Was On A Luxury Cruise Then The Cough Started The Ship That Became A Global Pariah Covid Corona Virus

It was early March 2020 and the first wave of the Covid-19 virus spread not only to Wuhan, China, but to Italy and Spain. In the UK, cases totaled 273. In Argentina there were fewer than a dozen and it felt like a northern hemisphere issue. “We’re going this far south,” Claudia told Juan in the car. “There’s going to be a bunch of Argentinians on that ship, maybe some Chileans.” At the docks they spotted their ship, the MS Zaandam. Christened in May 2000, the Dutch-flagged vessel had the feel of an ocean liner of a bygone era. She was steeped in Holland America Line’s nearly 150-year history, for decades an industry leader in service and style, and known in marketing materials as “the spotless fleet.” Claudia and Juan were together for 42 years. Claudia was a stickler for detail and enjoyed swimming and cycling. She was an experienced psychologist and respectful, open to speaking her mind, making grand gestures. Juan, a soft-spoken accountant, was in many ways her opposite. His mother was an immigrant from Bath, England. his father was from Holland. But they had made it work, raising three children who had given them nine grandchildren. As the couple boarded, they found that almost none of the passengers were from Argentina or South America. Their hopes of taking cruises with people from countries spared from this deadly new virus are dashed. On board the Zaandam were 305 Americans, 295 Canadians, 105 French, 131 Australians and 229 British citizens. As more than 1,200 guests and nearly 600 crew settled in, Zaandam became a bustling community that included 10 decks, eight bars, two swimming pools, a casino, a mini-tennis court, an art gallery, a library and a capacity performance hall . for 500. As last-minute preparations were made to depart, dancers rose, magicians rehearsed, members of an a cappella choir belted out tunes, and a team of massage therapists were busy working away knots from the stresses of life ashore. . Few passengers were watching the news channels that would have alerted them that on March 8, 2020, just 48 minutes before the departure of the Zaandam, the US State Department issued a warning that was as clear as it was unprecedented: “American citizens, especially with underlying medical conditions, you should not travel by cruise ship.” In Zaandam, the musicians tuned their instruments. The cruise was a unique opportunity to visit the Straits of Magellan, navigate the Beagle Channel, retrace Darwin’s route and then cruise to the west coast of South America for an excursion to relive Hiram’s 1911 excitement Bingham. discovery’ of Machu Picchu, high in the Peruvian Andes. They would finish with a passage through the Panama Canal, an island hop in the Caribbean and then disembark in Fort Lauderdale. Down in the holds, the quarters went over the stores for the long journey. To feed all the passengers and crew of a ship like the Zaandam for a long cruise typically requires 60,000 kilograms of vegetables, 40,000 eggs, 20,000 steaks, 16,000 cans of beer and soda, and hundreds of cases of wine. In addition to these carefully sorted supplies, another traveler was on board—a deadly stowaway likely lurking in the lungs of a passenger or crew member. Ahead of the Zaandam’s departure from Buenos Aires, Holland America’s medical experts had sent advice on how to protect yourself from the coronavirus. Dr. Grant Tarling delivered updates in cheery three- to five-minute videos posted on company websites. “Given recent events and the general questions we’ve received about the health of travelers,” Tarling said, looking into the camera in a video released in late February, a map of the world behind him, “you might want to bring your thermometer”. Tarling, the company’s chief physician, also demonstrated the correct position to sneeze by bringing his bent hand close to his nose. “If you cough or sneeze, do it into a tissue or your bent elbow.” His third piece of advice was: “Buy travel insurance.” The doctor suggested passengers read the insurance cover carefully to “make sure it’s the ‘cancellation for any reason’ type and covers many unexpected travel situations, such as medical treatment and evacuation.” Shortly after boarding, Claudia noticed the coughing. Anyone can see that these people are sick, he thought Back at corporate headquarters, Holland America and its owner, Carnival Corporation — the world’s largest travel and leisure group with more than 100,000 employees and a stock valuation in the billions — had already dealt with the virus on several other ships. Two Carnival ships – the Grand