Stranded at Sea and the Chaotic Journey Back to Canada

The Flying Dutchman: Stranded at Sea and the Chaotic Journey Home

Before the world changed, we booked what we believed would be the perfect ending to our year of travel: a 36-night back-to-back cruise through the South Pacific aboard the Norwegian Jewel. We toasted our travel planning brilliance in Fremantle, completely unaware that we were heading into one of the strangest travel experiences of our lives—a drifting limbo in the Pacific Ocean during the collapse of global travel.

The Calm Before the Storm

We boarded the Norwegian Jewel in Sydney on February 28, 2020. At this point, COVID-19 was still seen as a "China problem." NCL had sent emails outlining new precautions—health questionnaires, temperature checks, and extra sanitization—but nothing suggested the cruise was at risk. We boarded confidently, ready for 33 days at sea through the South Pacific and up to Hawaii.

• Embarkation & Detour: Embarkation was smooth but slow, requiring extra screenings. The Jewel sailed past the Opera House and under the Harbour Bridge. Our first change was immediate: Vanuatu was dropped, and the planned one-day stop in Brisbane became two. We explored the South Bank area and were pleasantly surprised.
• Shifting Atmosphere: As we sailed, subtle hints of trouble emerged: extra hand sanitizer, crew serving the buffet (instead of self-serve), and nervous jokes about ships stuck at sea. But still, the mood was generally good; Fiji, Samoa, and Bora Bora were ahead.

The Slow-Motion Collapse of the Itinerary

The dream itinerary quickly became a nightmare of detours as small island nations began closing their borders to protect their limited medical infrastructure.

• Noumea, New Caledonia: Our first eyebrow-raising moment. We stayed two days due to reshuffling, but the crew announced that Italian passengers were not allowed to disembark, a rule that made little sense since we had all been mixing freely onboard.
• Uncertainty Builds: Rumours intensified: Mystery Island was closing, Samoa had strict rules, and port agents were denying visas last minute. Lines began forming at Guest Services, not for room cards, but for answers.

Cancellation and Limbo in the Pacific

On March 13th, everything changed. The captain’s voice announced what nobody wanted to hear—our cruise was officially cancelled. Norwegian Cruise Line was suspending all operations worldwide.

We were scheduled to end the first leg in Papeete, but Tahiti had turned us away. The world was shutting down, one port at a time, and we were still out here.

Nicola summed up the feeling: “Sadly, our ship has turned around and we are heading to New Zealand... We are getting a full refund, so I suppose we lived and ate for over 2 weeks for free... We are luckier than most in the world.”

But even New Zealand wouldn't take us. The Jewel was turning so many times that the navigation maps on the stateroom TVs looked like a crayon drawing. The captain gave updates daily, and every day the news changed: Fiji closed, New Zealand closed, Samoa closed. The Jewel had turned into a Flying Dutchman of the Pacific—welcome nowhere.

A Plea for Help and Life in the Bubble

Communication became chaotic. The 340 Canadians onboard quickly organized, sending a direct email to the Prime Minister and our MPs on March 18th. The polite but useless reply told us to follow up with cruise officials. We were alone, but at least we were floating.

• Safety & Sanitation: Paradoxically, the ship became the safest place on Earth. Meticulous sanitation was its own comfort; handrails were constantly wiped, and the crew served every item in the buffet.
• Groundhog Day: Amid the uncertainty, life went on: trivia, pool time, and nightly shows. The navigation itself became surreal: in four days, we crossed the International Date Line three times: "two March 12ths, no March 13th, then two March 16ths... This feels like Groundhog Day.”
• Community: Humour kept us sane ("My concern is putting my pristine, bacon-filled body in a US plane," Nic wrote). We made friends over trivia and shared scraps of news over rationed Wi-Fi.

The one useful rumour was that Hawaii might accept us—but only if everyone left on cruise-organized charters.

Part 4: The Chaotic Journey Home via Hawaiʻi

When the announcement came, we were told Hawaii would allow disembarkation, but only for a straight transit from ship to plane.

• Disembarkation Day: We woke at 4:15 a.m. for a 5:00 a.m. immigration check. Every passenger had their temperature checked before boarding buses, which were escorted by Honolulu police cars.
• The Five-Hour Wait: The people of Hawaii had been promised we would go straight from ship to plane. When the plane wasn’t ready, the police convoy drove us back to the port, where we sat on those buses for over five hours. We weren’t allowed off—not even to stretch—in a bizarre logistical limbo.
• Tarmac Transit: We were eventually driven onto the airport tarmac through a side gate. Our passports were checked at folding tables set up beside the plane, a surreal but strangely efficient operation under the eyes of police and masked airport workers.
• The Flight Home: We boarded a Sun Country Airlines charter to Vancouver. We hadn’t eaten since 5:00 a.m. breakfast, surviving on smuggled pizza and Froot Loops. Everyone was exhausted but patient; the feeling was mutual: just get us home.

We landed in Vancouver close to midnight, greeted by a single official question: “Do you feel okay?” After that, we were on our own. We rented a car, stocked up on sanitizer wipes, and drove to Penticton, BC, to begin our mandatory 14-day quarantine in a quiet cabin offered by friends.

Nicola summed up the feeling: “It wasn’t the anniversary we anticipated—with police escorts, long bus waits, and nothing to eat—but it will certainly be memorable.” — March 24, 2020

Conclusion: A Story for the Ages

Our South Pacific cruise, meant to be a slow and stunning journey home, became an unforgettable chapter in global history. We watched the world change from the deck of a cruise ship, living through uncertainty, yet witnessing immense kindness from the crew, the captain, and strangers who helped us finally reach land.

We didn't get the tropical postcards we imagined, but we got something better: a COVID travel story we’ll tell for the rest of our lives—a story of gratitude, resilience, and the deep love for the simple freedom of standing on solid ground.

We will be back someday to do this cruise again... and hopefully get off the ship!