We arrived at the Medea Beach Resort in Capaccio in the dark of night. We were handed keys and a phone number and asked to surrender our passports. When we refused, they agreed that we could send photos via What’s App to the front desk. We were sorted two to a room. Chris and I hauled our bags to the 3^rd floor and were pleased to find a clean 10 x 14 space with an armoire, small desk, serviceable bathroom, and a lovely little deck with a view of the ocean in the distance. While unpacking we discovered some things that belonged to the kids, so we walked outside to deliver them several rooms away. On the stairway, we passed several people dressed in hazmat suits delivering suitcases to the room adjoining ours. With current negative tests and our confinement due only to close contact, the thought of someone with COVID sharing an entryway was disconcerting, so when we passed the hotel director in the courtyard we asked to be moved. Angrily he scolded, telling us we would be fine and that we aren’t allowed to be outside. I persisted, begging to be in the room next to my mom. Finally, he acquiesced, “Ok, you can move. Get your things. But if you go outside again, the police will be called!”

After a late dinner and a restless night’s sleep, we awoke to a new day and hopeful perspective. We are comfortable and can get what we need upon request. The difficulty getting information has moved from frightening to frustrating, and in Italy, the pasta is always good, even when served cold!

Meals are delivered three times per day to chairs that are placed in a 4×4 foyer. A knock on the door lets us know when it arrives. We now share the foyer with Mom and Linda and can greet them three times a day when we gather our meals. They are in a slightly bigger room but with no patio, only a window. Jonah, Lianne, Liv and Tyler are on the 3^rd floor toward the ocean in two rooms that also share a foyer, one with a balcony and one with a window. Being outside in our own spaces in the back appears to be acceptable, so Team Seng meetings are held multiple times per day from our balconies, windows, and patio with texting even more often in our group chat affectionately labeled by Olivia, “Quarantini.”

Informational What’s App numbers were provided, but responses were initially sparse. With no idea how long we are here, if there are testing protocols, or what requests we can make, we were grateful for consistent contact with Sara, our dear friend and dedicated advocate from Semester at Sea. In touch with Will via text, we learned he and three others who tested positive were taken to a different hotel about an hour away. He shared messages describing unclean rooms, some without windows, and a hotel staff with no idea who they were or why they were there. Chris persisted with Fabio, the Quarantine Hotel Coordinator, and hit a nerve when he let him know our son was not with us. “I understand, Chris. I have a son too. I will be in touch,” he messaged. A glimmer of hope brightened the day as we journaled, read, and watched movies. Chris started an on-line chess game with the boys, and we committed to a number of push-ups, sit-ups, planks and jumping jacks each day. We learned how to request coffee which is not standard fare with breakfast and order bottles of wine and beer, each wish delivered to our foyer chairs with a knock on the door. As the day came to a close, we tossed chocolates to the kids’ balcony and toasted the beautiful sunset before settling in for another night.

A beautiful shower of sunlight brought us all to our respective outdoor portals the next morning. Discussing what we knew (and didn’t know) to date, I heard a familiar voice. “Mom? Mom, they have me in prison over here!” His voice emerged from behind the blinds on the patio next door. “Will?! Push the button to the right of the glass doors.” Ever too slowly, the shades raised and our eldest son, our dear, sweet, beautiful Will, emerged. Tears welled, and it took every ounce of will-power in my bones not to rush to hug him. He is well. We all are. We are navigating the unknown together, and no matter what happens next, we are blessed. In spite of it all, it is still a wonderful life!

An incredibly busy month passed quickly as we celebrated important milestones in the midst of voyage prep. Jonah graduated with his Masters in Conservation Leadership, Chris retired with Emeritus status as a CSU employee, and we celebrated our 34^th wedding anniversary. Olivia finished the coursework portion of her first semester and made her way to Spain to visit a close friend. We picked Will up at the airport on the 23^rd and had a mini-Christmas celebration that night before taking Jonah and Lianne to the airport at 3 a.m. on the 24^th. Everyone managed to get negative PCR tests and we were feeling optimistic.

It was an unusual Christmas morning without snow or family as we walked Jun and Cache one last time. We spent the morning finalizing COVID related paperwork and creating printed and electronic copies of all documents. When Lianne’s brother and sister-in-law arrived to drive us to the airport, saying good-bye to our pups was more difficult than I imagined as Cache barked and cried knowing exactly what was happening and Jun begged for snuggles, confused and worried.

Things went smoothly at the airport and before we knew it, we were toasting to a successful trip so far at an airport bar. The flight to Munich was excellent. We were at about 50% capacity and the attendants were full of Christmas spirit. In Munich, there was a very long immigration line specifically for Americans, and we moved through without incident. With about 4 hours till our next flight, we had coffee and pastries in a restaurant that, like all places of business, required vax cards and K95 or equivalent masks. We had a wonderful surprise while having drinks before boarding when our friend Tyler appeared, also on his way to the Homecoming Voyage!

A quick flight on a small plane, no immigration upon arrival, and a readily available taxi meant we were soon zipping through the streets of Naples in the rain. Holiday decorations lit the route to our Air B and B located in a small alley near the port. Olivia had spent Christmas with the Marshalls in Germany, then traveled with them to Naples to meet up with Lianne and Jonah who had arrived the previous day. They all emerged from a nearby door, grabbed our bags and led us up the 3 flights of narrow stone stairs, warning us to take care navigating the varied height and depth of each step. The apartment was lovely with plenty of space for us all and an ocean view balcony. With tiptoes and a little neck craning, we could see Mount Vesuvius.

