https://www.afr.com/companies/touri...of-a-cruise-escape-from-chile-20200415-p54k1e ‘I was ready for guys with guns’: Diary of a cruise escape from Chile Locked down in a cruise ship, Australians Michael Waterhouse and his wife Vashti Farrer recorded the unfolding drama of efforts to return them to home soil. Guests from Silversea Explorer view a glacier in Southern Chile. Michael Waterhouse Michael Waterhouse Apr 18, 2020 – 12.20am At 8.30am on Wednesday, March 18, a LATAM Airlines 787 trundled down the regional airstrip at Puerto Montt in Chile at the start of what was probably the first trans-Pacific flight from this location. Although the plane’s capacity was more than 250, the only passengers were 16 Australians. Around the same time, flights left carrying passengers to the US, the UK and Europe. These flights were the culmination of several days of boredom, frustration and high drama for the 150 or so passengers on the Silversea cruise ship Silver Explorer as the coronavirus pandemic began to bite in Chile. The cruise My wife, Vashti, and I had signed up for this Patagonia cruise in February, drawn by the scenic beauty of southern Chile, which we had wanted to visit for some years. It was only our second cruise but our timing proved to be as dramatic as our first, along Western Australia's Kimberley coast, in 2008 just as the global financial crisis bit. The Silver Explorer. Michael Waterhouse Despite news of the coronavirus outbreak, we never thought of cancelling the trip. Other people might have done so because we were contacted by the cruise company and offered a better cabin, which had just become available. Because the focus was on China, which was on the other side of the world, we assumed the virus wouldn't get to South America that quickly. Even though we are in our 70s it never crossed our minds not to go as it only subsequently became apparent that older people were particularly susceptible to COVID-19. The cruise started uneventfully at Ushuaia on the southern tip of Argentina on Wednesday, March 4. All 150 or so embarking passengers had their temperature taken in Buenos Aires before flying to Ushuaia, with no one exhibiting symptoms. The following few days were idyllic, the ship gliding gracefully back and forth through spectacular Patagonian fjords, with Zodiac excursions to see glaciers and wildlife at close quarters. Nature at its most pristine. The first township we encountered, on Saturday, March 7, was Punta Arenas, the central tree-lined square dominated by a massive 19th-century statue of explorer Ferdinand Magellan. There was evidence of tensions and undercurrents pointing to growing political instability in Chile. The statue of Magellan had been spray-painted by demonstrators and, though cleaned, the residue was still evident. As the person who first opened up the area, Magellan is reviled by many as the man whose discoveries led eventually to the decimation of local indigenous tribes. Patagonia was a long-held destination. Michael Waterhouse The museum, in a house once owned by a wealthy colonist, was similarly attacked and had only just reopened. Here and there on the walls of buildings, painted signs such as "Rebelion Popular!" hinted at the potentially fragile nature of Chilean democracy. Moving on up the coast of Patagonia, through more exhilarating fjords thick with ice floes, we arrived at Puerto Natales – the jumping-off point for Torres del Paine National Park – on Monday, March 9. Elegant black necked swans with pure-white bodies swam near the ship – the only time we saw them. The scenery in the park was quite extraordinary and we’d been given enough geological information to make sense of it all. We'd been on board a week and, so far, the cruise was going well. But all that was about to change. Thursday, March 12: Our next port of call was Tortel, a picturesque commune lining a fjord, with boardwalks winding irregularly around the waterfront. Back on board we were having lunch when the captain announced that a passenger who was suspected of having COVID-19 had been disembarked and flown to hospital. Friday, March 13: We spent the day at sea as we headed for Castro, with no idea of whether we would get ashore there – if the passenger tested positive, this would change everything. And so it proved. Cabin 323 Day 1 of our confinement: As we approach Castro on Saturday, March 14, news comes that the passenger has indeed tested positive and immediately after breakfast we are all asked to return to our cabins. There is no indication of what will happen next. We had heard about the Diamond Princess being quarantined in Japanese waters and were worried about how long we'd be stuck in our cabin with no fresh air. But on that first day we had no idea of just what dramas were yet to come. Over the next few days many emails passed back and forth with our family and friends in Australia, recording events as they unfolded. Sunday, March 15: We’ve been stuck in our cabin for the second day running. Chilean authorities