Chronicle οf a Hantavirus Outbreak οn M/V Hondius
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| Red-carpet Spanish reception at Granadilla Port, Tenerife |
April 1–7, The Last Trip
April 8–30, The Death of a Couple
May 1–3, The Third Death
May 4–8, A Homeless Ship
May 9–10, Conditions Are Changing, Welcome 'Home'
May 11, Admission to the Hospital
May 12-17, Meeting with Dr. Tsiodras
May 18–June 7, The 'Entire' Globe in Quarantine
June 8–17, A Wind of Freedom Blows
June 17, The Final Day of Confinement And The Moment of Reflection
June 18, When a Life Becomes a Postage Stamp
June 19–today, The Interview, Go Home
Behind the Scenes
Hantavirus: map tracking
April 8–30, The Death of a Couple
May 1–3, The Third Death
May 4–8, A Homeless Ship
May 9–10, Conditions Are Changing, Welcome 'Home'
May 11, Admission to the Hospital
May 12-17, Meeting with Dr. Tsiodras
May 18–June 7, The 'Entire' Globe in Quarantine
June 8–17, A Wind of Freedom Blows
June 17, The Final Day of Confinement And The Moment of Reflection
June 18, When a Life Becomes a Postage Stamp
June 19–today, The Interview, Go Home
Behind the Scenes
Hantavirus: map tracking
A Voyage Toward Eternity
Mirjan, Leo, and Veronica were looking forward to their trip with great anticipation and joy. Their ship was set to depart from the edge of Argentina and cross the entire South Atlantic Ocean in a maritime adventure lasting over a month. The tragic events that unfolded, resulting in their deaths, remind me of Emily Dickinson's extraordinary poem, "Because I could not stop for Death". In the poem, Dickinson is a passenger in a carriage, too consumed by her daily life and dreams to pause for Death. So Death, personified as a polite gentleman, kindly stops to pick her up. He takes her on a journey past scenes symbolizing life, without her realizing that the voyage has no earthly destination, but rather Eternity itself.
April 1-7, The Last Trip
April 1, Boarding of the ship Hondius takes place with 88 passengers, including Mirjan, Leo, and Veronica. First destination: South Georgia. The first few days passed with maritime impressions in the turbulent waters of the South Atlantic Ocean and around the island of South Georgia.April 2–4, At sea in the Scotia Sea, the days passed with bird watching and lectures. No medical incident was recorded.
April 5–7, Arrival and tour on the island of South Georgia. Some signs of fatigue began to appear on the faces of the first to pass away (Leo, Mirjan) upon their return from Grytviken, where Mirjan was unable to board the ship, as shown in a relevant video as well.
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| Raging Atlantic Ocean |
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| The Albatrosses kept us company for the entire voyage.... |
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| ...We spent hours out on deck photographing them |
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| Grutviken, South Georgia |
April 8–30, The Death of a Couple
April 8, We learn that we have a patient (Leo) on board with a high fever. It is considered a normal occurrence for some people to fall ill at sea, but his fever wouldn't break despite the efforts of Dr. Joost.April 9–11 There is no medical bulletin regarding the patient's (Leo) condition.
April 12, The captain announces to us that the patient has died (Case 1) and that his wish was for the cruise to continue. Initial (incorrect) indications pointed to a "natural" death! In the middle of the ocean, where the nearest port is a 6-day sail away, you have no alternative thought or solution other than to accept the inevitable. Mirjan (Leo's wife) followed the same line of thought, accepting the condolences of her fellow Dutch travelers through hugs, as well as those of Veronica, to whom the deadly virus was transmitted, as was later determined.
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| Gazing at the sunset in South Georgia aboard an outboard dinghy |
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| Skirting the island's precipitous shores |
April 13–17, We remain in the Tristan da Cunha archipelago (with excursions to Inaccessible and Nightingale islands, and a visit to the settlement of Edinburgh of the Seven Seas). The psychological support provided by fellow travelers during Mirjan's tragedy (...you are my guardian angels...) is a point open to scrutiny, as those present were constantly occupied with scientific studies on the ship's outer decks, observing and photographing birds. I do not recall there being hugs, close contact, or handshakes. However, as another passenger later mentioned to me, Mirjan's contact with Veronica was particularly close due to communication, since Veronica spoke only German, just like Mirjan.
April 18–22, Sailing across the subtropical zone of the Atlantic Ocean and arriving at Saint Helena late in the afternoon of April 22. No medical incident was reported.
April 23–24, We arrived at Saint Helena, where we began a two-day tour of the area. As fellow traveler friends later recounted to me, Mirjan's fatigue was particularly evident.
April 25, We departed for our final destination, Praia, while leaving Mirjan behind in Saint Helena, from where she was to return home by air along with the coffin of her deceased husband. Terrible, if you think about it! As we learned later (April 27), Mirjan collapsed at the Johannesburg airport and died in the hospital (Case 2).
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| Mirjan, Leo, together in life, together in death 😢😢 |
April 26–27, Karla informs us that Veronica is sick with persistent diarrhea and no appetite for food. The Captain announces that we will be making a stop at the military base on Ascension Island to drop off a passenger (Case 3) who is showing signs of pneumonia (a possible flu was the initial—incorrect—diagnosis) so they can be transferred to their home country for further tests. At least there is an airport here.
April 28–30, We are sailing through the Equatorial zone with traditional ceremonies and no further medical bulletins. The cause of the two deaths had not been determined ...yet.
May 1–3, The Third Death
May 1, At the evening Recap, the news is not good. The captain announces that he is speeding up our journey, skipping the final lap around Fogo Island so we can arrive in Praia earlier. The reason is two new sick individuals (with unknown symptoms) who need to be urgently admitted and examined at a hospital. They are two crew members (Case 5, Case 6) who cared for Leo (Case 1) during his illness.May 2, We receive an update from the captain regarding the condition of the sick, which now includes the ship's doctor. The tests conducted on the patient left at Ascension came back negative for the flu. Late that same evening, the captain calls an emergency meeting in the lounge room. ...Mirjan and Leo died from a virus, the hantavirus, which is endemic to Argentina and Chile, as determined by a hospital in Johannesburg.
👉 This virus is typically not transmitted from human to human; however, its variant, the Andes virus, is indeed transmitted between humans. The couple had visited these countries during a months-long trip before boarding the Hondius.
👉 When we mention that someone was infected by Hantavirus through another person, we mean they were infected by the Andes virus—the only strain in the Hantavirus family capable of human-to-human transmission. Infection originally occurs through the droppings of rodents from the Epuyén region in Argentina; when dried, they give off airborne particles containing the virus, which infect people upon inhalation. However, Veronica (Case 4) also passed away shortly ago, likely due to close contact, while Martin and the ship's doctor remain ill.