The best part of Naples was the coffee at a small shop below our apartment where the proprietor greeted us each morning with a hearty Ciao and a hot cappuccino and the bar across the street that treated us like family as we ended our evenings with Italian wine and beer. We shared pizza, pasta and seafood at other establishments with friends also in town for the Homecoming voyage and enjoyed spectacular views on the Hop-On Hop-Off bus tour.

I was restless the night before embarkation. The effort it takes to travel in the days of COVID is immense. We had cleared hurdle after hurdle getting closer to our voyage with each one. Because Chris and Will had not received their PCR results prior to leaving the U.S., they had taken a proctored rapid antigen test on Christmas morning before we left. Based on Italian requirements, these results were still good to get them into the port. For some reason, my PCR results came back quickly. While I was able to use those for flying, they were no longer valid. Jonah, Lianne, Olivia, Mom and I all needed to take proctored antigen tests in the Air B and B. Though wifi cause a few hiccups, we all celebrated negative results. Armed with passports, vax cards, test results, Passenger Locator Forms and luggage for four months, we made our way to the ship. She was beautiful sitting in the port waiting for us. We connected with Mom’s friend, Linda, who would be sailing with us along with her son and daughter-in-law and snapped our first full family photo since we were all together last Christmas.

We had only one more hurdle to cross. Passengers lined up in the embarkation area as Semester at Sea and port personnel readied themselves. It was exciting to bump fists with crew members we have known and loved from previous voyages and wave to fellow SAS alums. Our passports and luggage were collected, and we were directed to a room with chairs six feet apart and a testing area in the corner. One by one we stepped up to the table where throats and nostrils were swabbed. We returned to our seats and fifteen minutes later, one by one, negative result forms were distributed to all of us – except Will. My heart leapt to my throat and my stomach felt nauseous. It was surely a mistake, I reassured myself. They will retest and all will be well. Will was whisked to an isolation room. After some confusion, Chris, Olivia and I were taken to another room. Confused about what was happening, Jonah, Lianne and Tyler stayed back and were eventually escorted to our room. Unaware of any of this, Mom and Linda made their way to their cabin on the ship.

As with all things COVID, everyone is just trying to figure it out. Processes and procedures are untested and ever changing. All of us were re-swabbed, and we were told PCR tests would be run on the ship. Again, each of us was negative except Will. With the port agent in charge, there was a great deal of confusion and uncertainty. Understanding that we were now at the mercy of Italian law, ISE staff Scott and Sara, as well as Vijay from the ship, were advocating for us as best they could, returning to our isolation room with small nuggets of info as they received it. Mom and Linda were extracted from the ship and considered close contacts. We would all be taken to a quarantine hotel and none of us would be able to sail.

On her way to the restroom, Liv spotted Will being escorted down the hall and came running back to our room to alert us. We gathered around the door waving to him, yelling we love you and offering assurance that it would be ok. Gradually we were each delivered our luggage and passports and told we would be taken to the same hotel as Will. Port agents were confused that we were eight not seven which delayed our departure another half hour while we awaited a second taxi. During the wait, the driver told us our hotel was 1.5 hours away and this was not the same hotel where Will was being taken. Worried, we tried to contact support, but without wifi had no luck. The further we drove outside of Naples the roads got narrower and more remote, and I grew more fearful. Where were they taking us and where was Will?

We set out to “make waves in 2020” as I embarked on a year-long Semester at Sea experience. Mom joined me for the fall voyage, while Chris and some of the kids planned to sail during the spring. Though the adventure didn’t unfold the way we’d hoped, we returned home where our family (Team Seng) focused on gratitude and set forth to ride the waves rather than make them.

In 2021, Team Seng drew on the wisdom of a new life guru – Ted Lasso – to navigate our way through the second year of the global pandemic. According to Ted, “I think if you care about someone and you got a little love in your heart, there ain’t nothin’ you can’t get through together.” With that love and care, we made it through and are looking forward to new adventures.

Team Seng will celebrate the New Year in Naples, Italy, on a weeklong SAS Homecoming excursion before my mom, Chris and I join the Spring 2022 Voyage. We are excited to be a part of the first voyage since COVID. There are many unknowns and the semester will unfold much differently than past years, but we are ready! After a strange year filled with challenges, a whole lot of love and a little TV binge-watching, we are able to channel the wisdom of Ted Lasso, “I feel like we fell out of the lucky tree and hit every branch on the way down, ended up in a pool of cash and Sour Patch Kids.”

We have returned to a vastly changed world. The jet lag was real, and we’ve stayed healthy for 14 days post-travel. More than anytime on the voyage, we are adapting to a new way of life. Grateful to be with my family and to know my dad and the rest of our family are doing well, I miss the safe cocoon of the ship, and I miss our fellow voyagers. As I described in a thank you note to ISE staff, the voyage still feels like something of an enigma that will take time to process. In spite of it all, I believe the Spring 20 Semester at Sea voyage was a huge success. Through adversity and crisis, our shipboard community gained a level of meaningful engagement in the global community and global understanding that wouldn’t have been possible on a typical voyage.  We were able to bond and grow through the challenges, always knowing we were safe and in good hands. As is evident on so many social media posts, students, staculty, lifelong learners and family companions will wear the experience of this voyage as a badge of honor.

