Salt Touched

I’m coming home, I’ve done my time
Now I’ve got to know what is an isn’t mine
If you received my letter telling you I’d soon be free
Then you’ll know just what to do…

It has been…a long…long road.

55 days, 51 of them without guests. Most of them spent bouncing around on a ship in the ocean with absolutely no idea what was going to happen to us. I still harbour no ill will against the company; they – and our sister line – did everything (and seriously, I mean everything, more on that momentarily), to try and fix this situation; but after this? Well, it may be time to give some serious consideration to a career that doesn’t involve travelling for a living.

It’s hard to explain what has really been going on with us for the past few weeks. After we moved from our original ship (which was fairly relaxed because we had all been together already for so long and were totally green) we were put into an environment that was nearly militaristic in nature at times. We were kept in separate cabins, we could leave for meals (which were half hour slots and the dining room was divided by ship), and twice daily temperature checks, and that’s it. We were not supposed to leave for anything other than that. Yes, people did, but it was made very clear that we were not supposed to. There were announcements regularly reminding us of this every day.

Remember what I said about “club fed”? A prison still feels like a prison, no matter how comfortable or well cared for.

But at long last, yesterday we were let off the ship.

It was a strange and bitter sweet moment really, we had been with these people for over a month in some cases, we had been each other’s only social contact, only company, for all that time. When we all finally gathered in the main dining room, hauling luggage and adjusting masks…it was a scene of organized emotional chaos.

Finally, the onboard HRM called out

Okay everyone, let’s say goodbye to the CANADIANS

And there was a room-wide cheer…and we hauled all our gear down to the gangway. On our way we were issued with gloves (“please glove up before you reach the terminal), health certificates (“in case anyone asks for it”), health questionnaires, and a massive list of requirements for how we had to self-isolate on our arrival at our final destination. We had already signed off on that list three times that I was aware of, but we signed off on it again…

And then we were on land. For the first time in what felt like a year. And there was a woman holding a huge Canadian flag as we walked out of the terminal.

It was quite the moment…

Especially for Amras and I.

You see, the truth is? It’s a miracle that Amras is in the country with me. By all predictions, he wasn’t supposed to be. He very nearly wasn’t. Those of you who follow my facebook will be aware that until the night before last, we had braced for him to have to stay in Florida. Potentially indefinitely. It took a team of I-honestly-don’t-know how many people, including the HRM of a company we didn’t even work for, the VP of the same company, and including some people extremely high up, to even make sure he got clearance onto the charter plane. And even then , the pilot of the charter plane (who was sweet) had to get him to double check. At that point, I think my heart actually stopped for a second.

When we touched down in Toronto we were prepared for a very long secondary interview (when you’re in the midst of an immigration application you always end up in secondary) and honestly I was scared…really scared. Especially when the agent on duty told me that I had to be seated elsewhere as she just wanted to talk to Amras…after all the twists and turns, after everything we’d been through…they could still turn us back. Right at this moment.

And they didn’t.

I wasn’t part of the interview, I didn’t witness the conversation. But in less time than we ever could have expected, we were standing – together – in the main arrivals terminal of Toronto Pearson…

It took a long while for that to sink in.

We aren’t home yet. Not quite. Our flight home is this evening.

And then we have to deal with the wonder that is mandatory two-week quarantine, which is extremely unpleasant on multiple levels.

But at the very least we’ll be home.

Our ordeal, finally, is over.

And on that note there is something very important that I feel like I need to give voice to at this point. For Amras and I, the rollercoaster is slowly coming to a close. For us, life will filter back to some kind of normal. For many others – hundreds of others – it’s nowhere near. There are still thousands of crew members out there, and they’re still stuck. Don’t forget about them just because you no longer have to worry about us.

