On those darkest nights, furthest away from shore, your mind goes to all those possibilities - what could happen - what if - and what horrible thing that could befall you. Every so often, of course the thought crosses a sailor’s mind: the world as we know it could end and being so far off shore without internet, news, and normal daily human interaction, we could be none the wiser. What if? What if there were no safe harbor at the end of our passage at sea?
We were two days out from landfall in Sri Lanka when we first realized Neptune intended to exact one more toll for the safe and quite lovely passage we enjoyed. Checking in on our SSB Radio with the network of people crossing the same stretch of ocean we are, we hear one boat sailing 24 hours ahead of us alert us all of their struggles downloading the new quarantine clearance paperwork Sri Lanka needs before allowing any ship’s entry.
“What are these documents?" Andrew’s voice gets drawn and tense as I hear his one sided part of the conversation.
With everyone, everywhere tightening travel restrictions due to the CoVid-19 Coronavirus, Sri Lanka had decided over the last few days that it required more quarantine paperwork before allowing sailors to enter port. The problem being, we were already out at sea so we couldn't download the documents before we left and we do not have the satellite phone plan that allows for document uploads or downloads while at sea. We can only receive or send text based emails.
Hoping to head this problem off at the pass, Andrew send off an email to our agents explaining we cannot download or upload documents, but we are all healthy on board. “There, that should cover it." He says.
But, Kitty and I have our doubts.
You mean we are going to have to stay out at sea…FOREVER?
A few hours later, Andrew receives an email from the agent saying “attached, please find the documents we need you to fill out and send before you will be allowed to enter the port." Our system deletes the attachments, but leaves the agent’s signature line and image cheerfully offering “Your world on a plate!” With a lovely picture of a cake that takes 75KB and fifteen full minutes of expensive satellite phone time to upload.
With this, my usually ZenBuddha Captain grinds his teeth and starts stomping at the keyboard with his pointer finger. “We can NOT (yes, all caps) download documents. We can NOT print anything out and fill it out. We will NOT be able to get you any of these documents before entering port...”
“What are you saying?” I ask, seeing his hunched figure and feeling the electrons of anxiety spark and fly from his fingertips as he typed. I knew whatever he was saying it was it couldn't be good. If there is one rule about communicating with government officials as you enter a new port it is you must BE NICE. This is their country, their rules. If there is trouble, they will usually help you iron it out (slowly, and sometimes with additional expense), but only if you are nice about it. Yelling at them over cyberspace will certainly not endear them to us enough to grant us any exceptions whatsoever. I gently remind Andrew of this fact, “And besides, who can blame them? They don't want us bringing the Coronavirus over from Thailand.”
Andrew growls. “75,000 Americans are hospitalized for the flu each year, and 50,000 people die! DIE of the flu! No one is requiring quarantine documents for the flu!”
“Yes, yes, yes....” I say, “just stop typing. Your communication privileges are revoked.” He scowls at me, and presses send on his email. “Fine. Great. Good. I’m sure that will help.” I say, now cranky as well.
He seems happy this photo, but I assure you, he’s not.
We receive no further responses to that email, and as we neared port, Andrew hails Port Control. “Port control, port control, port control, this is sailing vessel Sonrisa, Sonrisa, Sonrisa.”
“Sailing Vessel Sonrisa, we copy. Go ahead.”
“Permission to enter the port?”
There is a long pause over the radio. "Sailing Vessel Sonrisa, do you have an agent? Who is your agent?”
“Yes, we do." Andrew gives them the information, and there is another long pause.
“You do NOT have permission to enter. (If the port control guy was typing this in an email, I presume the NOT would be in all caps.) Stand off three miles north of the mouth of the harbor and call your agent." Now, unhappy and worried, we stand off, set the sails in the “hove to" position (which is like putting on a sailboat's parking brake). We start looking around for possible solutions, and I see lots and lots of cell phone towers right on the shoreline. I start poking at my phone. With a stroke of great luck, I realize my OPPO phone purchased in Malaysia when I dunked my old iPhone in the water has a special app called “ORoam” that allows you to buy an electronic SIM card in some countries of the world at a fairly more expensive rate, but using any network you can reach. Luckily for us, Sri Lanka was one of those countries.
“Look! We can buy internet!" I tell Andrew, showing him the app. I can see service to the towers flickering in and out while we roll in the waves. “Let's see if we can get enough service to send and receive emails?”