👉 According to the WHO, the incubation period for the virus is up to 42 days from exposure, and the symptoms include high fever, diarrhea, and muscle aches. Detection requires specialized blood tests (Real-Time PCR for Andes virus, as well as IgM and IgG antibodies for New World Hantaviruses), often conducted across multiple dates. There is no vaccine, and the virus carries a fatality rate of 30–40%.
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| Veronica... why? 😢 (photo by Peter Marsh) |
May 3, We arrive in Praia, but the authorities do not allow us to enter the port. Political consultations are underway involving the Netherlands, the WHO, and the local government. The captain asks us to be discreet in our communications, as public statements are making negotiations more difficult. There was never any censorship or internet shutdown; on the contrary, they had provided us with additional GB of data in case we needed it.
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| ...Never seen a disaster like this 😂, better snap a selfie.... |
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| The ladies are dressing to board the ship |
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| The embarkation is met with difficulty |
12:00, A tugboat approaches carrying a medical team with two female doctors dressed as if they are descending into the basements of Chernobyl. In their hands, they carry a bronchoscope and a glass clipboard. The news began to spread.
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| Provisioning for the voyage to the Canary Islands |
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| To be, or not to be... on board? |
17:30, The captain declares a Mayday status, but essentially they ignore him—that is how much fear prevails. The two sick individuals will be isolated, along with Karla (who shared a cabin with Veronica) as a precaution, although she shows no symptoms. We move to Plan B with the goal of heading to the Canary Islands, where initially the Spanish governor denies the ship entry to Tenerife. The WHO issues a relevant statement, and the event becomes front-page news.
May 4–8, A Homeless Ship
May 4, Back in Greece, they heard the news and were asking about my health. I reassured them. Many passengers were viewing the situation with bewilderment. Others stared at the beautiful lighthouse at the entrance of Praia's port, and others photographed the birds; remarkably, panic did not prevail. |
| Making headlines worldwide |
9:00, An update on the situation is given by the captain. The two patients remain in the same condition, while Karla, who shared a cabin with Veronica, appears healthy but will remain isolated since the progression of the virus is unknown should she be infected. A special charter flight is expected to arrive and pick up all three (the ship's doctor, Martin—who assisted in recovering Leo—and Karla as a suspected case), after which they will remain quarantined for several weeks. Meanwhile, blood samples were drawn from them and sent to the Pasteur Institute in Dakar for analysis.
12:00, The captain upgrades the security status to Level 3, which means everyone must stay in their cabins with no movement in the hallways without a valid reason, following the WHO protocol stating that while a viral sample is under examination at Pasteur Institute, all individuals involved must remain in isolation.
14:00, Oceanwide released its first official statement, describing the situation from the beginning, which aligns in general terms with my own accounts.
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| The origins of the passengers and crew |
18:00, The captain announces that the virological test results for the first two deceased showed positive hantavirus in Mirjan and Leo, along with an unknown rate of infection for the patient left behind in Ascension, who ultimately did not have the flu. Unanswered questions remain: how was Veronica infected, and why was Karla, who was taking care of Veronica, not infected?
May 5
13:00, The captain announces that a Luxembourg Air Rescue flight has departed from Luxembourg to transport Martin, Dr. Joost, and Karla to Europe. I am tracking flight LRQ178H on Flightradar with an expected arrival time of 18:05. Right now, the aircraft—a Bombardier Challenger 605—is over northern Spain. The moments are intense, and I am experiencing them as if they were the end of the world.
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| Touching down any minute now... finally! |
17:00, The pressure from journalists continues; they are sending emails, searching for my blog, and sending friend requests on Facebook, while the news outlets are in a frenzy: Dramatic hours for the passengers.
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| "...the world is anxious about us and we are yearning for a wonderful sunset...", we are at Latitude 0o |
19:00, Mirjan, whom we left with Leo's body on Saint Helena, boarded an Airlink aircraft bound for Johannesburg. Now, the WHO is searching for all passengers of that flight for preventive medical screening. Meanwhile, a passenger (Case 7) from that flight (and a fellow traveler on the Hondius) fell ill upon returning home and is currently hospitalized at the Zurich University Hospital. The WHO fears that the spread might reach more people than expected, but lacks a way to monitor it (according to Arcis.com 173 people were exposed). To give you an example, a woman (Case 9), who is in intensive care, had contact with locals on Saint Helena (as I knew and later confirmed from photos), and today no one knows the fate of those people.
May 6
8:05, A boat approaches (once again) the Hondius to collect the sick passengers, who will be transported via a special flight to the Netherlands. This is the most important news of the last few days. I am happy; these two individuals will soon receive proper medical treatment. Later, we were informed that Karla was admitted to a German hospital for observation, while the two patients were taken to different Dutch hospitals.
11:30, Departure of the flight carrying the two patients and the suspected case (Karla) to Amsterdam. This is good news. "We think of you, Martin and Joost. Please get better soon", we wish them, while Oceanwide reports "the medical air evacuation (to Holland) of both patients is progressing successfully".
May 7-8, Exaggerating the adventure is not solely a Greek inspiration. In Germany, they are comparing the quarantine of the Hondius to the legend of the "Flying Dutchman", where a ship turns into a "ghost" of the seas, sailing without being able to dock anywhere. Thus, this recent ordeal fits that image perfectly, as the Hondius found itself stranded and isolated in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. Just as the Flying Dutchman is fated to sail eternally without ever touching land, the Hondius too found itself "homeless" for days. When the virus broke out, Cape Verde refused to allow the passengers to disembark for fear of contagion. The ship was forced to cover vast distances across the Atlantic, carrying an "invisible threat". Unlike the legendary cursed vessel, however, the ordeal of the Hondius had an end. Following the intervention of the WHO and the EU, the passengers disembarked in the Canary Islands to be repatriated, and the ship eventually docked in Rotterdam for decontamination, before setting sail for the Arctic islands on June 13. Greeks will also be participating in its first voyages, and not a single one has cancelled their reservation.
18:00, The epidemiology committee has called (May 8) certain individuals for a double check—specifically those whose cabins were adjacent to that of the deceased couple (Deck 4). My cabin was on Deck 3.
8:30, Last night, someone from my cabin had a panic attack. He woke up believing he had a fever and was going to die. He burst into tears. He got dressed and went to the doctor, who took his temperature and found it to be 37°C. He returned, felt less anxious, and fell asleep. In the morning, he woke up and went to work out. Obviously, his family has been been upset, and this had affected him.
10:00, I receive a message from the National Public Health Organization (NPHO). A military aircraft will pick me up and transfer me to a referral unit.
12:00, A significant piece of news. Mirjan's diary was found, allowing them to trace the path of the deceased couple and extract information regarding the initial source of the virus. Although unconfirmed, the couple had previously visited provinces in northern Patagonia, perhaps even the region where Hantavirus Outbreaks occurred between 2018 and 2019 (in Epuyén, Chubut province). Though local fatalities occurred then, the incident went largely unnoticed by international media while remaining under investigation. It took the outbreak on the Hondius for their story to come to light. Another scenario suggests the couple had rented a camper van for their tour, where a rodent entered the vehicle—a common occurrence, according to locals—and exposed them to the infection.