And something else…Amras, me, all of our colleagues. Heck, the whole world right now – we have come out of something incredibly intense. Some would argue traumatic. It is going to leave a mark on us. On all of us. PTSD isn’t something that is just about physical wars, and it’s not just limited to soldiers. We have come from an environment that was ….pretty insane. Our freedom onboard, our ability to go home, it all depended on doing exactly what we were told, exactly when we were told to do it. A lot of you may be welcoming crew members back to your communities in the coming weeks; and if you are – please remember, we’re all feeling pretty broken still. The cracks will heal, and the emotional rollercoaster. If you know someone who’s been through this particular wringer? Keep in mind that they may not make much sense at first…they may be jumpy and easily triggered. Me? I’m still crying for absolutely no reason. Most of us have utterly no idea what kind of world we’re coming back to…because we’ve been in one that is so very different for so many weeks.

Please, be patient with us.

Be patient with yourselves.

And above all things…as always…remember to be kind.

I had started to get used to the place. Breakfast at 8, classes at 2, therapy at 4, and asleep by 10. Inside life was simple
~ Secretary

I’m aware that I have opened another entry with that same quote recently….but now, it seems even more appropriate.

I still do not have any real update. The company is working with the Canadian government on some kind of a charter flight from the Bahamas to get us to Toronto sometime this week. But we have been reminded not once, not twice, but three times today alone that “this flight and the call itself is not yet confirmed as we are still awaiting clearance from the authorities”. They have passed out paperwork and confirmed home addresses and shipped all that information off…somewhere. But we don’t know any progress beyond that. Heck ,we don’t even know if we’re going to be able to take all our luggage with us.

It never ever occurred to me that we would actually be out here ‘till May. I thought that by the time Beltane rolled around, we would be safely ensconced in our own home, looking out at the water and thinking “thank heavens we aren’t out there anymore”…

How wrong I was…

“Inside” life truly is mind-numbingly simple. Even more so than it was when we started…

When all this first started, Amras and I were still on our original ship, with our original line. We had an amazing Captain who knew many of us by name and took the time to get involved in our projects and make himself available to our questions. We had a completely green team that was always able to check in with each other. We still had access to amenities and with the exception of one of the few times we called for supplies, we were operating at the lowest level of health restrictions; practicing full social distancing yes, but able to freely roam the ship as long as we weren’t well…stupid. We had evening walks and morning coffee dates. We even had dance classes and yoga sessions (I really should have gone to those).

Married couples and serious partners were still able to share a cabin, because on land those people would still be sharing a home.

Then…then we moved here.

Here. Where the rooms are nice and the beds are more comfortable, where the internet is faster and the tv selection is better.

Here. Where we are not permitted to leave our cabins except for three designated meal breaks, during which we are divided by ship, and two daily temperature checks. Where we have to be masked any time we step out of our rooms. Where those five set times (9am, 10:30am,1pm,5:30pm and 8pm) are the only times I am able to see my husband.

It’s a mind-breakingly set routine. The days go fast by the weeks go slow.

I said once that “if this was a prison it would probably lovingly be called ‘club fed’” and it’s true that we are still as comfortable as we can be. But a prison is still a prison no matter how comfortable it is. Restrictions are still restrictions no matter what their reason.

We continue to do our best to remain positive, to at least see the bright side of this crazy daily routine. At the very least, I am beyond grateful that we are not fully confined to our cabins as we were when we first got here! But I am also acknowledging that we are wearing thin. Our batteries are running down, and every time the announcement bell goes off I brace for “what now?”.

To all of those of you who are fighting for us onshore, thank you. You have no idea what just knowing that you are out there, that you still exist, that you still know we exist, actually means.

Because yes, “inside life is [simple]” but that definitely doesn’t mean it’s easy.

No more questions,
No more tests
Comes the day you say “what for?”
Please…no more..
[….]
Running away, go to it
Where did you have in mind?
Have to take care, unless there’s a where
You’ll only be wandering blind
Just more questions, different kind
~ Into the Woods

Well, I have begun this entry about 3 times and had to start over because that’s how fast everything changes out here! I am consolidating several days into one entry so bear with me.