My mom and I are so incredibly grateful and proud to have been a part of it all. We were challenged to find joy in the process, independent of the destination, and strive to be our best selves when things were hard. We each developed new relationships that will last a lifetime, and our connection with one another is so much deeper. Everything we do from this point forward will be changed because of this amazing experience. In both SAS and South African tradition, “I am what I am because of who we all are.” Ubuntu.

As I walked to the office, excited to finalize more itineraries, a What’s App message from Sara stopped me in my tracks. The WHO had declared a pandemic and travel advisories were being issued. There was nothing more we could do; we were done. Shortly after, Scott sent an email formalizing the inevitable. Our voyage would end in Cape Town. There would be no field classes or programs, and voyagers would be asked to disembark and fly home as soon as possible.

Suddenly, and for the first time on the voyage, there was nothing pressing to do. I wandered, soaking in the sun and the activity on the ship. The fatigue, fear, adrenaline and anxious anticipation welled in my eyes, occasionally escaping to my face. At the top of the stairs on Deck 9, the floor to ceiling map of our route that had been lovingly redrawn with every diversion by Madam’s staff would need to be whited out one more time.

Memories of the next few days blur. In-country plans had been thwarted, but even more significant was the loss of time to experience traditions and rituals on the ship. There would be no crew talent show or alumni ball. No time for barbecues and ship family gatherings or for games, karaoke and sing-a-longs in the Fritz, and we wouldn’t get to hear Ben, political science faculty, former Christie’s auctioneer, and delightful human being lead the fundraiser auction Mom and Kathy had worked so hard to develop. There were so many conversations I had planned to have, and evening seminars I’d hoped to attend.

The stress impacted the crew as well. They were worried about their families across the globe. They would all sail on to Las Palmas, and beyond that the future was uncertain. They too faced loss — of the joy of sharing their talents with the shipboard community, of their own time off in port, and of relationships cut short. Yet, they went about the business of making sure we were all well, offering their characteristic smiles and genuine kindness.

Voyagers processed their grief in silence and in conversation, alone and together, and gradually, organically, began to take action to create a meaningful end of voyage. Students shared smoothies and sundaes on the pool deck and lay on the floor reminiscing and signing maps. We shopped for last minute souvenirs as an excuse to spend time with Percy and Tom in the bookstore. We gathered on Deck 9 to savor the views of unending blue water and deep oranges and reds as the sun rose and set on an undisturbed horizon. We took group selfies and ship family pictures, trying in some way to capture the value of the relationships we’d built. We welcomed the familiarity of Daniel’s continued calls to attention at 11 a.m. and 5 p.m. when he announced the all-ship picture, invited us all to wear our alumni ball formal wear to a barbecue in the dining hall, and updated us on disembarkation instructions. Students and the shipboard community created an impromptu graduation ceremony, and staculty and lifelong learners organized sing-a-longs in the Fritz.

Chris, Ciara and I went about the business of emailing apologies and gratitude to community partners, taking inventory, and packing up the field office. Chris prepared and Ciara proofread the final voyage “green sheet.” Our final “Logistical Pre-port” in the Union brought laughter and tears. Daniel led with humor and grace. Messages from Scott and Deans Sue, Gene and Mari were heartfelt and on-point, Dr. Mark danced, and Chris, in his typical, unselfish leadership style, invited Ciara and me on stage, so we could also share our gratitude and love and take a whole-ship selfie. As always, Captain Kostas was charming as he announced the close of the voyage to applause and declarations of love from the crowd.

Early on the morning of March 14, the fog was thick, obscuring any view of land as we gathered on the deck attempting to watch us come alongside one more time. It slowly lifted as we rounded the Cape of Good Hope, and just as we were trying to identify a fin circling the ship that turned out to be a very large ray, we slowed to a halt. It was impossible not to speculate. Was South Africa denying us entry? Shortly, Daniel announced we were only being delayed by wind and fog; a phenomenon not uncommon when sailing into Cape Town. Later, during a small window of calm, the engines rumbled, and we made our way to the dock.

One of the advantages of working in the field office is getting off the ship early in order to dispatch trips. While there were no excursions planned for this port, ISE did provide airport shuttles, so Chris, Ciara and I were able to meet Cherylee, our remarkable tour operator, and stand outside directing students to the shuttle or their Uber cars. I was grateful for the opportunity for last minute hugs and good-byes.

Mom and I planned to stay on the ship until the 16^th so I could continue to help with dispatch and to give us time to pack and mentally prepare to leave. My Chris at home helped change our flights from Amsterdam to Cape Town, and we decided that since we may not ever get back to South Africa, we would stay and enjoy Cape Town for a week before returning home. Unfortunately, and yet again, the virus had other ideas. Alerts rolled in via text and email about borders closing and flights being cancelled. As it was becoming less and less certain how and when we would be able to get home, ISE was strongly urging everyone to leave as soon as possible. Throughout the voyage, every decision they had made to date, though doubted and questioned by others, had proved to be spot on, so it made no sense to doubt them now. We might be able to spend a week in South Africa, but what if flights were cancelled and we couldn’t get home? What if we got sick while there? The uncertainties were too big. With the support of Scott and Bruce, and some scheduling support from Chris, Mom and I made the decision to change our flight to depart with Scott on the 17^th.

