harbor pilot” to guide them. The captain made his announcement at 6:30 p.m., and we would not begin our entry into the port until three hours later.
Covid-19 was still a relatively new phenomenon, and issues that a year into the pandemic would not warrant any media attention were in these early days often considered newsworthy. The uncertain status of the Regal Princess fell into the latter category, with television news crews on hand to greet us as we docked. The headline on the Miami Herald website that evening read, “Regal Princess docks at Port Everglades after two crew test negative for coronavirus,” an accurate statement that belied the uncertainty and challenges the passengers and crew had endured for over sixteen hours on that Sunday in March. Some high-rise condominium towers line the Port Everglades channel, and they had apparently heard the news about our stranded cruise ship as we could hear cheering from balconies as the Regal Princess slowly passed by.
After some very impressive maneuvering that we watched from our balcony, the ship finally docked at our destination port. Over 3,000 passengers needed to disembark, and there was one primary exit point from the ship into the cruise port. Once the ship was moored and the gangway into the cruise terminal was in place, passengers were allowed to depart. But that process was going to take time, with those lugging their own bags disembarking first.
Due to the lateness of our arrival (it was nearly 11:00 p.m. by the time the first passengers departed), everyone had been given the option of staying on the ship overnight and then departing in the morning. We thought about this. . . for an instant, and then made a reservation at a nearby hotel for the evening. In a letter distributed to every stateroom, Princess had indicated that the company would pay for travel expenses such as this if travel insurance didn’t reimburse us, so we were covered either way. As I told Bev, “We need to get off this ship.” I could imagine sleeping in our stateroom one more night, and then the next morning having the captain announce that due to several passengers or crew showing symptoms of Covid, we would not be allowed to disembark. Yes, we were going to take the first opportunity to get on dry land and head for home.
Those without checked bags could disembark first and from our balcony, we could watch the hundreds of passengers carrying their luggage as they walked off the ship and into the cruise terminal. In time, we took our carry-on bags down to the deck where the exits were located and were allowed to disembark. As we stepped from the gangway and into the Princess terminal, I felt a noticeable sense of relief. As we were effectively returning to the United States from foreign lands, we had to be processed and our passports checked. For the first time, we noticed that some, but not nearly all, of the officials checking passports were wearing face masks. I assumed that this was due to concern about interacting with passengers who had been on a cruise ship, and in particular a Princess cruise ship. Little did I know that a year later, we would all still be wearing face masks anytime we left the house.
We found our bags exactly where they were supposed to be and made our way to the parking garage. After paying the anticipated expensive parking fees for what ended up being eight days, we made our way to our hotel for the evening, a Hampton Inn in Pompano Beach, just past Fort Lauderdale. We had booked another room for the night in Gainesville in the northern part of Florida, never anticipating an unforeseen set of circumstances would preclude us from getting there. We ended up paying for that room, but with our travel insurance reimbursing us for the room we ultimately stayed in, it ended up being a wash. Our situation was simple, but we could only imagine the cascade of canceled flights that had to be resolved for the other 3,000 passengers.
When we walked into the Hampton Inn after midnight, we again anticipated Covid-related warnings and practices in place but found very few. We checked in, lugged our bags up to our third-floor room, but found we were still too jacked by the previous day’s happenings to quickly get to sleep. We did eventually, of course, and slept much later the next morning than we have in years. We had been physically and emotionally tired, and it had been very nice to spread out in this hotel room that was at least twice the size of the stateroom in which we had been living for the past week.
We have always found Hampton Inns to offer a complimentary breakfast that is a little more upscale than other chains we frequent, and this one was no different. But as we ate our late morning breakfast, and being much more sensitive to virus issues after what we had experienced on the ship the previous day, we were again surprised to note that nothing seemed different than what was typical. We self-served our food, there were salt and pepper shakers on the tables, no atypical cleaning procedures seemed to be in place. In fairness, this was still early in what would later in the week be declared a pandemic, and there were still few known cases in the United States. Within a week, everything would change, but on this Monday morning in south Florida, it was still business as usual.
Racing the Pandemic to Get Home
Leaving Pompano Beach at around 10:00 a.m., we began working our way back to our home near Kansas City. We have made this trek many times in the past and often used our return home as an opportunity to explore different cultural and historic sites along the way. But this trip felt different; sensing that the world was beginning to change around us, we simply wanted to get home.