First things first, we are now on the ship of one of our sister lines (different brand, same parent company). We are comfortable and well cared for, and getting here was a long and complicated journey (which involved a rather unpleasant few days on one of our other sister ships), including two very uncomfortable very bouncy tender rides.

You see, we can’t do transfers in port (once again thank you CDC), so the entire repatriation shuffle has to take place off shore. This means that everyone and everything has to be ferried by tender back and forth from ship to ship. As far as I know they formed a human chain of sorts to get everyone’s luggage down the stairs and into the tenders and then hopped us in one by one. That first tender ride from our original ship to the intermediate ship? That was scary…we were basically in open ocean, and the ships were miles apart, those were some pretty big waves to be in a boat that tiny! I found myself thinking “oh, this is what all of those emergency training exercises are to prepare us for”…

I don’t think I ever want to see a tender again for a long while.

We were housed on the intermediate ship for two pretty uncomfortable days. The reason they were so uncomfortable was simply because no one knew we were coming. We had been diverted from our original destination because the seas had gotten too rough for our sister line to continue their tender operations. Because no one knew we were coming, there were no cabins for us for the first hour, no water for the whole first afternoon, no real air conditioning to speak of and we were confined to quarters. I know it was no one’s fault, there are always glitches in operations like this, and the people were very kind to us, but it was probably the most distasteful two days I’ve ever spent onboard a vessel. Hopefully a situation that is not to be repeated any time soon.

After that we were moved here, to the sister line. The much much bigger fancier sister line.

Now, you would think that everything was all sunshine and roses after that but not so much. There were still a lot of hiccups to be worked out. First, this line’s policy (and who knows, maybe fleet-wide policy by this point) is that spouses are quarantined separately from each other, so – after months of dealing with this emotional rollercoaster side by side, Amras and I are now in separate living quarters. Needless to say we are not particularly pleased about this. However, the worst of it has been mitigated by the fact that – since we all came from green ships, we have been stepped down from “quarantine” to “self-isolation” meaning that as long as we keep masks on, we are allowed to leave the cabins for scheduled meal breaks and such. It’s not much, it’s not great, but it’s something at least.

The people here have been super kind and very accommodating. The spaces are nice and we all have some kind of natural light (those of us who transferred all have verandahs, and I believe many others do as well). The food, now that we no longer have to rely on room service, is excellent. Especially for those of us who have been eating way more Asian style food than we would normally be used to for the last little while. It was a blessing to walk into the buffet line last night and see what I think of as comfort food. And fruit. Lots of fruit. They’ve also given us swag bags with colouring sheets and chocolate and bingo cards and trivia. Really, they’ve been brilliant. We’re super looked after here…

But…that all said….it’s really only our location that’s changed.

As for what all of you may be wondering: I have no idea what happens next or when we’re leaving. As far as I know this is now the “North American Hotel Ship” that is just kind of holding onto us until they figure out what to do with us.

I know that the rest of the fleet – including our original ship – have zipped off in different directions to take our crew members from other countries closer to their homes. I will admit, that was a tough one, for over a month we’ve looked out our window and seen the same handful of ships. We’ve become our own little neighbourhood. And we’ve been with the same people onboard. Always the same people. We didn’t always know everyone by name, but we knew all the faces. Truth is, most of us didn’t want to leave any of those people behind. But the only way to get us all home was to split us all up. So now…now, we’re at a different anchorage, and there are far fewer of us and all different. Our nightly chorus of horns is smaller now, I’m actually not even sure that I heard it last night. But then, it was a strange and very busy day, it’s possible that I just wasn’t outside at the right time.

This ship is much much bigger than the ones we are used to. We leave our cabins and I feel like I have to spend about ten minutes just figuring out where to go. We have been welcomed like guests, but we still feel like refugees. Pulled out of our own environment, unsure of what’s happening to us, unsure of where we even belong.

So, we don’t know.

I know the CDC is still not allowing any of us entry. I know that there are people fighting for us, and that we are all fighting for each other.