Though short, our time in Cape Town was special. Mom and I stayed in the Victoria and Alfred Hotel on the V & A Waterfront with a beautiful view. We savored a spectacular lunch with local fish and wine at Baia and explored the area, enjoying musical performances and a ride on the Cape Wheel. While waiting for the draw bridge to close, an African family handed their baby to Mom and reveled in taking their picture together. John and Herbert, who were staying at the same hotel, took us to dinner at the Harbor House for a last chance to laugh and reminisce. Several of us SASers also ended up at breakfast together the next morning. We lingered as long as we could over coffee and sweet breads, made a quick purchase of an extra duffle bag, repacked our bags and headed to the airport.

We were grateful to be flying with Scott and to learn that Scott Denning and Jennifer Crane were also on our flight. The Cape Town airport was still busy and our flight was full, but precautions such as hand sanitizer and some distancing were in place. After a long flight, we slept quite well on benches in the Dubai airport, awakened only by an early morning call to prayer, and were grateful when the first coffee shop opened. Aside from a lot of turbulence, the U.S. bound flight was comfortable. There were eerily very few people in the Seattle airport and many open seats on our flight to Denver. We were surprised by the lack of questioning or security about where we were coming from or if we had been exposed to the virus. Forty plus hours after we left Cape Town, we set foot in Colorado, met at the airport by Chris and Tate.

While we were enjoying Mauritius, ISE/SAS leadership were closely monitoring the world health situation. Using the best intelligence they had at the time, it became clear that the ship should not stop in Ghana and Morocco. An email was sent from ISE CEO, Scott Marshall, informing voyagers that we would extend our stay in South Africa, then sail to the Canary Islands. Las Palmas had always been on the itinerary only as a fuel stop, but the new schedule would allow voyagers to spend two days there before sailing on to Amsterdam. Europe had begun to limit entry, and it was believed that if we were arriving there from another European country, it would improve our chances of ending the voyage at the planned point of disembarkation. The email also announced that Scott would be sailing with us to South Africa and would be available to voyagers as needed.

Scott arrived just in time to join us on the Traditional Mauritian Barbecue and Dance program, fun because he too had been diverted from Mauritius in the spring of 2017. He was there on official business and the gantlet that lay ahead was daunting, but selfishly, it was so good to see my dear friend. It’s hard to imagine how exhausted he must have been. Already sleep deprived, as the team in the home office had been diligently monitoring the coronavirus situation since January, he was coming off a multi-day flight to Mauritius and into a polar opposite time zone. Yet, he hit the ground running, addressing the entire community in the Union as soon as we were all on board. For over two hours, he responded to students’ questions, then held similar sessions for staculty and lifelong learners. The majority were respectful, seeking to understand; a few criticized and threatened. Scott was patient, kind, and direct, a stance he continued for the remainder of the voyage.

The latest announcement set the stage for the biggest challenge yet for the academic team. Eliminating Ghana and Morocco meant we had six days to create 30 field classes to be executed in South Africa. Through ship to shore phone calls and shifting email and Google Doc systems, Sara, Kaley and I developed a plan. Though a bit overwhelming, I was excited to see if we could pull it off. One after another, I met with faculty outside the Fritz. What an honor it was to walk this path with them. Their commitment, determination, flexibility and compassion kept me going. I was humbled by the love and support that was continually offered by our shipboard community. There were, of course, times when the stress and tension hijacked interactions, and I was so grateful for the refuge of our academic dean’s office. Through his own exhaustion from meeting with students and staculty sun-up to sun-down, bookended by leadership meetings and phone calls with the home office, Gene was a pillar of support whether I needed to laugh, cry or just sit in silence. At the end of the day, I was also lucky to be able to go home to my mom who loved me unconditionally through it all.

Our South African tour operator was working miracles, and emails were circulating almost faster than I could read. The morning of March 12, two days before we were to arrive, I told Mom we had plans in place for 27 of the 30 classes, and we had some options in the works for those. I wasn’t sure when or if Sara and Kaley were sleeping, but they had been steadfast.

Only a week prior, we had cancelled all programing in Mauritius. The team quickly reached out again asking if it would be possible to reconstruct as many programs and classes as possible, moving them to new dates and keeping in mind there would be no guarantees we would be allowed off the ship. Our main contact, Anushka, quickly responded with a phrase that was common in the hundreds of emails that circulated between tour operators, the home office and the ship: “Your message is well received.”

Though I’d never met Anushka, she felt like a dear friend. She and her team worked around the clock to prepare for a visit that may not even happen, and every interaction was kind, upbeat and encouraging. Because of the time difference, I began to use my early mornings on the treadmill to connect with Sara and Kaley in the home office as they were ending their day. Receiving the “hand-off,” I’d move forward with planning, then pass it back to them at the end of my day when they were waking up. A promising agenda started to come together. In Vietnam, we had pulled off fourteen field classes when we had originally planned on nine. Now what was three field classes in Mauritius grew to nine.