13:00, The countdown has begun. Our passports were returned to us, and we settled our bar tab. My passport is now a sought-after gem worldwide, stamped with entries from some of the most isolated places on Earth. We have another briefing with the epidemiologists.
14:00, Epidemiologist Michelle reported that there are no new symptoms on board, and Hans raised the issue of the luggage. They will be stored by the company until the critical period has passed, decontaminated, and sent to their owners via courier, while during disembarkation we will only have a single piece of carry-on luggage with us. The start date of the virus's incubation period is May 6 and can last up to 42 days, namely until June 17.
21:00, We had a recap and briefing with the epidemiologists. Everyone remains asymptomatic, at least for now.
22:00, Tomorrow, we board a commercial aircraft chartered by the Dutch government, heading to the Eindhoven military airbase. From there, we will be repatriated to our home countries by our respective governments, and I will be departing for Greece on a C-27 military aircraft. I spoke with the president of the NPHO regarding this.
23:00, I have a WhatsApp message from Sjoerd Otte (Netherlands Head of Social Consular Services) informing me about the next steps. ....arrival in Eindhoven Airport is planned for 19:35 local time. Upon arrival, there will be an intake process, there will be a blood test for diagnostic research, and you will be requested to complete a short questionnaire. You will be asked to keep your face mask on upon your arrival. You will be taken home via professional transport provided by the GGD (Municipal Health Service). If you have no place to stay or residence in The Netherlands and are not informed for pick-up by the authorities of your country of residence, you will be accommodated in a quarantine hotel in The Netherlands.... I replied to her that the NPHO will handle my transport to Greece.
Captain Jan Dobrogowski, said: "...Dear guests, dear crew, dear family members back at home...I have decided to take this time to thank every single guest and crew member on board here. As well as our colleagues back home. The past few weeks have been extremely challenging for us all, as I'm sure you know.... What touched me the most, what moved me the most was your patience, your discipline and also your kindness, your kindness you showed to each other throughout.... To see people depend on each other..when there is no readily available risk services standing by to come to your help...I have witnessed your caring, your unity and quiet strength amongst everyone on board, guests and crew alike...."
14:00, We are called to get ready. We leave our suitcases behind (they will arrive later) and place our carry-on luggage inside a transparent plastic bag. Wearing masks and dressed in surgical scrubs from head to toe, we get ready, joke around, take our final selfies, and say our goodbyes. We are dressed like surgeons ready for an operation. Outside, vessels patrol about—the policia civil, wearing masks and gear reminiscent of the Kalymnian sponge divers. We board the barges, up to 10 people per boat, and say goodbye to the Hondius and our fellow travelers.
21:50, We took off in a peculiar manner, as these planes climb quickly and have high acceleration. These kinds of aircraft are used in humanitarian missions and offer limited comforts. We arrived in the early morning hours, after a flight of about four hours.
The ground floor corridor is long, and in those hours, scenes from the Alpine sanatorium crossed my mind—the one Thomas Mann so exquisitely describes in his book "The Magic Mountain", that unsurpassed moment when a human being crosses the threshold into the "world of the sick", an isolated, almost sterile microcosm. The moment I was being transferred to the fourth floor of the hospital has been erased from my memory. I try to explain this "erasure" even through the words of Virginia Woolf, who, in her essay "On Being Ill", describes... how, when we are ill and our consciousness blurs or "fades", we enter another world, unknown and mystical... but I am not ill; on the contrary, I feel fine, and perhaps my mind simply did some editing and cut out the elevator scene.
4:00, I am finally transferred to cell 23—room 23, I meant to say, but the word just wouldn't come out of my mouth—a space you can only enter, not leave. It’s an Infectious Disease Unit (IDU), completely isolated from the outside world. It is smaller than a student dorm room, equipped with a bathroom, previously used during the COVID-19 pandemic, whereas today it's used for infection incidents. I was received by Katerina, the nurse who became famous because of her 'patient', and she kept asking if I was doing okay, even though I should have been the one asking her that. Inside her protective suit, she was sweltering and dripping with sweat. She left, and I was left alone, staring at the ceiling and the dark spaces as if I were in a basement, while the light-colored walls reminded me of the 'white cells' of the Baader-Meinhof group back in the distant '70s.
8:30,I feel a light touch and open my eyes. "...did I wake you up?" It was the voice of Sotiris Tsiodras, the famous doctor from the COVID-19 pandemic. It was the first time I had seen him up close, and his presence acted as an antidote to the heavy emotional toll of the past few hours. I realized that Prof. Dr. Sotiris Tsiodras is just as likable in person as he was during the COVID-19 days. We spoke more in general terms rather than about the Hantavirus, and he promised me that my preventive stay in the IDU at Attikon Hospital would be dignified.
10:30, All of us Hondius travelers are now locked away in similar Infectious IDUs, and some in their homes, depending on the country. We communicate with each other via WhatsApp and that’s how we learn the team's news—news we rarely transmit to the media, though some journalistic reports are truly infuriating. In France, for example, there was a very supportive team in the infectious disease department, and the nurses were friendly and helpful to my fellow French travelers. So, one of ours asked them, "...do you feel unsafe or anxious in any way coming into contact with us?" and the answer was, "...NO, professional nurses are not afraid..." Who on earth was the journalist interviewing, then, in front of the hospital building, where a nurse was telling him in a panic that she was scared? And my fellow traveler continued, "...I expect everyone who spread panic, hatred, and guilt to apologize in 6 weeks to all of us who created so many problems and made them bigger than they are. I’m not saying the situation isn’t serious—obviously it is—but extremes and exaggerations offer nothing at all..." Similar things, though on a smaller scale, had happened in Greece as well.
Apparently, they were looking for me and I wasn’t answering. Arrogance ('...who is this VIP hiding?...'), rudeness, protection of private and family life, or maintaining an equal distance from all ("...if I answered one, I’d have to answer the other 99"), but then again, I didn't feel guilty. A substitute had been found—a friend of mine had read posts from my blog and intervened anonymously clarifying who I am, what I do, and how I ended up here.