I know that…this is hard. I know that I am a strong person who right now does not feel strong anymore. I know I feel lost, and frightened and confused. I know I have good days and bad days. I know we all do. I know I would be even more lost if Amras wasn’t at least on the same ship with me even though he’s a hallway apart from where I am right this moment. I know that I have gone through rage, through exhaustion all the way into “I just can’t…” and that it’s taken a while for me to get to that point. I know that I am trying so hard to stay positive and remind myself daily that this will end but that I’ve reached the point where I’m saying “I don’t like this ride anymore and I would like to stop now”. And I’m accepting that feeling like that is okay…because I think any sane person in this kind of situation would feel the same. I’m pretty sure that’s what how most of the world is feeling right now.

But as for the rest of it? As for when any of that will change? I just…don’t know.

So for now, we’re safe, we’re taken care of, we are fed and entertained…

We just…don’t know what’s happening to us.

And for now, that’s our new normal.

And the one thing I know more than anything else? You’ve still got to be kind babies, you’ve still got to be kind

No more giants, waging war
Can’t we just pursue our lives with our children and our wives?
Till that happy day arrives how do you ignore?
All the witches? All the curses?
All the wolves, all the lies the false hopes the goodbyes the reverses?
All the wondering what even worse is still in store?
All the children…
All the giants…
Just…No More….

Amras and I have been working on what turned out to be a very big project during our time here. I’ve mentioned it a couple of times; now I have a proper update on it’s status.

It’s finished!!!

When we first started our cover recording of “Hotel California” I had no idea how far it was going to go. It went from being something that just the two of us were working on, to something that nearly 20 people were involved in. To say we are proud of it is an understatement and a half.

If you look at it in total days, the project took us almost a month, though to be fair the work wasn’t done daily. But, we started in late March and finished in late April one way or another.

Amras is a producer as a well as a musician, so the audio side of it was all his. Half the time I didn’t even understand what he was doing when he was working with the recording software. Which was fair, because half the time he had no idea what I was doing with the video production software (there’s some crossover in how the two programs work, but not quite enough to allow one to be fully compared to the other). It was a roller-coaster of a journey and we had our fair share of artistic clashes over the whole process.

But in the end, we have come up with something that is…quite frankly…pretty brilliant.

This evening we were running the sound the check in the small movie theatre onboard before screening the final product for those who helped us with it, and we saw the first frames of the music video come up on the big screen. We may or may not have bounced up and down like small children. It was, without a doubt, one of the

My favourite moment of the evening was sitting at the back of that theatre, watching everyone else finally get to see this really cool thing that we had made, and feeling their reactions. Watching them laugh in the right place, be startled in the right places. And thinking “hey, we did that, we made that!”

We have created something that people really seem to like, that might help people feel better, and that is pretty amazing.

Now, comes the annoying news for some of you: we can’t show you yet. I know, I know, I’m not happy about it either, but this is really important to us and we have to do it right. That means ponying up the fees to get the rights to be able to put the product on youtube so that it can be streamed and shared. We can’t post it anywhere until we do that, and that’s a long process.

So soon. Not yet. But soon

So much went on today that I have to do separate entries for all of it.

First, Amras and I officially finished a massive project we’ve been working on – more on that later- but second…

There are things that are small that seem big and things that are big that seem small.

This was one of those little things, that’s much bigger than it at first seems.

Every night at 7:30pm all the ships at anchor in this area sound their whistles. Every night. Without fail. And every night they call on a different crew member to do it. It’s not a lottery or anything, I’m pretty sure it’s just random selection, something as simple as who our cruise director happens to bump into at the right time.

Tonight, I was standing in the cabin getting ready for something completely unrelated when Amras came almost bouncing back into the room.

Please tell me that your camera is charged.

Well..maybe…I mean I think so…I put it away because we weren’t really using it anymore.

Is it charged?

Depends on what you want to do with it but yeah…

Guess what we’re doing?