The fact that every interaction seemed to convey hope rather than confidence and included the word “if” instead of “when” left an underlying uneasiness, but we were cautiously optimistic. As the sun rose on February 29 and the island came into view, we crossed our fingers and toes and paced the deck. We came alongside, and my stomach butterflies fluttered still knowing we could be denied entry at any point. Then it happened. The first students walked down the gangway. Chris, Ciara, Mom and I grabbed our bags and followed. As we set foot on Mauritian soil, I was swept by a flood of emotions. Tears flowing, we exchanged hugs and absorbed the moment. A local band greeted us with drumming and dancing, and we dodged giant snails on the dirt path to the water taxi.

The warmth, humidity, bright colors and lush flora revealed a tropical paradise. We wandered through the local market, where vendors recognized us as the “Americans from the ship,” and explored the Port Louis Waterfront abundant with restaurants and dodo birds. We returned to the docking area in the afternoon to meet Anushka sharing joy, more hugs, and disbelief that we were actually together! A car and driver took us on an afternoon tour to a local brewery, an inactive volcano, a toy ship building factory, and a rum tasting followed by a couple hours at Flic en Flac Beach. The still waters of the Indian Ocean we had admired from the deck of the ship for so many days were as warm and delightful as we had imagined, but the sharp coral made it difficult to venture in too far. The day passed too quickly, but we returned to the ship grateful for a taste of what was to come, knowing we’d be back.

Because we’d arrived for fueling earlier than originally planned, we had to work around berth availability. This meant leaving Mauritius for two days, then returning on March 3. The ship meandered at sea, giving us unique views of the island, and thanks to a heads up from Captain Kostas, we even caught a glimpse of a small whale spouting. The field team took advantage of the time to celebrate over fine dining, and I kept a close eye on information from home where my dad was undergoing major heart valve surgery.

The days at sea offered much needed time to finalize field classes. Anushka continued to secure commitments from community partners and confirm itineraries, while I liaised with faculty, getting their input and keeping them informed of latest developments. There were a few tense moments, when at 7:30 p.m. on March 2, we received word that plans for Alissa Arp’s Oceanography class fell through. True to form, Anushka went to work and Alissa rallied. By 10 p.m. we had a plan, and with the help of some amazing colleagues on the ship, the field class the next day was a resounding success. This was just one example of the incredibly talented faculty on this voyage who stepped up to every challenge put before them.

Being in Mauritius was a bit surreal, given the uncertainty of our arrival and the fact that we had diverted away from Port Louis on my previous voyage in 2017. It was a very special destination, and we felt so lucky to spend five more days there. Each day we slept on the ship, dispatched programs and classes in the morning, then headed out to explore the island. With Ciara, we visited the Botanical Garden and Grand Baie in the north, then travelled south adding Daniel and Chris to the adventure to see the Chamarel Waterfall and the Seven Colored Earth. A deluge thwarted our visit to Grand Bassin, but as we drove west, the sun emerged to offer a gorgeous afternoon at Blue Bay where we swam in the warm, crystal clear water of the lagoon and viewed coral and brightly colored fish in a spectacular underwater world beneath a glass-bottom boat. Another extraordinary day we traveled to Trou Aux Biches with Kelly and Ellie to swim with the sea turtles. These impressive creatures, about the size of a car tire, moved gracefully around our boat swimming underneath me then circling back, teasing us to follow. Snorkels and masks allowed a unique view of fluorescent fish of all shapes and sizes darting in and out of the of intricate designs of coral. One evening, Mom and I found a nearby hotel with powerful internet as niece, Georgia, was playing in the state basketball tournament in Nebraska. Over Mauritian margaritas, we followed the Loomis Athletics Twitter feed and text updates from Becky feeling grateful both to be where we were and to be connected to home.

Mom and I participated in two organized field programs while in Mauritius. The first took us kayaking through the beautiful mangroves surrounding Ile d’Ambre, named for the “ambergris” (bile duct secretions from whales) found in the area. We learned about the vital role of mangroves in the marine ecosystem, swam in a secluded lagoon, and explored the island’s hiking trails.

The second program was nothing short of magical. When planning for SAS classes and programs, Anushka developed an internship program for Mauritian students who are studying to work in the tour industry. Capitalizing on a unique opportunity for intercultural connection between college students, the interns helped organize excursions and served as guides for our tours. On our final evening, this group of about 20 students planned a “Traditional Mauritian Barbecue and Dance” extravaganza. By a bonfire on the beach, the students presented a program about Mauritian history and customs including a fashion show and musical performance by the “Mauritian Bob Marley.” Passion and pride were evident as they described a culture that embraces its African, Chinese, Indian, and Creole ancestry and sees no division among those who ascribe to Hindu, Christian, Muslim, Buddhist or other beliefs. They prepared a variety of Mauritian dishes to share, then everyone danced. SASers learned traditional dances called Sega and Seggae, and Mom was called up front as the winner of the best dancer award. Joy and camaraderie filled the air, and no one wanted it to end.

Mom and I spent our final day in Mauritius leisurely enjoying Port Louis. It was the first day without sun, so we shopped for souvenirs on the waterfront and sheltered from a deluge at the Flying Dodo Brewery. Back at the ship, we greeted students as they returned from their adventures and said our final good-byes to Anushka and crew. Mom had helped me dispatch some trips while Chris and Ciara took some much-needed time away and had become a favorite among the guides. Grateful for the many gifts this country gave us, we boarded the MV World Odyssey, a place that had become home, looking forward to reconnecting with people who had become family and ready to face new challenges ahead.