We release our sails and scuttle closer to the nearest tower. SUCCESS! I buy a package while Andrew grumbles about this latest expense. I open my email account, and type off an email to our entry agents:
“Hello, I know you have been in touch with my husband about the new quarantine documents you need for entry to the port. Translation: I have revoked his communication privileges for bad behavior and I promise to be nice. Unfortunately, we haven't been able to download any of the documents you’ve sent while we were out at sea, but now we are close to shore and we think we can use the cell phone towers to bring in the documents over normal cell service. Translation: Please forgive him, he knew not what he was doing. I’ll try to get you what you need. Would you mind re-sending those documents as our system we use out at sea deletes all large documents? Translation: We know we are at your mercy.
To my joy, they responded very quickly, sending over the documents again. And, the expensive internet worked. We hove to once more, and, spent the next two hours rolling around in the waves just offshore while trying to fill out four different documents that all ask a different wording of the same basic question: Are you bringing the plague to our shore?
As I work to edit and modify the PDF documents (so happy I didn't cancel my Adobe subscription after finishing with the InDesign work for the Oddgodfrey children’s book), a navy boat pulls along side us with a giant machine gun perched on it’s bow.
“Explain yourself.” They ask, wondering why we are bobbing around three miles from the mouth of the port, seemingly going nowhere. We confirm our agent, and the instructions we were given by port control. They radio someone to confirm something, then give us a salute for good luck as they leave us be. I tuck back into my documents:
“Where did each member of passenger and crew first and last board the vessel?”
“Has anyone died during passage?”
“Has anyone fallen ill during passage?”
“What did you do to treat any illnesses?
“What are the last ten ports you have visited?”
And my personal favorite: “Do you have any stowaways?
The experience hearkens back to sailors of old, waiting in quarantine on their ships to make sure they aren’t bringing small pox or other contagious diseases ashore to new destinations. The documents must be signed and stamped by the Captain of the ship and the vessel’s physician. (Does Sonrisa have a ship's physician?) Sonrisa’s Inveterate Sea Lawyer will have to do instead. Another hour passes while I upload all these documents and send them back to the agent who - presumably forwards them on to port control.
Four hours into our wait, port control welcomes us in. Navy boats follow us in, pointing and directing us where we can and cannot go in this perfectly protected harbor. Though the civil war in Sri Lanka ended in 2012, the port of Trincomalee seems to remain tightly protected and controlled.
Just as we are made to suffer one last pain at the end of our passage, Neptune demands that Kitty, too, pay her toll. Knowing we will be tying up to a dock for a few hours to allow officials of all kinds to board and inspect Sonrisa, Andrew digs out Kitty's crate and invites her in to avoid any sort of jumping ship. The last thing we need is for our formerly stray cat with a tendancy to bolt to claw the faces of the quarantine officers on her climb to freedom. She looks at me with indignation as Andrew tries to call her in.
“No, I won’t. You can’t make me.”
I slowly maneuver Sonrisa aside the dock, we tie up and wait. Soon, we meet our agent who is very kind and seems to have forgiven all. The Quarantine Officer complete with face mask and gloves arrives. He inspects the boat and us to get a sense of whether the information on our documentation is accurate in its assessment that no one is ill on board. Once he deems all safe, immigration, customs, port captain, and the navy all take their turns. Kitty is irritated, and stretching her paws outside her crate to scratch and tear at my beautiful bedding I purchased in Bali to express her dissatisfaction with this one last passage indignity. This, only until one of the officials asks to inspect the cat, and she realizes that we’ve been keeping her safe from the petting and socializing that would otherwise be required with a slew of strangers she did not know. Upon that realization, she tucks herself in ball in the corner happy to be safely put away.
Finally, we finish all our requirements, shake hands with the official welcoming committee of our new country, and move Sonrisa to settle out on her anchor. We toss a coleslaw with chipotle mayo, fry up some fish, and tuck the most delicious late lunch into tortilla shells. Then, we pop the tab on two chilled Tiger beers and clink them together to say job well done. “Ahhhhh! New anchorage beer!” Andrew says, the calm water, delicious food, and cold bubbly beer clear away the last of his passage grouchies. We have arrived.
We scroll through the internet to get all the world’s updates.
“Oh, look at this!” I say, my jaw dropping in disbelief. “There are two cruise ships that are being denied entry to land. One in Japan currently in a forced quarantine, and the Westerdam, which is not being welcomed into any port at all. The Westerdam has been turned away from multiple places, despite having no passengers with any symptoms of the Coronavirus.” I read the article aloud to Andrew.
We look up at each other sharing the now more realistic fear of no safe harbor to allow us entry.