have been crawling all over the ship testing passengers. We haven’t been allowed out on deck for exercise and fresh air – we don’t have a balcony so have no way of getting fresh air directly. Menus give us a limited choice from which to select breakfast, lunch and dinner. Food is of a high standard and you can request wine or beer. Its delivery is signalled by a knock on the door and then you retrieve it once the masked crew member has gone. Vashti has a cold – blocked sinuses, runny nose and a slight headache. We thought it best to report this and did so this morning but despite there being a Chilean medical team on board, nothing happened. Then late this afternoon there was a flurry of activity with the ship’s doctor ringing and a nurse visiting. Vashti’s temperature was up but within the "normal" range. They’ve run out of swabs so can't do a COVID-19 test and will do this tomorrow morning. A glacier in southern Chile. Michael Waterhouse The captain has spoken to us four times since we were confined: first to say the guy who was transferred at Tortel had tested positive for coronavirus and then three times to tell us he had nothing he could tell us. So we’re just sitting here, a few hundred metres out from shore (Castro, we think), with no idea of what’s happening. As best I understand things, we’re officially in quarantine imposed by the Chilean government. We can only leave when they say so and if the captain doesn’t do what they say, I guess the ship will be denied re-entry at Valparaiso or anywhere else. This would make things worse. I don’t think DFAT [the Australian Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade] can do anything in these circumstances, as we can’t even get ashore. And when you do, what then? We see no one, talk to few (by phone), watch films (good selection). As Vashti says, it’s amazing we’re still speaking to each other. Two days now without permission to step outside on deck, even when we’re right out at sea. We’re OK, really. Just frustrated at being confined to a 10 x 3.5-metre "prison" (albeit one with excellent food) when people could easily be walking around the deck keeping a couple of metres apart. Apparently “protocols” don’t permit this. Our daughter, who's a doctor in Sydney, emails to say, "The main thing to watch for is becoming breathless. As long as it is a blocked nose, cough, fever etc it's probably staying in the upper respiratory tract (which is good), whereas breathlessness indicates it's moved lower and this is more of an issue. If this happens, insist that they test you with a pulse oximeter [clip on finger that tells the oxygen in your blood]." Monday, March 16 (Day 3): Reception rang 10 minutes ago – at 4.10am! – to say Vashti had to be ready at 7am be taken ashore in a Zodiac – probably a 10-minute ride – so she could be tested for coronavirus. Once I was fully awake and we’d had a chance to discuss it, I rang them back and said this wasn’t going to happen; that Chilean officials had had the whole day yesterday to check her but evidently hadn’t thought it necessary, and that when a nurse checked her late in the day, her temperature and blood oxygen levels were within the normal range. Initially, I understood that Vashti would just be going ashore for a swab, not realising that in fact she’d been asked to pack her suitcase. This was to be a permanent departure from the ship, though with no explanation given as to where she would be going. All Vashti and I were told was that she’d be going ashore. There was, briefly, a suggestion that I might accompany her on the helicopter, but they then equivocated as to whether there’d be room. The risk of her being stuck in a regional hospital at Puerto Montt, near Castro, while the ship sailed away to god only knows where and then trying to sort out how to get back together again was just too great when there was no compelling reason for her to go. A little surprisingly, the Chilean health authorities didn’t press it. There was a flurry of increasingly impatient calls from reception and I was ready for guys with guns at the cabin door. If they were genuinely concerned, I’ve no doubt they would have forced the issue. Vashti didn’t appreciate being woken at 4am and told to be packed and ready to go ashore at 7am. "But Michael took on the hotel lobby manager and the ship’s doctor and said he didn’t care what the minister of health said, I wasn’t going ashore," she emailed our children. Dressed for a stroll on deck. Michael Waterhouse "Those being disembarked were to be sent off in a helicopter and as M said, sitting with possibly contagious people in this would be risky." About 8.30am the captain advised us that we would be moving out to sea, though to an unknown destination. He said four passengers and one crew had been disembarked in Castro because they showed coronavirus symptoms. We then sailed out to sea, went round in circles and headed back into Castro again. A few passengers, including ourselves, were given a chance to go up on deck, but were asked