Over the next few days, we were constantly exchanging messages, keeping up with the quarantine status in each country, and coming to the conclusion about the political cost of this virus—from far-away African Cape Verde to the 'civilized' states of the US. My fellow traveler friends from a US state were not admitted to a care facility, but what they experienced, locked in their home, was even worse than an IDU. I present to you their original narrative text in English, so that its meaning and intense emotional tone are not lost in translation: ....I’d like to clarify a few things regarding us that came home from St Helena. 1). For the first week, they had no idea there was a virus. 2) when they did realize, we had just wrapped up the first week and the info hit the news about the Hantavirus. 3) for that week, they went back and forth between what to do. During that time, we followed our Ga Health Depts directives and stated cautions. 4). I had only been out of the house one time after getting home just to pick up some paperwork and that was again, before they found out. 5). We were hounded here when news broke that out of 7, 2 were in Georgia. Then they narrowed it down to 1 who was a “real estate agent”. We endured death threats, threats of violence and other things. We did NOT leave our home for multiple reasons and one of those was fear for our lives! Even walking the dogs I carried a pistol. (Yes. I have a few of them). 6) at the end of week 3. When they figured it out, we started having face to face check ins 2x a day. Also checking our temps. 7) we have not argued and remain locked in our home. I know that isn’t what yall are experiencing, but we are further along in the process and we also were not around as many sick individuals. We are complying. Even today, I need to go to the dr for a kidney stone. Just a kidney stone. To do that would require us driving an hour away to Savannah, going to the hospital. Waiting in our car until they clear out the area of everyone that does not need to be there. So I’m waiting and hoping I don’t have to go. So, please don’t think we aren’t and haven’t been on lock down as well. While it may not have started at first, we did get there. We are all going thru the same or similar situations. Ours is no different...
People are afraid, consumed by intense negativity, and the slightest news related to viruses brings them back to the grim, horrific reality they experienced during the COVID-19 pandemic—they consider everything a pandemic!! A French friend wrote, "...as a matter of fact, our Prime Minister recently tweeted 'I am saving 66 millions people by locking down 20', This is pure politics...", because "...hundreds of Chilean and Argentine citizens from the endemic areas of the virus move and travel freely without any control whatsoever..." he added!
In Australia, entirely different standards apply. Read what Jeremy tells us: "...I follow all your comments with great interest. Like most of you, I am surprised by the different protocols around the world. The six of us here in Western Australia are being treated well, and each of us has a reasonably sized and well-equipped room with a veranda, so we get plenty of sunshine and fresh air. We have been given two one-hour time slots to walk. We were informed yesterday that we will have to complete our entire quarantine here until June 17, when they will charter a flight for us back home (2 to Sydney, 2 to Brisbane, 1 to New Zealand, and 1 to Cairns). Disappointing, but not unexpected. To compensate, they increased the walking area, and when we are away from the buildings, we can walk without masks. Not many birds, but a few beauties like the Splendid Fairywrens and some local endemic species like the Red-capped Parrots. There are no expenses to pay except for beer, wine, and whisky, so we can't really complain, especially since they bring our dinner from local restaurants, so there is a lot of variety. I feel great empathy for those confined to a single room with few opportunities to wander around or even see plants and animals. I wish you all the best..."
I never imagined that I would be the one to save the Greek economy! I will refrain from commenting further on his statements for now; nevertheless, at a later and more tranquil stage, I expressed my gratitude to him for his overall remarks, as well as to the NPHO (National Public Health Organization) for the 'rescue' operation.
Over the next few days, I had daily visits from Tsiodras, who was always cheerful and polite. During one of our meetings, I seized the opportunity to inform him that while the space was respectable, the lack of visual contact with the outside world stripped the confined person of their emotional well-being... "Look, we are on the fourth floor with a view of the Athens basin and Mount Parnitha, and yet the frosted windows prevent this beauty from entering the room..." It was as if something clicked in his mind; the very next day he brought in a crew to clean them. The view was revealing, not just to my eyes, but to my soul. I sent him a message... "Future patients will be grateful to you..." Indeed, what was a rather depressing space turned into a room capable of receiving patients with serious infections and boosting their spirits, allowing them to watch the changing weather and daylight, the birds flying, and even the street traffic—as if they were participating in their daily activities. And the staff would say to me... "...It took you coming here for this place to be brightened up..."
May 13, A report in METRO/UK, stating that a British passenger was arrested in a bar in Milan and transferred to the Sacco Hospital, is being checked for its accuracy.
May 6
8:05, A boat approaches (once again) the Hondius to collect the sick passengers, who will be transported via a special flight to the Netherlands. This is the most important news of the last few days. I am happy; these two individuals will soon receive proper medical treatment. Later, we were informed that Karla was admitted to a German hospital for observation, while the two patients were taken to different Dutch hospitals.
11:30, Departure of the flight carrying the two patients and the suspected case (Karla) to Amsterdam. This is good news. "We think of you, Martin and Joost. Please get better soon", we wish them, while Oceanwide reports "the medical air evacuation (to Holland) of both patients is progressing successfully".
13:00, In one hour the patients will be landing in the Netherlands and we are departing for Tenerife. Meanwhile, videos have flooded the Internet, and Flightradar24.com issued the following announcement: "...Were you on Airlink 4Z132 on April 25..." The World Health Organization has issued a call for any passengers aboard 4Z132 on April 25 to contact health authorities following the death of a Dutch woman from hantavirus. The woman had left the M/V Hondius in St Helena and taken the Airlink flight to Johannesburg. This refers to Mirjan, the only one in whom the virus was identified making the flight particularly concerning regarding the spread of the virus. An American passenger on flight 4Z132 continued on to the islands in the South Pacific Ocean, where they tracked her down. Imagine how shocked she felt when she was informed of her quarantine!
16:00, "cast off the lines!" ...we are departing for the port of Granadilla in Tenerife, accompanied by two very friendly (young) Dutch female doctors, the African specialist from the WHO, and an Italian commissioner from the European Health Agency.
19:00, The Commission introduced themselves to us and briefed us on the protocol we must follow. They also informed us that today we will not have late-night stay in the lounge, as it will be closed for deep cleaning/chemical disinfection.
19:30, I received an email from EODY (National Public Health Organization) offering support if needed, and I replied. Shortly, we have a new meeting with the 3 epidemiologists who will explain to us the reason they boarded the ship and are traveling with us. A specialist epidemiologist from the Dutch military also made an appearance, so the commission now consists of 4 people. Performing PCR tests at sea is not possible. Karla's health serves as an evaluation barometer; today she remains healthy, but medical confidentiality will not allow us to track her progress moving forward.
21:30, The committee of epidemiologists called the entire crew and passengers for a medical interview, as any other test is impossible to perform at sea. They took my temperature and asked me questions about whether I had any of the known symptoms of the virus. Also, whether I experienced weakness, if I had changed cabins, or if I noticed any dizziness or strange physical behavior. I answered negative to everything.
16:00, "cast off the lines!" ...we are departing for the port of Granadilla in Tenerife, accompanied by two very friendly (young) Dutch female doctors, the African specialist from the WHO, and an Italian commissioner from the European Health Agency.
19:00, The Commission introduced themselves to us and briefed us on the protocol we must follow. They also informed us that today we will not have late-night stay in the lounge, as it will be closed for deep cleaning/chemical disinfection.
