Due to a storm crossing the Atlantic, Captain Kostas announced we’d be staying alongside in Lisbon an extra day, though everyone would stay on the ship. It didn’t seem that anyone minded, as the view of Lisbon was lovely. We used the time to manage on-boarding and off-loading recovered and COVID positive passengers and for our communication team, Zach and Brooke, to take a chilly all-ship photo from the dock.

Early March 12, we departed Lisbon in the rain, sailing out the way we came through the River Tagus then heading north up the Atlantic Ocean. Even with the delay, swells grew to 16 feet and passengers rolled and pitched. We weaved from one side of the hall to the other. Paces slowed as the front of the ship rose from the sea, then bodies propelled forward as it descended. Some enjoyed the ride while others, green with seasickness, found refuge in bed.

A longer stretch at sea allowed time for some traditional SAS activities. We held an ice cream social in the Lido Terrace to show our appreciation for student assistants. Especially deserving were Molly, Karishma, Tiffany and Rachel who were steadfast staffing the field desk through multiple itinerary changes. We held the shipboard drive and auction to raise money for student scholarships where a coveted auction item was a “Dean Bing Bong” hat and the chance to be “the voice” for a day’s announcements. Each event required multiple meetings, discussions, and proposals to be sure we could maintain masking, social distancing and other COVID protocols while creating an opportunity for fun and bonding. One night, we gathered in the Chappy with the ship’s officers and some crew for a surprise going away celebration for Staff Captain Petros who was ending his eight-month shift in Brest. As he entered the Chappy, his eyes sparkled with genuine appreciation at the unexpected gesture. We toasted and shared cake, laughed about rubber chickens and reminisced about our time together.

In my role with student life, Shaun, Cindy and I met with the student Sea Council. We discussed their frustrations with “on-ship time” and questions about COVID testing and protocols. They proposed that peanut butter be served at dinner time. We debated whether it was ethical to visit Poland while their neighbors were at war and brainstormed ways we could support Ukrainian refugees. I felt honored to be a part of this group of thoughtful and engaged students.

The pandemic, while never absent from our conversations, loomed large with 17 positive cases after our time in Portugal. As the captain spoke with French port agents, we made plans to disembark new positive cases in Brest and return to the ship those quarantined in Lisbon. We monitored France’s unique requirements that seemed to change daily, including an expensive French vaccination certificate that was mandatory first for all voyagers, then none, then maybe only those visiting a medical facility. Every day we discussed and organized our testing procedures. Our typical process immediately after embarkation is to complete antigen testing with all 500 students and staculty. Our med team and a group of volunteers move us through a check-in and test rotation around the pool deck, then send us to our rooms to wait for results. During longer stretches at sea, we repeat this process mid-leg. Those who test positive are isolated in a cabin on the ship until they can be moved to a quarantine hotel in port. Roommates are considered close contacts and are also quarantined. The med team and crew work tirelessly to care for voyagers in Q/I on the ship. ISE staff are positioned as pod leaders in each port to support those in quarantine hotels. Faculty are engaged to deliver academic content remotely for five to ten days. We are careful. Consistently wearing N95 masks indoors and out, we distance and sanitize and keep our fingers crossed. Anxiety grows before each testing time. My mind revisits previous days. Was I careful enough? Were there too many people at the event I attended? Was I near anyone who tested positive recently? I brainstorm how we would be able to continue our work from quarantine. I find myself holding back, waiting to test till I see Chris’ results. Because Chris is organizing the testing process, he generally jumps in and tests early. After 23 ship tests and more self-tests than I can count, the nasal swab is simple. We wait 30 minutes and hope to hear nothing.

Each negative test builds confidence until it doesn’t. Our friend was a close contact of a roommate who tested positive, so she had to quarantine for five days. Though we tested negative at embarkation, because we had spent time with this friend in port, the confidence quickly turned to worry. Revisiting each moment, we were together in my mind, every sniffle, cough, or hint of a headache was now a potential COVID symptom. A sense of relief accompanied each passing day that we stayed negative until just before arriving in France when an RD, who is the penultimate of careful, tested positive. In my new role, I spend hours each day meeting with the RDs, and on this leg had spent an evening socializing with them as well. Dedicated maskers, it seemed unfathomable that one of them would get COVID. As soon as I heard the news, my heart jumped to my throat and my stomach filled with butterflies. Like for our other friend, I was sick that this RD would have to spend days confined to her cabin and very worried that our entire student life staff and administrative team would have to do the same. We all self-tested regularly and breathed a collective sigh of relief with each negative result, grateful that ultimately no one else tested positive.