Princess and the Ruby Princess – suffered from severe Covid outbreaks on the Pacific coasts of the US and Australia, respectively. The Diamond Princess had been hit hard in Japan a few weeks earlier, when hundreds were infected and at least nine people died. Shortly after boarding, Claudia noticed the first coughs. Once tuned into the sound, it seemed to be everywhere. I can see these people are sick – anyone can, he thought. Nine days into the cruise, as the world was locked out, Claudia went down to the reception desk, next to the huge pipe organ. “How can the captain allow this? Should people be allowed to congregate in groups, so close to each other, if there’s a pandemic around?” asked. Claudia urged the staff to take precautions to protect the ship from Covid. She walked onto the ship, flustered by all the older Europeans, Americans and Canadians gathering, seemingly oblivious to the threat. The gym, spa and salon were open, full of people. That doesn’t make sense, Claudia thought. Everywhere he looked, he saw evidence of Carnival Corporation’s efforts to live up to its brand slogan, Choose Fun. In the cramped quarters of the crew much closer to the waterline, the workers began to succumb. Some told their superiors. other soldiers. Wiwit Widarto, the ship’s laundry supervisor, felt tired, his muscles aching. He assumed it must be his workload or maybe a common cold. He and the rest of his crew worked non-stop, 10-12 hours a day, in the stuffy confines of the ship’s cramped washrooms, trying to keep up. More and more passengers and crew were spending more and more time in their cabins, which translated into piles of soiled sheets, towels and paper towels. Crew members made valiant efforts to contain the outbreak. They seemed to be everywhere, politely suggesting passengers wash their hands or use the hand sanitizing stations. The self-service buffets were covered by Plexiglas and servers were placed every few meters to spread out the portions and minimize passenger contact with the food. Even the US Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) and the World Health Organization were confused – could the virus live on surfaces? How long did he survive? As the cruise entered its second week, fear was ruining the trip for Claudia and Juan. Near the Strait of Magellan, nervous locals had protested the ship’s arrival, worried they might carry the virus to the remote Chilean town of Punta Arenas. Together with friends from Argentina they drank tea in the dining room and avoided the crowds. They were sitting near the sweeping main staircase – the one that always reminded Claudia of the one on the Titanic – when an announcement startled them. “Good afternoon. This is your captain speaking from the bridge with an important announcement,” began Captain Ane Schmidt, addressing the entire ship. “I ask everyone to listen carefully.” The news was grim. A respiratory virus that a flu-like illness had sickened many of the passengers. ‘Out of an abundance of caution, we must ask you to return to your cabins as soon as you have finished your meal,’ continued the captain, ‘where, unfortunately, we will have to ask you to remain.’ Many cabins had less space than a one-car garage. Dozens of rooms were without windows. Claudia sat in the cabin with Juan, nervously looking out a salt-streaked porthole or watching television. Based on her experience as a psychologist, she knew that anxiety, fear and depression were increasing. The uncertainty ate at her. Claudia Osiani at home in Argentina. Photo: Alejandro Kirchuk/The Guardian Instead of a comfortable crash pad for naps between happy hours and city tours, the cabin now felt like a cell for two. Meals, once the highlight, were now laced with anxiety. The meal arrived via a disturbing, unseen operation. Claudia heard the sudden cry of “Foooooooooo!”, then the clatter of a delivery cart as it moved down the hall. Then, in the next cabin, the cry of “Fooooooood!”, and the next. Opening the door, he found a tray on the floor. With bath soap he washed every fork, knife and plate. When the soap was finished, she changed shower gel for the glasses and the rims of the tray, which she brought sweetly to the side of the bed. Claudia and Juan eyed the food suspiciously. They chewed carefully, enjoying not a bite, not a sip of the complimentary red wine. Juan and Claudia were supposed to disembark in three days – their original itinerary was almost over – but now all plans had been scrapped. Panicked by the outbreak, passengers called and insisted on special services. Widarto considered going to their cabins to change personal sheets or exchange towels. Some guests were clearly…