19:30, I received an email from EODY (National Public Health Organization) offering support if needed, and I replied. Shortly, we have a new meeting with the 3 epidemiologists who will explain to us the reason they boarded the ship and are traveling with us. A specialist epidemiologist from the Dutch military also made an appearance, so the commission now consists of 4 people. Performing PCR tests at sea is not possible. Karla's health serves as an evaluation barometer; today she remains healthy, but medical confidentiality will not allow us to track her progress moving forward.
21:30, The committee of epidemiologists called the entire crew and passengers for a medical interview, as any other test is impossible to perform at sea. They took my temperature and asked me questions about whether I had any of the known symptoms of the virus. Also, whether I experienced weakness, if I had changed cabins, or if I noticed any dizziness or strange physical behavior. I answered negative to everything.
playing Cards vs Gravity
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| Day-to-day activities |
May 7-8, Exaggerating the adventure is not solely a Greek inspiration. In Germany, they are comparing the quarantine of the Hondius to the legend of the "Flying Dutchman", where a ship turns into a "ghost" of the seas, sailing without being able to dock anywhere. Thus, this recent ordeal fits that image perfectly, as the Hondius found itself stranded and isolated in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. Just as the Flying Dutchman is fated to sail eternally without ever touching land, the Hondius too found itself "homeless" for days. When the virus broke out, Cape Verde refused to allow the passengers to disembark for fear of contagion. The ship was forced to cover vast distances across the Atlantic, carrying an "invisible threat". Unlike the legendary cursed vessel, however, the ordeal of the Hondius had an end. Following the intervention of the WHO and the EU, the passengers disembarked in the Canary Islands to be repatriated, and the ship eventually docked in Rotterdam for decontamination, before setting sail for the Arctic islands on June 13. Greeks will also be participating in its first voyages, and not a single one has cancelled their reservation.
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| June 13th, a fresh start |
18:00, The epidemiology committee has called (May 8) certain individuals for a double check—specifically those whose cabins were adjacent to that of the deceased couple (Deck 4). My cabin was on Deck 3.
May 9-10, Conditions Are Changing, Welcome 'Home'
May 9, at sea8:30, Last night, someone from my cabin had a panic attack. He woke up believing he had a fever and was going to die. He burst into tears. He got dressed and went to the doctor, who took his temperature and found it to be 37°C. He returned, felt less anxious, and fell asleep. In the morning, he woke up and went to work out. Obviously, his family has been been upset, and this had affected him.
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Morning exercise on a daily basis |
10:00, I receive a message from the National Public Health Organization (NPHO). A military aircraft will pick me up and transfer me to a referral unit.
12:00, A significant piece of news. Mirjan's diary was found, allowing them to trace the path of the deceased couple and extract information regarding the initial source of the virus. Although unconfirmed, the couple had previously visited provinces in northern Patagonia, perhaps even the region where Hantavirus Outbreaks occurred between 2018 and 2019 (in Epuyén, Chubut province). Though local fatalities occurred then, the incident went largely unnoticed by international media while remaining under investigation. It took the outbreak on the Hondius for their story to come to light. Another scenario suggests the couple had rented a camper van for their tour, where a rodent entered the vehicle—a common occurrence, according to locals—and exposed them to the infection.
13:00, The countdown has begun. Our passports were returned to us, and we settled our bar tab. My passport is now a sought-after gem worldwide, stamped with entries from some of the most isolated places on Earth. We have another briefing with the epidemiologists.
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| A vintage Tristan Da Cunha entry stamp |
14:00, Epidemiologist Michelle reported that there are no new symptoms on board, and Hans raised the issue of the luggage. They will be stored by the company until the critical period has passed, decontaminated, and sent to their owners via courier, while during disembarkation we will only have a single piece of carry-on luggage with us. The start date of the virus's incubation period is May 6 and can last up to 42 days, namely until June 17.
21:00, We had a recap and briefing with the epidemiologists. Everyone remains asymptomatic, at least for now.
22:00, Tomorrow, we board a commercial aircraft chartered by the Dutch government, heading to the Eindhoven military airbase. From there, we will be repatriated to our home countries by our respective governments, and I will be departing for Greece on a C-27 military aircraft. I spoke with the president of the NPHO regarding this.
23:00, I have a WhatsApp message from Sjoerd Otte (Netherlands Head of Social Consular Services) informing me about the next steps. ....arrival in Eindhoven Airport is planned for 19:35 local time. Upon arrival, there will be an intake process, there will be a blood test for diagnostic research, and you will be requested to complete a short questionnaire. You will be asked to keep your face mask on upon your arrival. You will be taken home via professional transport provided by the GGD (Municipal Health Service). If you have no place to stay or residence in The Netherlands and are not informed for pick-up by the authorities of your country of residence, you will be accommodated in a quarantine hotel in The Netherlands.... I replied to her that the NPHO will handle my transport to Greece.
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| We felt safe aboard the Hondius |
May 10, disembarkation onto land and transfer to Eindhoven
7:30, I can't say I slept well. The anticipation of disembarkation day makes me restless. My diary is already at 56 days long. Heading down to breakfast with a temperature reading of 36.1°C.
11:00, Interesting news. The BBC reported that a special unit of British paratroopers parachuted into Tristan, carrying medical supplies, as one individual (case 8) developed symptoms!!! It reminds me of the Patagonians who were wiped out by European conquerors when Magellan's expedition and subsequent explorers passed diseases and venereal infections on to them. Tristan da Cunha, being the most isolated place in the world (located 3000 km from both Argentina and South Africa), does not have an airport.
7:30, I can't say I slept well. The anticipation of disembarkation day makes me restless. My diary is already at 56 days long. Heading down to breakfast with a temperature reading of 36.1°C.
11:00, Interesting news. The BBC reported that a special unit of British paratroopers parachuted into Tristan, carrying medical supplies, as one individual (case 8) developed symptoms!!! It reminds me of the Patagonians who were wiped out by European conquerors when Magellan's expedition and subsequent explorers passed diseases and venereal infections on to them. Tristan da Cunha, being the most isolated place in the world (located 3000 km from both Argentina and South Africa), does not have an airport.
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| British commandos in a spectacular airborne operation |
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| Tristan, in the middle of nowhere |
12:00, During our last meal aboard the Hondius, I met the captain. I thanked him for all the days we spent together, sharing meals, conversations, and laughs, and I wished him fair winds and safe travels. A great guy, the captain.
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| The last meal before leaving the Hondius |
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| thanks captain! |
Captain Jan Dobrogowski, said: "...Dear guests, dear crew, dear family members back at home...I have decided to take this time to thank every single guest and crew member on board here. As well as our colleagues back home. The past few weeks have been extremely challenging for us all, as I'm sure you know.... What touched me the most, what moved me the most was your patience, your discipline and also your kindness, your kindness you showed to each other throughout.... To see people depend on each other..when there is no readily available risk services standing by to come to your help...I have witnessed your caring, your unity and quiet strength amongst everyone on board, guests and crew alike...."