Only a day away from port, the classes and programs in the Seychelles were shaping up impressively, including cooking classes and snorkeling excursions, visits to national parks, UNESCO World Heritage Sites, spiritual monuments, and a university exchange. Faculty, well-versed in the voyage theme of flexibility, were heroic in their enthusiasm for leading valuable learning opportunities for students. And, in the blink of an eye, it all changed, again. At the last minute, Seychelles Ministry of Health and Seychelles Port Authority denied the MV World Odyssey entry citing health concerns related to the spread of the coronavirus. Again, ISE and the ship’s leadership worked diligently behind the scenes first to appeal the decision, then to devise alternate plans. Based on information received indicating Mauritius would likely follow suit, as well as many other factors like distance to alternative ports, berth availability, and as always, safety, a new itinerary was announced, including only a stop for provisions in Mauritius followed by a week in Mozambique.

Throughout the voyage, the same screen we watched to see video feed from the bow toggled to show a real-time map of our location. Just before the announcement, we were millimeters away from the Seychelles. We returned to our office to see our path take a sharp turn south toward Mauritius.

The collective resilience of this community was truly awe-inspiring. Stress, disappointment, and overwhelm was channeled by most into building excitement about Mozambique. They embraced the new realities of this unique voyage and began researching the new country on our itinerary. For a few, the fear and uncertainty were too strong to overcome, resulting in anger, criticism and accusations. The leadership team organized group and individual meetings and worked with the home office to find ways to support those who were struggling.

A top-notch group of lifelong learners proved to be significant contributors to this resilience as they strove to be role models and offer support for students. I was lucky to get to know most of them through my mom whose natural interest in others and communication skills made her the perfect fit for the role of Assistant Coordinator of Lifelong Learners. I was so proud of the energy she put into creating interesting programs for their daily seminar while learning as much as possible from such interesting, accomplished and kind individuals.

In the field office we set aside our Seychelles work and began exploring Mozambique. Each morning, we were buoyed by sticky notes with encouraging messages of support on our door and desks. The sticky notes began to make their way to the dean and assistant deans’ offices offering the same kind of gratitude for their tireless efforts to make this a successful voyage.

We forged ahead finding space to acknowledge “zero shadow day” when the sun was exactly at zenith at noon, to take group photos in our banana fabric attire purchased in Vietnam, and to stargaze on the unlit deck with Scott Denning. I cherished my routine of exercising at 5 a.m., always encouraged by Meir in his “office” on Deck 7 on the way, inspired by an unspoken friendly competition with Colleen and Brian to arrive first, heartened by a wave and a nod from Daniel in his office on the way back, and uplifted by Jim’s gentle kindness as we passed on the stairs. Mom and I would then meet on Deck 9 aft to watch the sunrise and share breakfast with several lifelong learners and other early risers, lingering as long as possible before moving on to Global Studies and other tasks for the day.

Of course, nothing was really routine on this voyage and just as we were settling into the idea of Mozambique, the tides turned again. In ongoing conversations, officials in Mauritius were signaling a willingness to work with us. If we were able to disembark during our refueling stop, there would be no reason to keep us from staying longer. While Mozambique currently looked promising, there was no guarantee that things wouldn’t change by the time we arrived.

The hearts of our shipboard community were captured by Vietnam. As they returned, voyagers shared the depth they were able to experience with more time spent there than originally planned. Over smoothies on the pool deck, our “ship family” excitedly told about hiking in Sapa, exploring the Mekong, and mastering the art of bargaining in the market. Yet just as the disappointment of not going to China seemed to have softened a bit, another announcement was made. The coronavirus was not going away. We gathered in the Union as the captain explained cruise ships that had spent time in Asia were being turned away by governments in other countries in an attempt to contain the virus. Captain Kostas and ISE leadership had been closely monitoring the situation and had decided to divert from both India and Malaysia. The future of our voyage, it seemed, hinged on both avoiding Asian ports and extending the time at sea after Vietnam in a sort of “quarantine,” so we could assure officials in future ports that we were free of the virus. To that end, we would sail to Seychelles, an island nation off the coast of East Africa.

Buffered as we were from the coronavirus crisis, the initial community response was not unexpected. Voyagers were confused, angry, sad. Many questioned the decision and offered their own ideas of better plans of action. The captain patiently responded, trying to help them understand the complicated matrix of factors influencing the decision, with safety the top priority and finding a way to preserve the voyage a close second. With another twelve days at sea ahead, our focus was three-fold: continuing coursework, community building and getting everyone excited about all the Seychelles had to offer.

A Semester at Sea tradition, Sea Olympics, offered a perfect opportunity to come together as a community. Assigned to various “sea” groups, students made posters, practiced chants and prepared to compete in a full day of events from volleyball and basketball to trivia, eating contests and synchronized swimming. The staculty, LLLs, companions and ship kids created our own team named “Odd-A-Sea” and came in a respectable 2^nd place overall with strong showings in the geography bee, Minute to Win it and Handkerchief Drop. Cheering and trash talking, laughing and playing, tensions began to melt, and life felt good.