What…?

We’re sounding the horn tonight. We have five minutes before we have to be on the bridge.

Once on the bridge the one of the officers showed us how the horn worked, showed us which button to push (and it really is just a button) and then counted us down to 7:30. And just like that we were part of the nightly chorus.

Such a small thing. Such a big thing.

Finally, I am in a position to give a proper update!

Now mind, I’m not sure if all of you will consider this a positive update (I’m a little nervous about it myself) but it is information. So…here goes.

As soon as the day after tomorrow, Amras and I will be switching not just ships. But lines. You see, the line we work for is one of many under the same main umbrella. In normal times the sister lines don’t actually interact all that much; but these are not normal times.

It has been quite a struggle to try and get us all home. There are after all, quite a few of us. Seemingly barred from commercial flight (at least in the US) and unable to dock anywhere on the USA East Coast, the mother-line (for lack of a better word), has decided to pool our resources. They are pooling nationalities; all the Asian crew to three of our ships (including the one I am currently on) and from there onwards to Indonesia and the Philippines. All the Europeans to another ship. And us North Americans? Yup, yet another ship. The ship chosen for us is from one of our sister lines, and it’s bigger than ours, much much bigger. I’m rather afraid of going for a couple of reasons – one we are not employees of the sister line, so the second we land on her decks we are essentially refugees. Our contacts with head office will – to the best of my knowledge – no longer exist. We just stay on that ship for as long as they tell us to until they can drop us off somewhere to fly home. Also, as soon as we land on the other ship we will be in 14 day mandatory isolation.

So, there you have it, there is a plan, there is definitely forward motion. But it will be at least two and a half more weeks before we see home.

But since we’re going to be moving, Amras and I spent a good part of this afternoon packing up the cabin that has been home for the past little while. There’s still a little bit left to go into the suitcases, but not too much. A lot of my books sadly will go back to the paperback exchange, and we may be pruning our wardrobe a bit (after all, transfer between ships is by tender so every little bit counts).

We have no idea where we’re going to be housed when we reach the new vessel but at least we’re going from a clean ship to a clean ship, and we will continue to be safe and looked after.

That said, I am also sad about this. They’re splitting us all up for very good reason, and it’s a good plan. But they’re still splitting us all up none the less. This team, this 592 person team. I may not know all of them, I don’t know three quarters of them nearly as well as I would like. But I still don’t want to leave any of these people behind. I had hoped that when we left we would all debark together, all in the same place, all to the same airport. Now we just have to say goodbye to each other here and hope that we all make it to the right places eventually.

But it is a plan. And it does mean that we will hopefully be home soon.

Not soon enough, but soon.

Once again I have little in the way of an update. The only real news I have is that Amras and I – along with all of our colleagues – have been moved to more comfortable quarters rather than being kept down on the crew decks. This is a process that actually started a few weeks ago with the crew deck below us, and concluded yesterday with the officers and entertainment staff shifting. It probably doesn’t sound like much, but having a slightly nicer (slightly bigger) space to come “home” to at the end of these long strange days makes life much more bearable for all of us. Keep in mind that until now we’ve all still been in our crew rooms, which could be equated to a much smaller version of a college dorm (actually for our first month and more on this ship Amras and I were in a bunk cabin…but I digress). This has not been a party cruise, and most of us are still wandering about slightly zombified just taking everything one day at a time.

Other than that life goes on as normally as possible. Amras and I are having a great many good moments working on our recording project (more on that at a later date), and I am nearly a quarter finished my Titanic embroidery – my goal to complete that quarter before April 14^th remains a possibility.

As far as actual news goes – well, like I said I have little. About the biggest thing is that I have been given reassurance that I will be paid for all this, which is a great relief as up until now we were not sure. Also, we were told this morning that some of our sister ships on the West Coast (fyi, our ship is on the East Coast right now), will be shuffling about some people in order to move the bulk of the south east Asian crew onto one ship in order to take that one ship back to South East Asia. That’s a long slog with potentially a lot of people onboard and I definitely wish them luck and dearly hope it works out for them. For those of us hanging out on the east coast though, this means very little except that somewhere someone is doing something. It’s a step in the right direction, albeit one that does not affect us directly right now.