14:00, We are called to get ready. We leave our suitcases behind (they will arrive later) and place our carry-on luggage inside a transparent plastic bag. Wearing masks and dressed in surgical scrubs from head to toe, we get ready, joke around, take our final selfies, and say our goodbyes. We are dressed like surgeons ready for an operation. Outside, vessels patrol about—the policia civil, wearing masks and gear reminiscent of the Kalymnian sponge divers. We board the barges, up to 10 people per boat, and say goodbye to the Hondius and our fellow travelers.
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| Goodbye Hondius, goodbye guys |
At the port, other 'frogmen' are waiting for us and ask standard questions, like ...what's your name..., without us even showing a passport, and we board a bus fit for lepers 🤣🤣. The measures taken by the Spaniards show that they aren't afraid of us (they are very polite and calm with us); it’s the tourists they're afraid of, lest they stop visiting their island altogether. On the way, paparazzi are taking photos of us. We greet them with our middle finger up, as if telling them 'go f*** yourselves'. A photo is circulating online showing Dirk with his mask off inside the bus—he was indeed very nervous—captioned "...they are walking around without masks...", thus implying that we have become 'dangerous'. The question of why the local governor changed his mind (he had initially opposed our disembarkation) might be due to orders (or instructions) from above, as the Spanish group included prominent members of the country, and a Spanish friend begged me not to elaborate further ....otherwise we would have continued our journey to Rotterdam, another five days at sea, which wouldn't have bothered me at all (better quarantined on the ship than in a hospital ward)!
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| Look at his expression |
On the way to the airport, I encounter surreal situations and realize what it’s like to travel as a prime minister. Traffic on the highway has been halted, drivers are stepping out with their phones in hand, police vehicles escort us front and rear, we are driving at high speed and stopping nowhere. Ideas flash through my mind—like writing the next James Bond movie (I have the entire script ready) or directing a documentary. Paparazzi everywhere. We arrive at Tenerife South Airport, and through a special gate, they take us straight to the plane. No check-in, no security, no passport control. ...Being famous is quite something... Andy Warhol said it best.
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| A royal escort |
We walk up the stairs of the plane and pick any seat we want. I sit in 21F, with drinks, sweets, and crackers right next to me. Living high life, I’m telling you! Sometimes it crosses my mind—what is all this excessive security for? There are no symptoms, "there is no virus"; FEAR is what truly exists, and that’s not in us, but in those who aren't wearing a mask. How many times did I feel that "the virus is political, not primarily medical"!!
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| Mobilizing the whole military apparatus |
15:50, The plane belongs to Titan Airways, meant for special missions. An Airbus A321-LR with flight number AWC871, heading to Eindhoven. The flight lasted 3 hours and 40 minutes. The cabin crew wore white gowns and transparent full-face shields. They had no issue with photos, appeared polite, showed no signs of fear, and kept apologizing for the measures in place. My friend Dirk seemed nervous, surrounded by a sense of panic. He was reacting like a small child and raising his voice at the crew. A fellow passenger approached him and softly told him to calm down.
20:40, We arrived at the Eindhoven military base, and the welcome from the base staff was completely different from Tenerife. The staff were simply wearing masks, joking around, and were very friendly. Relief!!! Here, we were no longer viral; we were normal people—travelers, explorers, adventurous types—a group where the title of "celebrity" suited no one, and we all kept our anonymity until the 'war' was over. Of course, there was the exception of Jake who, as an influencer, had to advertise what he got for free from Oceanwide: an Atlantic journey.
21:00, They are preparing to put us through medical tests. This is the first time we are being tested scientifically. I answered a questionnaire and had blood drawn to detect the virus. The results were sent to Greece and came back negative! They ask me what menu I want, I place my order, and they put it in a bag for me to enjoy during the flight to Greece. How was I, poor soul, to imagine that the C-27 (a military transport aircraft) would lack the comforts of Aegean's planes? It was noisy, cold, with uncomfortable seats, and its takeoff was reminiscent of the ARTEMIS II launch—they were holding onto me so I wouldn't fly out of my seat (due to acceleration) '...I don't recommend traveling on a C-27..' to make a joke, much like Bonaparte when he arrived at Saint Helena and remarked, '...it is not a attractive place, I should have done better to remain in Egypt...'
A military officer led me to where the C-27 was parked. I was walking in high spirits along a side taxiway for about 300–400 meters; on the way we were joking, stopping, and talking, so that the Greeks from the C-27 would see me and wonder, 'is this the Greek we came to pick up'? The president of the NPHO, Mr. Vasilakopoulos, had also traveled on the plane (he was very cool, polite, and showed no signs of worry), who welcomed me along with a colleague of his, while bearded Costas from the emergency medical services (EKAB) took good care of me—polite and ready to offer any assistance. There was also military crew of 4–5 more people. No one showed signs of fear; they avoided questions and strictly adhered to all safety measures as described in international protocols.
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| Titan Airways on a unique flight |
20:40, We arrived at the Eindhoven military base, and the welcome from the base staff was completely different from Tenerife. The staff were simply wearing masks, joking around, and were very friendly. Relief!!! Here, we were no longer viral; we were normal people—travelers, explorers, adventurous types—a group where the title of "celebrity" suited no one, and we all kept our anonymity until the 'war' was over. Of course, there was the exception of Jake who, as an influencer, had to advertise what he got for free from Oceanwide: an Atlantic journey.
21:00, They are preparing to put us through medical tests. This is the first time we are being tested scientifically. I answered a questionnaire and had blood drawn to detect the virus. The results were sent to Greece and came back negative! They ask me what menu I want, I place my order, and they put it in a bag for me to enjoy during the flight to Greece. How was I, poor soul, to imagine that the C-27 (a military transport aircraft) would lack the comforts of Aegean's planes? It was noisy, cold, with uncomfortable seats, and its takeoff was reminiscent of the ARTEMIS II launch—they were holding onto me so I wouldn't fly out of my seat (due to acceleration) '...I don't recommend traveling on a C-27..' to make a joke, much like Bonaparte when he arrived at Saint Helena and remarked, '...it is not a attractive place, I should have done better to remain in Egypt...'
A military officer led me to where the C-27 was parked. I was walking in high spirits along a side taxiway for about 300–400 meters; on the way we were joking, stopping, and talking, so that the Greeks from the C-27 would see me and wonder, 'is this the Greek we came to pick up'? The president of the NPHO, Mr. Vasilakopoulos, had also traveled on the plane (he was very cool, polite, and showed no signs of worry), who welcomed me along with a colleague of his, while bearded Costas from the emergency medical services (EKAB) took good care of me—polite and ready to offer any assistance. There was also military crew of 4–5 more people. No one showed signs of fear; they avoided questions and strictly adhered to all safety measures as described in international protocols.