That good feeling softened the blow as we made our way through the Strait of Malacca and came alongside at Port Klang, knowing we would not be able to disembark. Classes and work moved forward, as though we were at sea, while the ship’s crew spent the day refueling and loading provisions. Our tour operator, with whom we’d been collaborating for months, emailed a picture of our ship she’d taken from the shore expressing her sadness, understanding and well-wishes.

Still lingering was the injustice that kept our Chinese passport holders on the ship during our time in Vietnam. Stunningly gracious about the experience, the group asked to present to the community at an evening seminar. With humor and dignity, they told their stories and of their connections to China. Danni shared the daily blog entries of a young woman from Wuhan who documented her parents’ decline and eventual death from Covid. Simultaneously, she described our parallel lives studying and enjoying the luxuries of a cruise ship while sailing around the world. Every seat in the Union was filled, and at times you could hear a pin drop. Our own complaints suddenly seemed small, as we began to see the crisis as so much bigger than missing a few ports.

The mood on the ship shifted. Voyagers were upbeat and supportive as they began to research environmental and cultural experiences in the Seychelles. In the field office, we set our sights on reaching out to tour operators in order to create new programs and classes. It was at the same time exciting to find a small operator who was invested in building an educational partnership with us and daunting to imagine starting from scratch with so little time. From before the beginning of the voyage, the academic team worked with faculty to organize 70 field classes across 10 ports. Each diversion required that all field class experiences in that port be redeveloped in a subsequent port. Such an undertaking for diversion from one country is considered a monumental task. This was now the third. Concurrently, Chris, Ciara and the ISE field team were working to build and sell new field programs (in-country excursions not related to coursework). Our days began early and ended late, tucked away in our tiny office behind the reception desk on Deck 5. At times we wouldn’t have known if it was night or day but for the video feed from the front of the ship. Grateful to work with dear friends who put teamwork above egos or hierarchy, we tackled the challenges together, navigating a complicated web of decisions and tasks. We laughed more than we cried, though both were a daily occurrence, maximized group hugs, and indulged in our emergency snack supply. We prioritized leaving the office for at least a short time for happy hour in the Fritz, fondly dubbed Fofo (Friends of the Field Office) where Ingrid and Jun nurtured us with bubbles and potato chips.

We savored the moments when Danielle, Sue, our student workers and others would poke their heads in to check on us, often bringing gifts of chocolate or caffeine. Not long after the announcement of the diversion to the Seychelles, the laughter, tears, hugs and gratitude converged when a poster signed by dozens of our fellow voyagers offering appreciation and support was hung on our door. Such a thoughtful act was just the boost we needed to keep moving forward.

Neptune Day, a SAS tradition stemming from Maritime custom, took on special meaning as we celebrated not only crossing the equator, but our spirit and stamina along the way. Those of us who had crossed before, including the ship’s officers and crew, acknowledged the polliwog transformation, and I had the honor, along with Phill and Marvel of holding the dead fish. Mom was a trooper, immersing herself fully in the experience and becoming a full-fledged shellback!

There’s Something About This Place

After days sailing through the South China Sea, we began to make our way up the Saigon River toward Ho Chi Min City. Humidity thickened the 90 degree air and the smells of Vietnam conjured memories of one of my favorite places on earth. As has become the habit, we gathered on the bow of deck 9 to catch our first glimpses of fishing boats and lush green shores. We spent most of the morning meandering up river taking pictures, making phone calls and anticipating time on land after 7 days at sea.

Our time in Vietnam was extended from one week to two due to the diversion from China. Together with our amazing tour operator and dedicated home office staff, we were able to put together a great selection of field programs and field classes for the new port days. During our first week, we shared on-call days and explored Ho Chi Min City (formerly Saigon).

The noise and bustle provided a sharp contrast to the gentleness of Japan. Small shops and cafes spill onto the sidewalks to expand their small spaces. Karaoke music blares from random businesses and side streets. Shoulder to shoulder scooters loaded with boxes, bags of ice, bouquets of flowers or refrigerators share the streets with cars and trucks navigating around pedestrians and each other in an incomprehensible type of organized chaos. Our logistical pre-port seminar offered instruction for crossing this chaos. Take a deep breath, step into the street and walk forward at a steady pace. Do not hesitate, stop or second guess. The scooters will maneuver around you. Shockingly, we quickly became adept at this, though anxiety was high when we had to cross an extremely busy 6 lane street, fondly dubbed “double frogger.”

Intent on eating our way through HCM, we found Pho, noodles and dumplings seasoned with lemongrass, cardamom, star anise and cilantro. The breads for bahn mi sandwiches were soft yet crusty and every meal ended with tropical fruits topped off with Vietnamese coffee, iced or hot.

Mom left for a 3 day trip in the Mekong Delta while I stayed in HCM to dispatch trips and cover the field office. Chris, Ciara, Eric and I explored a variety of local breweries (Winking Seal, East West, Pasteur) and ventured into Ben Thanh Market where hundreds of vendors sell everything from knock-off Ray Bans and Gucci purses to elephant pants and cashews. The “wet market” where meat and live fish are sold was nearly empty, presumably due to Corona virus fears.

At the time of our arrival there were only a few cases of Corona in the country, but news of the rapid spread in China reassured us the right decision had been made to divert. In Vietnam, heightened precautions were in place to avoid spreading the virus. Sadly, that meant they denied entry to our 3 Chinese passport holders, even though those students had been on the ship with us since January 4. Many Vietnamese wore protective face masks and some restaurants implemented electronic temperature scans before allowing entry.