We were brought supplies by one of our sister ships day before yesterday, those supplies will be in quarantine for 72 hours as an extra precaution. And yes, you read that right, we were brought supplies, because we were unable to call into Florida to pick them up ourselves.

So we’re still simply here. Rumour has it that all the people in my specific position will likely “be home in the next week or two” but we have no idea how or when that’s going to take place.

And now we get to the “vent” part of this….the below is mine, and mine alone. I speak for no one but myself.

There is something else I need to reiterate here: we are a global industry.

We are a global industry that no one wants to help. I find it infuriating that while certain countries are more than happy to take the billions of revenue and tourist dollars that this industry provides when times are good, they are unwilling to assist that industry when times are hard. They have turned their back on 90,000 people who simply want to get home, who simply want to know what’s happening to us, and why? Why have they done this thing? Politics. Straight up. Politics. Because we do not flag in their country, no one cares about anything else. No one cares that we are 90,000 people, many of whom are healthy. We’re not theirs so why should they help us. We don’t specifically pay their taxes (As though that’s the fault of the crew members?), so why should they help us.

We are not their problem.

No one wants us to be their problem.

This is an ongoing attitude that I am seeing more and more of, even among my family friends. There are some people that I will never look at the same way again because they have strongly expressed this attitude.

And it is this attitude that is one of the biggest factors to us being stuck in the position that we’re in. Our own countries borders may be open to us (though not in all cases), but getting there requires us travelling through other countries for a short time. We are being barred from doing so, because of politics, because of selfishness, because of people who do not care that the big bad corporation they are so disgusted with is made up of thousands of thousands of real people. I challenge anyone who has this “what’s in for us” attitude, who truly believes it and sides with it through all of this, to spend one day onboard, to feel the incredible onslaught of emotions that comes from being stuck out here, that comes from knowing that you’re safe, you’re cared for (and the company is doing a wonderful job of taking care of us!) but also knowing that you are indefinitely separated from your families, your loved ones, in many cases your children.

Imagine what it feels like to be told that you are not “worth the risk” of being let into a country even just to go home. Take a moment and really really think about that. Let it sit. Imagine what it would feel like if you were on the other end of that. Imagine how much that hurts and on how many levels.

We are, like everyone else at the moment, in constant state of emotional flux; in addition to being far from home, uncertain of our futures, feeling forgotten by most of the world and rejected by the rest of it.

There was a ship in 1939 called the H.M.S. Louis. She departed Germany enroute to Cuba, full of passengers bearing paperwork to allow them to flee to safety in the states. Cuba said no. The US said no. Canada said no. No one wanted them. No one wanted to help. That ship was turned back because of the same “we only need to protect our own” attitude that is rising so much in the news.

Please, if you know anyone who is on the “who cares about the cruise industry because they don’t pay our taxes” bandwagon, please try and remind them that we are people. We matter. That this is not the time for politics, that this is not the time for nationalism or any of it. We are all supposed to be in this together. We are all equal in our fear and our confusion.

Please…remind them – and yourselves if necessary – that we just want to come home.

We’ll meet again, don’t know where don’t know when
But I know we’ll meet again some sunny day
Keep smiling through just like you always do
Till the blue skies chase the dark clouds far away..

Don’t know where, don’t know when…that’s really it isn’t it? That’s the only real update I can give right now. We still don’t know.