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| An epic flight by the C-27 |
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| A Spanish passenger is sprayed with disinfectant by Spanish government officials before boarding a plane after disembarking from the hantavirus-stricken cruise ship Hondius at Tenerife airport in the Canary Islands. (In the era of leprosy, care was more humane) |
21:50, We took off in a peculiar manner, as these planes climb quickly and have high acceleration. These kinds of aircraft are used in humanitarian missions and offer limited comforts. We arrived in the early morning hours, after a flight of about four hours.
May 11, Admission to the Hospital
3:00, We arrived at the Elefsina military airport. I was picked up by an EKAB (National Centre for Emergency Care) ambulance, with the paramedics sweating bullets inside their hazmat suits. Arriving at Attikon Hospital, I began to realize the Greek reality. EKAB and the hospital couldn't communicate with each other. I waited for quite a while until the orderlies at Hospital came to pick me up... "Why are you taking so long, colleagues?" the paramedics were shouting at the orderlies... "...We're getting ready..." they replied, or were tipping off the paparazzi to get into shooting position!The ground floor corridor is long, and in those hours, scenes from the Alpine sanatorium crossed my mind—the one Thomas Mann so exquisitely describes in his book "The Magic Mountain", that unsurpassed moment when a human being crosses the threshold into the "world of the sick", an isolated, almost sterile microcosm. The moment I was being transferred to the fourth floor of the hospital has been erased from my memory. I try to explain this "erasure" even through the words of Virginia Woolf, who, in her essay "On Being Ill", describes... how, when we are ill and our consciousness blurs or "fades", we enter another world, unknown and mystical... but I am not ill; on the contrary, I feel fine, and perhaps my mind simply did some editing and cut out the elevator scene.
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| Attikon hospital: A historic crossing |
4:00, I am finally transferred to cell 23—room 23, I meant to say, but the word just wouldn't come out of my mouth—a space you can only enter, not leave. It’s an Infectious Disease Unit (IDU), completely isolated from the outside world. It is smaller than a student dorm room, equipped with a bathroom, previously used during the COVID-19 pandemic, whereas today it's used for infection incidents. I was received by Katerina, the nurse who became famous because of her 'patient', and she kept asking if I was doing okay, even though I should have been the one asking her that. Inside her protective suit, she was sweltering and dripping with sweat. She left, and I was left alone, staring at the ceiling and the dark spaces as if I were in a basement, while the light-colored walls reminded me of the 'white cells' of the Baader-Meinhof group back in the distant '70s.
8:30,I feel a light touch and open my eyes. "...did I wake you up?" It was the voice of Sotiris Tsiodras, the famous doctor from the COVID-19 pandemic. It was the first time I had seen him up close, and his presence acted as an antidote to the heavy emotional toll of the past few hours. I realized that Prof. Dr. Sotiris Tsiodras is just as likable in person as he was during the COVID-19 days. We spoke more in general terms rather than about the Hantavirus, and he promised me that my preventive stay in the IDU at Attikon Hospital would be dignified.
10:30, All of us Hondius travelers are now locked away in similar Infectious IDUs, and some in their homes, depending on the country. We communicate with each other via WhatsApp and that’s how we learn the team's news—news we rarely transmit to the media, though some journalistic reports are truly infuriating. In France, for example, there was a very supportive team in the infectious disease department, and the nurses were friendly and helpful to my fellow French travelers. So, one of ours asked them, "...do you feel unsafe or anxious in any way coming into contact with us?" and the answer was, "...NO, professional nurses are not afraid..." Who on earth was the journalist interviewing, then, in front of the hospital building, where a nurse was telling him in a panic that she was scared? And my fellow traveler continued, "...I expect everyone who spread panic, hatred, and guilt to apologize in 6 weeks to all of us who created so many problems and made them bigger than they are. I’m not saying the situation isn’t serious—obviously it is—but extremes and exaggerations offer nothing at all..." Similar things, though on a smaller scale, had happened in Greece as well.
Apparently, they were looking for me and I wasn’t answering. Arrogance ('...who is this VIP hiding?...'), rudeness, protection of private and family life, or maintaining an equal distance from all ("...if I answered one, I’d have to answer the other 99"), but then again, I didn't feel guilty. A substitute had been found—a friend of mine had read posts from my blog and intervened anonymously clarifying who I am, what I do, and how I ended up here.
Over the next few days, we were constantly exchanging messages, keeping up with the quarantine status in each country, and coming to the conclusion about the political cost of this virus—from far-away African Cape Verde to the 'civilized' states of the US. My fellow traveler friends from a US state were not admitted to a care facility, but what they experienced, locked in their home, was even worse than an IDU. I present to you their original narrative text in English, so that its meaning and intense emotional tone are not lost in translation: ....I’d like to clarify a few things regarding us that came home from St Helena. 1). For the first week, they had no idea there was a virus. 2) when they did realize, we had just wrapped up the first week and the info hit the news about the Hantavirus. 3) for that week, they went back and forth between what to do. During that time, we followed our Ga Health Depts directives and stated cautions. 4). I had only been out of the house one time after getting home just to pick up some paperwork and that was again, before they found out. 5). We were hounded here when news broke that out of 7, 2 were in Georgia. Then they narrowed it down to 1 who was a “real estate agent”. We endured death threats, threats of violence and other things. We did NOT leave our home for multiple reasons and one of those was fear for our lives! Even walking the dogs I carried a pistol. (Yes. I have a few of them). 6) at the end of week 3. When they figured it out, we started having face to face check ins 2x a day. Also checking our temps. 7) we have not argued and remain locked in our home. I know that isn’t what yall are experiencing, but we are further along in the process and we also were not around as many sick individuals. We are complying. Even today, I need to go to the dr for a kidney stone. Just a kidney stone. To do that would require us driving an hour away to Savannah, going to the hospital. Waiting in our car until they clear out the area of everyone that does not need to be there. So I’m waiting and hoping I don’t have to go. So, please don’t think we aren’t and haven’t been on lock down as well. While it may not have started at first, we did get there. We are all going thru the same or similar situations. Ours is no different...
People are afraid, consumed by intense negativity, and the slightest news related to viruses brings them back to the grim, horrific reality they experienced during the COVID-19 pandemic—they consider everything a pandemic!! A French friend wrote, "...as a matter of fact, our Prime Minister recently tweeted 'I am saving 66 millions people by locking down 20', This is pure politics...", because "...hundreds of Chilean and Argentine citizens from the endemic areas of the virus move and travel freely without any control whatsoever..." he added!
