Quarantine in Paradise

It has been another week of daily changes, though most of them wrapping up many of the loose ends thrown at us in the previous week. Begging forgiveness for a bit of stream of consciousness writing (and for the lack of more pictures), I want to give everyone a short update tying up some of those loose ends for you. Korvessa dropped its hook safely in Nuku Hiva on the afternoon of March 26th with a crew of guys happy to see and smell land, even if walking on terra firma would require a longer wait.

The first priority was to find out if there was a way to get Brian home to the US for work. As a life-long paramedic, his services have been badly needed. As luck would have it, the day before another cruiser’s wife had worked with the US Embassy, an airline, and local authorities to charter a plane that could take stranded cruisers from Nuku Hiva to Papeete (a three hour flight) for United Airlines’ last international flight back to the US. As I understand, 30 people or so bought tickets to cover the substantial cost and jumped on that plane Saturday morning to make the connecting flight in Papeete. Korvessa arrived a mere 40 hours or so before the departure of that flight, but Brian got on that plane and made his connections to Papeete, San Francisco, Seattle, and then home.

Getting permission to get Roberto into the US was not such a straightforward process, but the end result after quite a few calls to various places to clarify options and quite a few conversations with a helpful and understanding Customs and Border Patrol officer, Roberto will have permission to enter the US. He will need to have a plane ticket out of the US right after arrival, and we will need to hire an escort from a security agency to take him directly from the boat to the airport, but at least he’ll be able to help Tom get the boat back to the US. It’s not like he would have been able to do any fun touring of Hawaii right now anyway, as the whole state is on a stay-at-home-order until April 30. And Tom will have to sit on the boat in quarantine for 14 days, of course.

Ironically, the kitty may possibly get to avoid quarantine. Because we had all our papers in order to import her into New Zealand, she is likely to be granted permission for “Direct Airport Release” (even though we’re headed in by boat). I have sent in all the paperwork and fee. Now we just have to wait on the official permission and hire a vet to come to the boat in Honolulu to issue an official health certificate.

Which already answers one of the other cliff hangers: We are headed to Hawaii, and after that at some undetermined point (July, maybe) home to the Pacific Northwest. Not only are almost all the island nations closed in the South Pacific for the foreseeable future, but the trip would not be what we would want it to be. It would be so full of uncertainty, possibly full of fear on the part of people we would want to learn from and about, and limited in scope and opportunities to explore. And with our dwindling finances, being stuck in the Pacific or on the other side of the world is simply not a safe call.

We are lucky as American citizens that Hawaii is “short” sail away (14-17 days) and that the route back to the Northwest from Hawaii is a known and well-traveled one. And EU-citizens are lucky that they can stay indefinitely in French Polynesia to wait things out. For those with other passports, choices become much more complicated. Australians and New Zealanders have the option to sail directly home, but that is an awfully long direct sail to do that. And others have much more complicated scenarios ahead of them. The cruising groups we are a part of are full of stories of changed and postponed plans, huge anxiety over uncertainty of policies in guest countries, and dreams put on indefinite hold. And that’s the story of everybody’s life right now in what seems to be a collapsing world, a story of massive upheaval, fright, anger, frustration, sadness, but also of flexibility, resilience, kindness, support, and love.

For all that they have been strict about rules and quarantine (as they should be), French Polynesian authorities have been remarkably organized and flexible in getting the hundreds of cruising boats arriving, almost all of whom departed before the world shut down. The authorities and agents from various yachting agencies have helped boats get berths or moorings in Tahiti, have helped cruisers repatriate to their own countries, and for those out in the islands, being at least understanding of the need to re-fuel, re-provision, and make repairs.

Korvessa, anchored a mile away from the pier in Taiohae Bay on Nuku Hiva, has a view of the 100 other sailboats in the anchorage, all awaiting…. something. Decisions, permissions, repairs, the chance to sail onto anywhere else. They’re not allowed to visit each others’ boats, of course, or commune on shore at all. They are not allowed to go for hikes, swims, or spend time on beaches (neither are the locals). But for the sake of their own mental survival, they make fun of their own. Every morning, there is a VHF net in which news is relayed and requests and offers of help are made. Every evening, there is VHF trivia, which by all reports sounds like an absolute riot. The night that Korvessa hosted, Roberto (who speaks fluent French) made everyone give their answers in their very best French accents, which had a lot of people rolling on their teak floors. Somebody has taken up giving French lessons via VHF, and others are managing a radio show complete with interviews and lessons with other cruisers and even a comedy fake news piece. This is life quarantined in paradise.

Cruisers are only allowed to go ashore once a week now, and yes, they are checked for their permission slips and official papers at multiple checkpoints in town. They are asked to buy no more than they need, of course, and today the verdict was made in all of French Polynesia that there will be no more alcohol sales until after quarantine is over on April 15. I’m going to guess that that has brought down morale significantly. Additionally, there is rain. Lots of it. And it turns out Korvessa has a few leaks, which we had mostly forgotten about because we only got rain twice in the whole year and a half we were in Mexico. Rain, heat, and humidity do not do good things to wood, clothes, skin, or kitty litter, by the way. The boat still smells, in case anyone was wondering.

As for life here in Anacortes, we are biding our time. We are taking a lot of walks. We are playing a lot of games (thank goodness Dylan has finally latched onto board games!). I’ve started an online memoir class to gain some writing momentum. We are baking, drawing, biking, digging weeds, and doing reading, math, and daily “treasure hunts” (things the kids have to learn to get clues to a hidden candy each week). This past week, Dylan’s topic was Formula One racing, and Andy’s topic was drawing. We’re not doing anything overly creative; I don’t have the mental capacity for it. And the kids have way more TV and tablet time than I would prefer, but, you know, we all have to survive this in some way. Giving myself permission not to feel guilty about it is one of my ways of surviving. That and guilt-free afternoon naps when I can snag them. Because I am tired. And I’m looking forward to easing into a life that is a little less emotionally exhausting. We’re part way there.

I hope everybody is staying as safe and healthy as possible. Stay home and hug your loved ones, physically or virtually.