The day before coming alongside in Brest, France, we confirmed our COVID strategy, said our last good-byes to Staff Captain Petros, prepared our Pre-port presentation and finalized the green sheet. After dinner, Shaun pulled us aside. He would be announcing that we were diverting from Poland, he told us. The home office had been monitoring safety concerns due to the war in Ukraine for weeks but ultimately, we learned the ship would be turned away if we had even a single case of COVID on board. At Pre-port, the community was excited for France and by now so used to change, that the diversion announcement seemed to be taken in stride. That night, after Luke, Kaley and I distributed first aid kits and trip liaison folders, we returned to the field office, opened a bottle of wine, put Poland projects away and begin planning for Copenhagen, Denmark instead.

The ship cleared before 7 a.m. the next morning, so Chris and I disembarked early to find some coffee and a French pastry. The port in Brest was small and industrial with cranes for ships in dry dock and no terminal building. Just a few minutes’ walk from our berth, was a row of restaurants, bakeries and bars just awakening. Located in Brittany, Celtic influence was obvious with bilingual signs (French and Breton) and Irish pubs on many corners. The bulk of our time in Brest was spent eating! Le Remorkeur, a cute wine bar and bistro, was so good we went twice. We enjoyed pastries, baguettes, cheese, coffee, wine, and crepes. The area is known for its buckwheat crepes folded square with cheese and an egg sunny side up in the middle, as well as for their sweet crepes with local caramel folded inside.

Much to our Oceanographer Ursula’s delight, this area is also known for its high tides. In the morning when we disembarked, the gangway was a flat ramp. By 7 p.m., the tide lifted the ship so high, we walked a gangway of steep stairs. To learn more about the tides, Kaley and I led an overnight field program to Dinan, Saint Malo, and Mont Saint Michel. Chris and the Lindas joined, and with our sweet tour guide, Fannie, we walked through Dinan, a fairytale-esque medieval village located on the River Rance. Narrow, cobbled streets weaved through stone and half-timber homes with peaked rooves and wooden shutters centuries old. Boutique shops and restaurants tucked within the walls and Medieval castle turrets were juxtaposed against carnival rides set for an upcoming festival.

On to Saint Malo. A walled city that was once home to privateers, it declared itself independent from France with the motto, “Not French, Not Breton, but Malouin.” Here we walked within ancient walls past shops and homes that were repaired and rebuilt after the U.S. accidentally bombed the city during WWII. Saint Malo was also the home of François-René de Chateaubriand, a writer and politician, whose chef is credited with creating the steak that holds his name. With the highest tides in Europe, boasting a variation of over 40 feet within 6 hours, the Saint Malo coast is spectacular and dangerous. The sandy ocean floor where people walked when we arrived was flooded by angry crashing waves splashing high into the air and onto the boardwalk where Chris and I went for a sunrise stroll the next morning.

Day two of our program took us to the border between Brittany and Normandy to Mont Saint Michel, a tidal island that is holds the magnificent Mont Saint Michel Abbey. A Unesco World Heritage site, the Gothic monument built between the 11^th and 16^th centuries is an imposing site rising above either the ocean floor or giant waves depending on the timing of the tides. Traveling with students is such a unique privilege. Whether asking insightful questions, giggling while they take selfies, or engaging with staculty, I cherish the opportunity for connection with such wise young people. Javen and Ava, Lizette, Aaditya, John and so many others will always be a part of our extended family. On our drive home, Fanny played her favorite Breton music over the speaker on the bus. In the parking lot during a bathroom break, we circled together arm in arm and danced a traditional jig solidifying a bond that will last a lifetime.

During our final day in port, we savored one more coffee and pastry breakfast before Chris prepared for a morning of onboarding and off-loading students. Luke and I found our way to a hotel to help a lifelong learner who had been quarantined get her luggage back to the ship, before we went in search of snacks, souvenirs and just one more crepe. We were struck by trees that seemed to be blossoming before our eyes signaling a hint of spring. As we returned to the ship for final embarkation, we waved to our sweet RD in isolation, looking out her Deck 4 window, still smiling and representing all that is amazing about this voyage.