not to tell others. Suitably rugged up, masked and gloved, and escorted by a crew member, we got 15 minutes to walk around the ship. What a difference this made psychologically! What happens when we get back to Castro is anyone’s guess, though I’ve just noticed we’re going out to sea again so it’s obviously not going to be for a while yet. The lack of information is frustrating. I think cruise ships everywhere are being turned away and so we may end up like the Flying Dutchman, travelling round the world in perpetuity! Later: The doctor still hasn’t visited Vashti, which just reinforces my view that Silversea don’t see her as having coronavirus. Have just been asked for our requirements for medicines for the next 14 days. Not a good sign. I think it’s going to be a while before we get home! Advice from Sydney: The Explorer is anchored off Puerto Montt, not heading to Castro as indicated on the tracker. The locals do not want it to dock and let anyone off. Chilean authorities have been on board doing checks and will agree to the ship docking only if each of the countries with citizens on board agrees to repatriate its citizens – which means your country has to arrange charter flights all the way home, not just that your country will accept you back if you make your own way home. Tuesday March 17: It's about 9am on Day 4. Captain’s just advised us to pack our suitcases as we could be leaving the ship at short notice with no time to pack once things start to happen. He asked us not to put anything out on social media. Two cabins nearby have yellow square stickers on them – presumably someone inside was in quarantine. Modern equivalent to a red cross on the door in the Middle Ages when someone inside had plague! "Having been kept in the dark so long it was a eureka moment when the captain came on this morning and actually SAID something," Vashti emailed our children. "Up till now he’s been telling us nothing." We clamber out as best we can ... with several policemen nearby watching; they don't have masks but their pistols are clearly visible. Mid-morning: It looks like we will disembark in the next couple of hours and while we’ve been told nothing officially, one of the crew said we’d be going to another country, not the Chilean capital Santiago. He left me with the clear impression that it will be a charter flight directly to Australia from Puerto Montt. If this is correct, we’ll be on our way this evening and back home tomorrow. We’ve received a printed sheet saying we have to self-isolate for 14 days. We continue to move aimlessly back and forth, our movements being closely monitored by a Chilean patrol vessel. Are they worried we’ll make a dash for the shore? No further announcements. Suitcases packed. Lunch and now dinner have come and gone. Quality of food has declined, but it’s amazing they’ve been able to give us what they have, and even a choice. Later, our daughter messages: "I am told your flight will depart Puerto Montt @ 9am Chile time and arrive in Sydney @ 7.15pm Sydney time." 11pm: An announcement informs passengers they will be disembarking by Zodiac, beginning immediately. Those suspected of having coronavirus will remain behind, their partners are free to stay or leave. There is no indication about where we are to go. Escape Vashti and I are in about the sixth group, which leaves around 11.30pm. After dragging out our suitcases we have our temperatures checked. Pass. We’re in mandatory face masks and disposable gloves. We go down the steps onto the Zodiac flopping back and forth, the glare of lights accentuating the inky blackness enveloping the ship. I thought we were headed for shore but as we pull away, it is quickly apparent we are heading for a large vehicle ferry about 400 metres distant. Our Zodiac pulls up to a ramp at the rear of the ferry, which is quite unstable in the choppy water. We narrowly avoid a wet landing as we clamber out as best we can, assisted by men and women in gowns and masks, with several policemen nearby watching; they don't have masks but their pistols are clearly visible. Once on the ferry we are quickly hustled onto buses, with instructions to sit separately – one person per two seats. There are six buses to accommodate perhaps 120-130 people, including several of the guides. The ferry sets off on what we are told will be a 50-minute journey – destination unknown. A bit after 2am on Wednesday, March 18 – more than 1½ hours later – we pull into what appears to be a dimly lit industrial port. Here more police are standing around, guns clearly visible, watching as the buses disembark. Whether the media has got wind of what is happening or an official record is being made, a cameraman runs around filming in the dim light. Police are also filming on their phones. Guests from the Silver Explorer wait to be flown home. Michael Waterhouse With the last busload finally ashore, we set off in a convoy – escorted by police cars with flashing lights – on a 40-minute ride along what appears to be a series of