Everything Was Great, Until it Wasn’t: Recalling a Flagship Moment Aboard the Grand Princess
By Suzanne Suwanda
It seemed like such a good idea at the time. A friend had a deal on a cruise ship headed for Hawaii—share my stateroom, she said, we’ll visit four of the islands plus Ensenada, Mexico, bring all the luggage we want since we can just drive to the ship in San Francisco, and savor four luxurious days at sea each way to relax and be pampered. What could go wrong? Indeed.
We sailed out under the Golden Gate on February 21st. The first 9 days or so were fabulous. I never thought I would enjoy ocean cruising so much. Our days started with walks around the promenade deck or a session in the fitness center overlooking the waves of the mighty Pacific, then dressing for a formal breakfast with elegant table linens, freshly baked pastries, fresh fruit, creative menu choices with eggs benedict always available, attentive professional service. It didn’t hurt that as we chatted with other passengers and enjoyed our breakfast that our cabin attendant was making sure our stateroom was meticulously cleaned and tidied for our return.
The ship’s calendar of events was delivered to our stateroom each night with the turndown service of fresh towels and chocolates, but there was also a handy online version that allowed a customized schedule for the day on our phones — hula class, ukulele class, travel and history lectures, trivia games, mini-facials, shopping specials, and entertainers that included comedians, a juggler, night club style revues, show tunes at the piano, an acoustic guitarist, a classical violin and piano duet, Hawaiian melodies poolside and on and on.
We settled into a lovely routine. Our shore visits were almost unwelcome – the ship was so very comfortable – but we did try to find our land legs again on Kauai, Oahu, Maui and the Big Island. By then the daytime temperatures were in the 80s, people were enjoying the multiple pools, and the warm sunsets were magical. Whales, rainbows, tropical flowers… ah, what could go wrong?
Then the ship set course for Ensenada, which was NOT the direction of smooth sailing, and we rocked and pitched our way back toward the mainland. Outside decks were closed, pools sloshed over the edges and were closed, but indoors there were more diversions – games and activities and new friends to share the fun. Then the ominous notice from the captain left on our beds – the ship would NOT be going to Ensenada but would change course and head back to San Francisco. Large group events such as the theatre were cancelled. The next day, increasingly alarming announcements from the captain. We watched a helicopter drop off supplies and medical personnel. And then at lunch another announcement that we were to return to our cabins and stay there, that meals would be delivered, and that all shipboard activities were cancelled and venues closed.
J and I tucked ourselves into our little windowless cabin, she with her books, me with my laptop. (I had brought my guitar and fiddle but couldn’t subject J to my practicing…that would be too much for anyone!) Periodically the announcement bell would chime and the disembodied voice of the captain would remind us to stay in our cabins, to dial room service if needed, and to call if we experienced any signs of respiratory distress. Additional free internet. Additional movies, television programs and ships’ shows added to the video system. The in – house morning show added crafts and exercise routines. Masks were delivered. Craft kits were delivered. Free ship-to-shore calls. All ship’s charges would be refunded. Masked crew members knocked on our door and left giant trays of food. We washed our hands diligently after every contact with the outside world. And as the hours and days passed the ship’s location on the screen showed us moving in a large rectangle off the California coast.
With my laptop and the expanded internet service I was able to access more news than the captain provided. We watched and listened as Pence and Newsom argued about who was going to take us, watched the press conferences as our fate was blithely discussed and dismissed, and circled around again.
Little by little we learned we would be docking in Oakland, then quarantined somewhere. On Sunday, March 8, our area of the ship was allowed outside for an hour’s walking in the sun and fresh air. Social distancing and mask usage was enforced. Some couples danced in the sun, some sat, others walked briskly. One lovely couple asked me to take their picture and message it to them – I learned they were in their 80s—83 and 86—and from Texas. One crew member sang “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” and I sang along; when I came back by her post she had the song playing on her phone for everyone.
Later that day we received our luggage tags, which meant we could put our bags outside our door for pickup. While waiting for the call to disembark we watched Love Boat reruns. That show had a huge impact on the development of cruising in general and Princess Cruises in particular, and it was quite entertaining to watch the guest spots including Sonny Bono.
Finally our tag color was called, about 4 pm. We hurried to the stairs quickly, afraid that in the late afternoon the disembarkation process might be scrapped. Room cards were scanned and one of the officers was there to say goodbye and wish us well. Down the gangplank and into the waiting chaos of the CDC.
Temperatures checked, 30 or more of us stood in a small tent and waited. I thought that noting the time would be a good idea, but I was too loaded down with my carryon (the laptop, guitar and fiddle mentioned above) to take on anything else. But it was at least an hour of just standing, cramped together, all social distancing abandoned, waiting.
Finally, a bus arrived. A worker carefully wrote down our names as we exited the tent. Another worker carefully wrote down our names again as we boarded the bus. I remember thinking, isn’t there a passenger manifest somewhere with the correct data? J and I took seats near the back, lucky to be aboard. We learned later that some in our group were not boarded and returned to the ship for another night.