We spent that night in another Hampton Inn in Valdosta, Georgia, just north of the state’s border with Florida. In the hotel lobby that evening, the staff had set up a “happy hour reception” offering complimentary beer, wine, and snacks. As we each had a couple of beverages before walking to a nearby Cheddar’s restaurant for dinner, Bev and I discussed how everything still seemed unchanged, other than some large containers of hand sanitizer available throughout the lobby.
The next evening, we stayed at an Embassy Suites just outside of Chattanooga, Tennessee. We had stayed here before, a smaller, more compact property without the usual huge atrium typical of this chain of hotels. After checking in relatively early in the afternoon, Bev and I went to the hotel’s fitness center and completed a workout on the elliptical machines. Again, though we had no clue at the time, we would not set foot in another gym, fitness center, or YMCA for the next thirteen months. We attended the “manager’s reception” and then walked across the street to a Mellow Mushroom restaurant where we had a couple of salads. In the hotel, we noted signs urging patrons to wash their hands, and there were the increasingly present bottles of hand sanitizer. But it was as if the global pandemic we had been hearing so much about had not yet made it to this part of the world.
For our last stop on our journey home, we stayed at another Embassy Suites just outside of St. Louis, a huge property that is connected to a convention center. And it was busy, with an electrical contractor’s group holding a meeting. Wanting to pick up a couple of needed items before returning home the following day, we made a quick run to a nearby Target store. It was at this point that the reality of the situation began to sink in with us. We had been hearing about the importance of cleanliness and sanitization to warding off this strange, new virus. As Bev shopped for her items, I went in search of hand sanitizer and sanitizing wipes. I noted that not only were the sections of the store devoted to these items barren, so too was the section with toilet paper. We were back in our home state, and this situation was suddenly getting very real.
We returned to the hotel and had a couple of drinks at another “manager’s reception,” consciously sitting away from anyone else in the huge atrium area. We noticed huge crowds at the hotel’s regular bar and in some of the smaller adjoining rooms that were serving as “hospitality suites,” various electrical supply and contractor companies attempting to continue doing their regular business. Though we have no way of confirming this, we now suspect that this was one of the last meetings of this nature to be conducted at this convention center. Again it was still relatively early in the Covid saga, with the World Health Organization having earlier that day declared it to be a pandemic. But there were certainly no masks (we didn’t even own a mask at this point), absolutely no social distancing, and seemingly every conversation among the conventioneers ended with a handshake. All of that would soon change, and the convention and meeting business continues to struggle over a year later.
With each of us having consumed a couple of adult beverages, we didn’t want to leave the hotel, so we stopped by the “Cyprus Grille,” the nondescript hotel restaurant located in a separate section of the hotel atrium. We were the only diners as we sat down at our table at around 6:30 p.m., and we would largely have the entire restaurant to ourselves through our entire meal. It was not a memorable dinner, but looking back we wish it had been, as it was our last sit-down restaurant meal for at least fourteen months.
But at the time we had no notion that we would be “locked down” for such a long time. We assumed, based on comments of those who were believed to have authority in this area, that we would return home, stock up on food and supplies, and after a few weeks start to emerge from our isolation. With more solid and consistent leadership, it’s possible those prognostications might have ended up being more accurate. But on that March 11 evening, if someone had told us we would return home and have little direct contact with anyone else for the next year, we would have found that to be unfathomable.
After what had been a largely pleasant four-day drive, we made it home on Thursday, March 12. We had been watching the news with great interest, knew that the number of cases was increasing dramatically, and realized the WHO had declared COVID-19 to be a pandemic, though that seemed almost like a formality. But the severity of the situation had not fully sunk in, especially after experiencing little evidence of virus-related precautions since we had departed for Florida eighteen days earlier. Still, in correspondence with some family members, I had suggested, “We are ready to lay low for a while.” We had simply wanted to get home to be ready for whatever we might have to deal with. Now that we were home, our lives still seemed largely unchanged.
That would be altered the following day.