After Mom returned from the Mekong brimming with stories of her adventure, we decided to participate in a Traditional Music and Dinner field program. The Mr. and Mrs. Mai and their two sons are highly respected musicians with expertise in traditional Vietnamese instruments. The family performed, then let us try to play. We then shared conversation and a homemade meal of traditional treats including fresh and fried spring rolls, pho, rice and more.

A snowstorm in Denver delayed Chris’ departure from DIA so he missed his connection in Tokyo so instead of meeting him, we checked into the Liberty Central Hotel near the Ben Thanh Market. On our last voyage three years ago, we were flown to Vietnam from China to create capacity for immigration officials and we stayed at this same hotel. It was lovely with air conditioning, a roof-top pool and bar, and an extraordinary breakfast buffet of traditional Vietnamese dishes. Chris stumbled in around 1 a.m. after 24 hours of traveling. What a joy it was to see him!

With a couple of days planned in Ho Chi Minh where one can find some of the most talented tailors on earth, Chris set on a mission to have a suit made. We visited a sweet, enthusiastic woman who managed a shop nearby and, in short order, had fabric selected and measurements taken. We had lunch at Pizza 4 Ps, a favorite restaurant from our previous visit, where they serve thin crust pizza with a giant dollop of delicious, creamy house made Burrata cheese right in the middle. While there, we ran into our friend Phil who recommended a vendor in the market from whom he’d gotten two suits for the already absurdly low price of one. The suits were incredible and the tailor had made horizontal pinstripes and pink and blue fabric look classy! With a photo of her booth in the market in hand, we weaved our way through the street food, the fake North Face totes, and the 20 pound bags of cashews showing people the picture and having them point us around the next turn until we finally found her. Fifteen minutes later, two fabrics were selected and full measurements were taken, all for $170.

We filled our time in Ho Chi Minh with some of our favorite things. Massages and facials helped relieve the tension from work and travel. Cocktails at the rooftop bar in the historic Hotel Rex provided much needed relief from the intense heat and humidity. From there we could watch the colorful lights and mini-version of a Bellagio water fountain dancing to popular Vietnamese music.

We packed light and arranged an early morning taxi to the airport for our flight to Hanoi. Once through security, we rode a shuttle across the tarmac where they boarded the plane via stairs at both the front and rear of the plane. More impact of Corona, food service was suspended to minimize potential spread of the virus. Less than two hours we landed, unloaded on the tarmac and found the man holding a sign reading, “Chris Seng,” who would drive us another hour to our hotel in the old quarter of Hanoi. We were greeted at La Selva with hugs, drinks and a scrumptious fruit plate. The hotel was historic and charming, and it’s staff went out of their way to make us feel welcome, including more fresh fruit and flowers on the bed in our rooms.

Though more traditional than Ho Chi Minh, Hanoi is equally beautiful reflecting an historic Communist influence. We wandered around the nearby Hoan Keim Lake and visited with street merchants selling souvenirs and local treats. Enticed by a local vendor, we tried the Hanoi specialty, egg coffee. Frothy and sweet, it was the perfect treat on a warm but drizzly day. On our first evening, the hotel staff arranged for an evening street food tour. Our guide, Ken, a young man who grew up in the northern highlands and was working in Hanoi to support his family greeted us at the hotel. His enthusiasm was contagious as he led us into back alleys and basements to share the most unique and delicious Vietnamese dishes.

We were the last of 16 guests to board our bus to Halong Bay the next morning. Designated a Unesco World Heritage Site, this beautiful expanse of water is dotted with nearly 1600 small islands with limestone outcroppings and lush vegetation. From bus to motor boat, we eventually approached a small cruise boat where our hosts waved their welcome. The boat was beautiful a 1940’s motif and 9 comfortable cabins that had full-length windows providing a spectacular view of the bay. The group gathered on the top deck for introductions and a welcome toast. Among us, only one other American from Pennsylvania along with a melting pot of interesting travelers from Bangladesh, Italy, France, Costa Rica, Canada, and Australia. Together, we went kayaking through tunnels and caves and saw a family of playful monkeys in the trees, then went for a swim to cool off. Brent, who was traveling solo, shared a kayak with Mom and in a short time became part of our family. Our kind and attentive crew served a wide sampling of Vietnamese cuisine and taught us to fish for squid. Chris was the only successful fisherman, surprised by the tug on his pole and the immediate burst of ink surrounding his line. His catch was served for breakfast the next morning right after sunrise tai chi. Before the end of our stay, we tendered to Cat Ba island and toured a cave that served as a hospital during wartime.

Though it was a short stay, it was hard to say good-bye to the special group, both travelers and crew. Delivered back to shore by speed boat, then into Hanoi by bus, we returned to our hotel and flew the next morning back to Saigon. With another night at Liberty Central, we picked up Chris’ suits, wandered the Ben Thanh market, and revisited some other favorite places. On our last day, before on-ship time, Chris was able to board and reconnect with crew and staculty. Way too soon, all guests were required to disembark. We waved as Chris exited the gangway, then returned to our cabin, donned our life jackets and made our way to our muster stations for our monthly lifeboat drill.