On the bus, another worker came down the aisle and carefully wrote down our names again. (Isn’t there a manifest somewhere?) Then she double checked the names again, asking everyone to respond. Someone handed each of us a bottle of water. (Here I remind you gentle reader that we are wearing masks, crammed together on a bus, every seat filled. What are we supposed to do with the water without exposing ourselves to the deadly virus?)
The sun had set, it was now well past 8 pm, and finally our bus pulled away from the Oakland dock and headed toward Travis AFB in Fairfield, where police cars with flashing lights met us and escorted us to the hotel.
Last on, last off, so J and I were near the end of the disembarking group arriving at tables set up in the carriage entrance of the base hotel. Once again, a worker carefully wrote down our names (manifest?). We were given our quarantine orders from the CDC. And the last person actually had a passenger list, told us that we would be sharing a room and with that, gave us our keys and pointed us toward the door, sometime near 11 pm.
So began fourteen days in quarantine at Travis, Camp Travesty as a friend said. I spent the first week sharing a room with J then requested a private room so we wouldn’t be tied to each other’s health. Every morning and every evening federal “volunteers” knocked on the door and check our temperatures. They were friendly chatty folks—retired dentists and coroners, mostly—who regularly volunteer for federal assignments such as this. They didn’t have much information to share, but they were able to forward a few questions. A “telephone townhall” was started – hours of daily conference calls. We were eager to be tested for coronavirus, were told that testing would be started at some point, that it would take some time but they didn’t know how long, that results would also take some time, no one could say how long, and that if our results were not back by the end of the 14-day quarantine period, we would not be allowed to leave until the results did arrive. Also, if we tested negative, we would not be allowed to leave. As the days passed and testing did not start, testing became less and less appealing.
We were allowed to go outside as we wished – some people played cards and ate together in the lobby – but there were guards (US Forest Service and Treasury Service police, we were told) watching us in a dozen vehicles outside our chain link fenced hotel grounds. Toward the end of the first week I received a call from my “case worker” who helped arrange my room change but was otherwise unhelpful. A meal delivery system was developed – the federal “volunteers” brought the plastic boxes of food three times a day and there were some additional snacks available in the lobby. We were allowed to order from Amazon but could not have people deliver to the base or the hotel, even those with appropriate military ID. Sorting and delivery of packages would take 48 to 72 hours after arrival, we were warned. Any misbehavior – not wearing a mask as required, being drunk or disorderly– would result in quarantine extension.
Despite having done this same drill twice before (the Wuhan expatriates and the Diamond Princess passengers), the CDC and their crew had many problems trying to maintain a safe quarantine environment. There were issues with safe food and coffee delivery, communal use of doorknobs, and setting up a conference call that permitted people to ask questions. Our medical officer was an osteopath from New York state who specialized in drug abuse treatment; he was completely out of his league, fumbling with answers to basic questions. He could only be contacted through the conference call system if your call was taken; he had no office hours or published phone number in the daily info sheet.
I got busy and read the quarantine order which required the CDC to reevaluate the quarantine after 72 hours and provide for a medical review for anyone in disagreement with the CDC’s position. I requested the review and wasted hours making my case, tracking down Santa Cruz County Health Department permission to self-quarantine (thank you, John Leopold, for your invaluable and prompt assistance!), participating in a lengthy process that would have allowed me to go home early but for the local CDC representative’s refusal to act. I also had started a Facebook page for our group of Grand Princess passengers while on board the ship to share information — the situation at the other quarantine locations, helping people find their luggage, alerting us to friends who might need assistance. The quarantine management was not initially cooperative but after several days did mention a different group that included passenger relatives, so we did finally end up with an online venue for sharing information and connecting with each other.
In the meantime I contacted some of my old media friends and made myself useful – had a fun interview with KGO-TV’s Dan Noyes and forwarded ideas to others — what was happening with the crew for example – so that more of the story would be told.
Eventually, the days in quarantine outnumbered the days left to serve, and the conference calls dealt with getting people to airports to fly home and parking garages to retrieve their vehicles. The testing finally started, and as the end approached we were told we could be tested at any time and that results would be mailed to us. False negative results were still problematic so I opted to skip the test and just behave as though I was an asymptomatic carrier for the safety of those around me.
Finally on March 23 I had my departure wristband, one final temperature check and then a shuttle to the Fairfield Amtrak parking lot where my sweet fiance, Robert, was there, jumping up and down, to pick me up. As we drove away, I realized my adventure wasn’t over—I was returning to a changed world.
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Suzanne Suwanda lives in the Santa Cruz Mountains and in a non-Covid-19 world can often be found playing bass with the Wildcat Mountain Ramblers, the Black Eyed Susies or The Summit Sisters. She’s looking forward to another cruise sometime…