As we had driven home, Bev and I had extensively discussed what we needed to prepare to “hunker down,” as we characterized what we anticipated for the coming few weeks. So, we made a list and the next morning I went to our local Costco to stock up on needed staples and supplies. This particular store is fairly new and always seemed especially bright and cheery, but as I entered the building from the parking lot that was surprisingly full just past the opening time, the atmosphere seemed dark and dreary. This was no doubt a manifestation of my mood and the energy of the large mid-March crowd, but everything had an almost dystopian feel. Not everyone was hoarding, though I did note one shopping basket filled with three of the large packages of Costco-brand toilet paper. We didn’t believe we needed toilet paper, so I bypassed that section of the store: we would soon wish that I had not done so. Most of the fresh meat was sold out, much of the bread section was bare, and some of the frozen and refrigerated foods were not available. People were not panicking, and everyone seemed quiet but polite, but there was seemingly a dark cloud hanging over this crowd of shoppers.
I had wanted to quickly “get in and get out,” but after gathering what items I could, I proceeded to check out. Like any Costco shopper, I have in the past had to wait in line to check out, though the lines were never that long and typically moved quickly. I saw that the line appeared to end halfway to the back of the store, so I quickly pushed my cart to where I thought it ended. I hadn’t noticed the lady with her cart maybe ten feet back, and she politely informed me that the line actually began further back. It was reminiscent of Ralphie and his little brother waiting to see Santa in “A Christmas Story.” (“The line ends here . . . It starts back there!”) I would soon realize that this lady was “social distancing,” a term that on March 13 was not yet in wide usage. I meekly but compliantly pushed my cart to the end of the line, which was near the back of the store (ironically back by the toilet paper I should have purchased). The line moved quickly, and when I got to the checkout stand, I mentioned to the clerk, “This is crazy.” He was understandably not in a talkative mood, and simply responded, “You should have seen it here yesterday.” People were in a sort of dazed survival mode, trying to prepare for a future they could not yet comprehend. In that respect, I was no different. Having been in the building much longer than I had originally hoped, I hurried to the parking lot; I would not again set foot in any sort of store for months. Yes, life was changing.
Future Cruises?
A couple of questions come to mind regarding our Caribbean cruise and our close encounter with Covid-19. First, do we have any regrets about going on a cruise as the Covid-19 crisis was beginning to intensify? Strictly from my perspective, I have no regrets. Had those two tests come back positive as we waited to dock in Fort Lauderdale, and had we been forced to quarantine for some time on the ship, the answer would no doubt be different. But it was a great cruise, we had a wonderful time, and it represented our last hurrah before largely going into isolation for the next year. And other than our last day at sea, our trip was barely impacted by the virus, something valuable given how much Covid-19 would be thrust into the forefront of our daily existence in the coming months.
Second, would we go on another cruise? This question is a bit more complex and requires some nuance. Today, in the spring of 2021 even after Bev and I have both been fully vaccinated, if someone offered us two complimentary cruises, our response would no doubt be to decline the offer: it’s just too soon. But as Covid numbers continue to decline, as more people get vaccinated, and as controls of who can actually get on a ship are solidified, I would absolutely look forward to cruising again. A cruise ship is like a floating hotel, except that at sea it’s obviously not possible to leave a ship as you might from a hotel should circumstances change. In the middle of a pandemic, with thousands of cases being reported daily throughout the world, I wouldn’t travel on a cruise ship. But I also would be similarly cautious about hotels.
Would I go on another Princess cruise? Unquestionably. With the Diamond Princess off the coast of Japan followed by the Grand Princess off California, Princess Cruises gained special notoriety among the cruise lines serving the United States. Was this notoriety earned or the result of some bad luck? Though we may never gain a true perspective, I would lean more toward the latter. Had the cruise industry not shut down when it did, I am confident that other cruise lines would have faced similar or even greater challenges than did Princess. In fact, in the weeks that followed, ships from most of the major cruise lines would report positive cases, including at least one other Princess ship, and some would experience fatalities. When pandemics are raging, it is particularly challenging on cruise ships. But under those circumstances, when a virus is spreading rapidly, danger seemingly lurks everywhere, and wise people simply stay home as much as possible.
For us, though, it had been an enjoyable two weeks, traveling to and from Florida and then spending a week on a beautiful ship relishing sunshine and warmth, wonderful service, and memorable sights. And for one day, the memory of cruising on the edge of Covid.