Well, I guess I’ve got to start somewhere….
First and most importantly: our ship is still well and healthy, though we are probably being struck by a little bit of cabin fever. As far as I know there isn’t even so much as a cold on board. We also still have plenty of supplies (and don’t forget, we make our own water as well). We have a fantastic onboard management team who continues to take very good care of us, and there is still plenty to do to keep us occupied. Ironically, the hotel director has requested a full inventory count of the shipboard library…guess who’s been requested to assist with that (ha! How things come full circle!). We’re holding the finals for the crew talent show tonight, they finally put up the entries for the photo contest (though I don’t know where exactly they are being displayed), and I’ve seen more jigsaws done in the past few days than I usually see in a year…

So that’s all fine.

As far as getting off the ship? Well, that’s where things start getting a bit more complicated. According to our Captain’s daily announcements, we originally had a supply call scheduled a few days ago. That call-slot ended up going to our sister ship (and was all over the news), and we got pushed back to the 7^th. That was still unconfirmed, but there were at least charter planes arranged for the vast majority of our south-east Asian crew (many of whom were supposed to be home already). So it was looking like it was a fairly good chance that most of us hotel/entertainment staff would be starting the long process of heading back to wherever home is. The mood on the ship was fairly light yesterday morning despite none of this being 100% for certain (after all, these days nothing is 100% for certain). Then, a few hours later…the Captain came back on the PA.

My dear crew…I…don’t even know how to say this…

And Amras and I looked at each other and swore. Nothing that starts with the phrase “I don’t know what to say….” Or “I don’t know how to say this” has ever been good in the history of ever. The captain went on to sorrowfully tell us that US Coast Guard had placed an injunction on our ship preventing us from entering into US waters. This, despite the fact that our ship is healthy and shows no signs of becoming otherwise. Truth be told, I was almost ready for this; I have been slavishly checking the news every morning for anything that might directly affect Amras’ and my situation; I have a list of things I check daily (“Canadian border”, “cruise industry”, “coast guard”, “travel restrictions” etc etc), and a few days ago I came across news that the Coast Guard had barred all Bahamas-registered ships from entering US waters if they had sick passengers. We are neither Bahamas-registered nor sick but it would appear that someone somewhere has chosen to expand things.

I have not seen a mood flip on a ship as quickly as I did yesterday. Today, everyone is somewhat back to walking about in a fugue state; we all just go from one distraction to the next. Bouncing back and forth like ping pong balls as we try and keep our spirits up as much as possible.

So, we once again do not know. At this point, we do not even have a time estimate. To answer the question I’m sure some of you will ask, we also have no update on whether or not we will simply attempt to call at another port. Everything I know, I have already passed on.

Please, no matter how gloomy all of this sounds (and really, I do wish I had better news), know that we are safe. We are being well cared for and we’re in no danger. We’re tired, we’re stressed and I imagine I’m not the only one who’s terribly homesick, but other than that we are fine.

This will end soon. One day soon the director will call ‘CUT’ on this bad world-wide B-feature of a sci-fi movie and we will all be able to go back to some semblance of normal. Until that day comes, we’re all just going to have to keep hanging together and keep each other from going too crazy. Play with your kids, finish that book you’ve been meaning to read. Go through your closet. Binge watch your favourite TV series. Work in your garden (as far as I know people are allowed outside as long as they stay on their property?), take time to slow down and admire the view…

Give each other a hug for me.

And try not to worry about us. Because we’re fine. We really are. We’re in the same situation as all of you, we’re just living it out somewhere a little different…

And we will meet again some sunny day…

Those were the days my friend
We thought they’d never end
We’d sing and dance forever and a day
We’d live the life we choose
We’d fight and never lose
For we were young and sure to have our way

It’s hard to believe that only a few weeks ago the world was …I suppose you’d consider it normal. It was at least the kind of crazy that we were all used to. Certainly not the best of times, but the unbalanced bizarreness that the world had come to accept as the semi-universal level of somehow-acceptable.

We went to work, went to school, took our kids to the playground. We went on lunch dates, went to the movies, pointedly ignored our ‘annoying’ neighbours. We threw weddings, wept at funerals, said hellos and goodbyes at hospital bedsides. We lived our lives from day to day, with varying levels of awareness of the people around us; sometimes so swept up in our own ‘busy’ lives that we didn’t even see anything outside our own frame of reference. Our eyes were only half open.