back roads with the occasional house but mostly bushes and long grass. Around 3am, an airport emerges through the gloom, dim lights shining through fog, a large plane standing silently nearby. It is extremely cold, perhaps three degrees, but the air is still as we are hustled into a terminal that is evidently under construction, and sealed off from the rest of the building. Given the secretive and impersonal nature of the process thus far, it is nice that someone, realising how cold it would be inside the terminal, has put out a blanket on each seat and a pack containing drinks and nibbles. There is a certain amount of confusion at first, but it is eventually explained to us that there will be three flights: one to Miami for the Americans, one to Sao Paulo and thence to London for the British and Europeans and one to Sydney for the 16 Australians. However, our suitcases have been left on the cruise ship; Silversea later explained that “the Chile government would not allow the luggage to be transferred to your flight home”. No reason given, but one assumes the Chileans were so keen to get rid of us that they didn’t want to delay things by taking time to transfer our baggage. (So far as we’re aware they remain on the ship, which appears to be in Valparaiso.) The Americans were taken directly from their buses to a plane which was waiting. For the rest of us there was a hiatus spent sitting around, waiting. About 5am the British, Europeans and ourselves are split into two groups and leave the terminal in our respective buses. We sit in ours near a LATAM 787 for what seems like another hour before we are allowed to board. Once on board all 16 of us are shuttled down to economy class, even though business class is empty. While business class flat beds would have been nice, we are all so exhausted that sleep comes easily stretched across three economy class seats. Eventually we take off at 8.30am, almost 24 hours after we were first told to get ready to disembark. The flight, which we later learn was paid for by Silversea, was about 14 hours, skirting Antarctica and arriving in Sydney at 11.40am on Thursday, March 19. After more temperature checks, we get through passport control and into a car provided by Silversea. Finally, we are home; exhausted and in isolation. Reflections For the first few days we were both exhausted – Vashti described it as like the worst jet lag ever. We were sleeping nine to 10 hours at night and then another two or three in the afternoon. Fortunately, still no elevated temperature. Our daughter prevailed upon us to be tested for COVID-19, and later that day we were advised we’d both tested positive. About a week later I developed a cough and as this became more severe, I was admitted overnight to St Vincent’s Hospital for tests. An X-ray and CT scan revealed that I had broncho-pneumonia. However it cleared gradually, leaving me with a post-viral cough. It may be irritating, but given what others have been through and the deaths of a number of people of about our age, we can only consider ourselves extremely fortunate. The couple had been on the cruise for a week before the COVID-19 crisis erupted. Michael Waterhouse As we convalesce at home, we’ve reflected on how differently this could all have played out. In all likelihood, had Vashti been tested on the ship in Chile – and it was only because they ran out of swabs that she wasn’t – she would have been positive. Our respective symptoms suggest I’ve been some days behind Vashti on the COVID-19 trail, so I may not have tested positive at the time. In retrospect, the decision for Vashti not to leave the ship proved critical. Had she gone along with their request, she’d still be in Chile, in a hospital somewhere or perhaps discharged into some other accommodation. It was evident from everything we heard and which occurred while we were on the Silver Explorer that the Chilean government was single-minded in its efforts to ensure that those on board did not contaminate the local population (a view soon adopted by many other countries including Australia) and that the issue be resolved as quietly and as quickly as possible. Perhaps the Rebelion Popular! graffiti in Punta Arenas highlights why the government may have been particularly sensitive to the mood of its nationals. Ironically, if Chile hadn’t taken the hardline stance it appears to have done, effectively expelling us from the country, perhaps we’d be among the many Australians still stranded in South America or on cruise ships still being prevented from disembarking their passengers. So the stars aligned for both Vashti and me when the outcome could so easily have been far worse. Watching TV video footage of others on cruise ships, confined to their cabins and retrieving food left outside their doors, remains a discomforting leitmotif. Michael Waterhouse is an economist and historian, and author of Not a Poor Man’s Field. The New Guinea Goldfields 1942 – An Australian Colonial History. Vashti Farrer is an award-winning author.