And then…this little bug came along. So small really, I mean physically. A virus can’t even be seen with the naked eye after all. I find myself wondering how something so microscopic could so easily wreak so much havoc on the vastness of the planet.

Thanks to this little tiny bug; there is now a ‘new’ normal. A normal where everything has changed. From schooling, to grocery shopping to how we deal with each other. I am in an odd position, in that I am both directly inside the situation – just like all of you – and I’m a step outside it; quarantined on a floating hotel with little knowledge of when I’m going to ‘rejoin’ the human race or what form that integration will take when it comes. I see the world across the water through the warped lense of the news and the internet and try to parse together what is hyperbole and what is reality. It’s getting harder and harder to tell the difference.

‘Normal’ now is staying safe within your own walls; keeping those you can close, and – for some – pushing those we love far away so that they are not within harm’s reach. Our cars collect dust in our driveways and more planes are grounded every day. We watch from behind our window glass as the world slowly becomes quiet. Schoolyards are silent, voices are muffled by masks, my father’s store – probably among many – has stopped accepting cash. From my glass and metal world atop the water I see a great many things that terrify me, that make me want to turn away and never watch again: whole countries turning in on themselves and denying aid to others, what looks like near martial law in others, individual comments calling for the death of others, and blame blame blame…some days it seems like everyone is looking for someone to blame….

But…at the same time…

I also see so much that gives me a tremendous amount of hope: theme parks donating tons of excess food. Healthy people going grocery shopping for people who can’t risk leaving their own homes. People dropping off snacks at stores just to say thank you for still being open. Online universities giving away months of courses for free. The water in the Venice canals running clear for the first time in decades. Pollution levels dropping. people clapping every night to show support for essential workers.

And art so much art, so many people driving their fear and edginess out by creating something for other people; Andrew Lloyd Webber creating a streaming channel just for Broadway musicals, international sewing groups suddenly becoming popular on facebook, families posting videos of singing together, Italians breaking into spontaneous balcony opera, Sir Patrick Stewart reading a sonnet a day, Julie Andrews starting up a children’s storybook time, friends taking requests for songs to record, artists painting art by donation. Virtual card games. People going out of their way to check if those annoying neighbours are okay.

15 ships sounding their horns together at 7:30 every night…

We are still here. We still exist. We still have heart. We still have spirit. In the midst of all this terrible coldness. We can still have warmth; we can still find joy.

We need to hang onto that. To all of it. Because this isn’t going to get any easier. Chances are, it’s going to get a lot harder before the light pierces through and it starts getting better. We need to take a good long hard look at what we thought of as “normal”, because the truth is – as many have said – that ‘’normal’ wasn’t working. We are creating beauty out of the ashes of normal. When all this is over – and it will be…one day – we can’t just crush that beauty, that new mentality of caring for each other, of watching out for each other even when sometimes the people who are supposed to be in charge don’t. We can’t just toss that away like turning the lights back on after a blackout. We need to use this ‘new normal’ to build an even better one…because otherwise, all of this horror will have taught us nothing, and that would be the true tragedy in all of this.

That would be the greatest loss of all.

And as for me, out here in my glass and steel world, know that I am thinking of you. All of you. I don’t know yet when I will return to you all, but I feel sometimes that I carry the whole world in my heart these days, and I wish I had enough hugs, enough medicine, enough masks, enough everything to magically ship to each and every person. But I don’t. No one does, not right now. So I give you this:

Handle what you can, leave what you must. If it feels like too much, take a breath, take a step back. Cry if you have to. Crying is acceptable. Crying is fine. Screaming is fine too, if that’s what you need. Cut everyone around you the same slack that you probably need yourself. Remember that we are all in this together. All of us. All however-many-billion-of-us. In this, we are all equal.

And, like I keep saying, when all else fails – “babies, you’ve got to be kind.”