In Australia, entirely different standards apply. Read what Jeremy tells us: "...I follow all your comments with great interest. Like most of you, I am surprised by the different protocols around the world. The six of us here in Western Australia are being treated well, and each of us has a reasonably sized and well-equipped room with a veranda, so we get plenty of sunshine and fresh air. We have been given two one-hour time slots to walk. We were informed yesterday that we will have to complete our entire quarantine here until June 17, when they will charter a flight for us back home (2 to Sydney, 2 to Brisbane, 1 to New Zealand, and 1 to Cairns). Disappointing, but not unexpected. To compensate, they increased the walking area, and when we are away from the buildings, we can walk without masks. Not many birds, but a few beauties like the Splendid Fairywrens and some local endemic species like the Red-capped Parrots. There are no expenses to pay except for beer, wine, and whisky, so we can't really complain, especially since they bring our dinner from local restaurants, so there is a lot of variety. I feel great empathy for those confined to a single room with few opportunities to wander around or even see plants and animals. I wish you all the best..."
May 12–17, Meeting with Dr. Tsiodras
May 12, I have a visit from Sotiris Tsiodras, in his capacity as Professor and Director of the IDU, accompanied by Ms. Dimitra Kavvatha (Departmental Director), and I had a brief phone conversation with Adonis, the Minister of Health, who calls me brave and says that my isolation is merely preventive; he does not consider me sick, adding that everything is being done for the sake of our tourism, as he also mentioned in an interview he gave.I never imagined that I would be the one to save the Greek economy! I will refrain from commenting further on his statements for now; nevertheless, at a later and more tranquil stage, I expressed my gratitude to him for his overall remarks, as well as to the NPHO (National Public Health Organization) for the 'rescue' operation.
Over the next few days, I had daily visits from Tsiodras, who was always cheerful and polite. During one of our meetings, I seized the opportunity to inform him that while the space was respectable, the lack of visual contact with the outside world stripped the confined person of their emotional well-being... "Look, we are on the fourth floor with a view of the Athens basin and Mount Parnitha, and yet the frosted windows prevent this beauty from entering the room..." It was as if something clicked in his mind; the very next day he brought in a crew to clean them. The view was revealing, not just to my eyes, but to my soul. I sent him a message... "Future patients will be grateful to you..." Indeed, what was a rather depressing space turned into a room capable of receiving patients with serious infections and boosting their spirits, allowing them to watch the changing weather and daylight, the birds flying, and even the street traffic—as if they were participating in their daily activities. And the staff would say to me... "...It took you coming here for this place to be brightened up..."
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| When the view unfolds |
May 13, A report in METRO/UK, stating that a British passenger was arrested in a bar in Milan and transferred to the Sacco Hospital, is being checked for its accuracy.
May 18 – June 7, The 'Entire' Globe in Quarantine
I had good cooperation with the nursing staff. They conducted regular medical checks and drew my blood every 2–3 days, sending the samples to specialized laboratories to test for the Hantavirus. All results came back negative, and I now considered myself very fortunate within a medical community that was very friendly and professionally sound. Will the same hold true in Society... what will life be like when the 'war' is over? June 17th will be the last day of the mask and isolation, but not of public acceptance. Awkwardness and "safe distance" are the two mechanisms that get activated, whether consciously or unconsciously. "...The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown..." as the American horror and fantasy writer H. P. Lovecraft once said, and this will become apparent during the first encounters. Some acquaintances or colleagues might keep an unconscious (or even conscious) distance at first. They will avoid handshakes, hugs, or look tense if you cough because your throat is dry—and they won't do this out of malice, but out of a lack of information or sheer survival instinct. I set my boundaries with kindness and a smile; it's the only recipe I can use, telling them ...Tsiodras gave me the green light, and all we need to do now is relax and catch up like old times...
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| A big thank you to the kind and attentive nursing staff.. |
The first days of confinement passed quickly; I had plenty to keep myself busy. It was a space for self-concentration with minimal external distractions—a space of discipline, but also of remembrance. Everything I had experienced over the previous days, on a journey that very few dare to take or even know exists, had to be recorded on my blog, spilling a lot of ink writing it. My laptop was essential, and I needed to find a way to retrieve it. For this, I thank the Director of the Hospital, Mr. Apostolopoulos, who found a solution before I even asked him. Nikos took charge of the operation, and right from the first few days, I had a computer with fast internet. My digital archive consisted of 7,000 photos and videos taking up about 100GB of space, and organizing it cost me roughly a week of being 'shut in' in the... room.
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| ...but 'comforts' alone are not enough |
May 20, A travel agency that organizes Arctic trips and will participate with a Greek group in the first voyages of the Hondius, made the following Facebook post: "...after the adventure with the hantavirus, the Hondius is in Rotterdam undergoing a thorough cleaning and a major disinfection entrusted to EWS Group. EWS Group has extensive experience in ship disinfection, including during the COVID-19 pandemic. The process takes 3–4 days, and after the comprehensive cleaning and disinfection, the vessel will once again be safe for its journeys to the polar regions of our planet. Therefore, our departure on June 25 for the Arctic Ocean and the Svalbard Archipelago is proceeding as scheduled. And the most pleasant part is that we didn't have a single cancellation! Because that's how daring travelers are "Kudos to the daring travelers", but the writer fails to mention us that even if they had wanted to cancel their trip, there are no last-minute refunds. Even if they had "trip cancellation" insurance, they wouldn't have been received a single euro, and their claim would have been rejected as groundless. The ship underwent double and triple inspections and is safe; I would travel on it again. Obviously, there is only a slight, subtle worry among future travelers, but on the very first day they set eyes on the ice of Greenland, they will have forgotten all about it.
May 29, While everything in Greece remains unchanged, in Nebraska (USA), my fellow American traveler Steve—who stepped in as a doctor after Joost fell ill—gave an interview to JAMA about how he handled the situation from the moment he took action on the Hondius, Interesting interview.
May 30, the American fellow travelers from certain states are celebrating. They can now voluntarily continue their quarantine at home.
May 29, While everything in Greece remains unchanged, in Nebraska (USA), my fellow American traveler Steve—who stepped in as a doctor after Joost fell ill—gave an interview to JAMA about how he handled the situation from the moment he took action on the Hondius, Interesting interview.
May 30, the American fellow travelers from certain states are celebrating. They can now voluntarily continue their quarantine at home.
June 1, We are completing three weeks of confinement, and the news is finally encouraging. All the Spaniards have now tested negative, while the two symptomatic patients (an American, Case 10, and a Spaniard, Case 11) now show only mild symptoms and are expected to test negative soon. Only one woman (Case 9) remains in serious condition, having fallen ill immediately upon returning to her home country. I suspect she was infected by Mirjan (Case 2) in Saint Helena.
The Americans are acting like excited children about to go home—though not all of them, depending on their home state, a detail I find surprising. Calm individuals, experienced seafarers, and seasoned travelers with deep mental reserves ultimately broke down under confinement. It would make a fascinating case study for sociologists and psychologists: what would happen if families with children were in the same position?
June 2, Negotiations have begun for me to serve the remainder of my 'sentence' at home, once we... convince the authorities to give their consent... A phrase that reminds me of a time when medical science didn't have the primary say. Perhaps I should re-read Umberto Eco's "The Name of the Rose" (or even Niccolò Machiavelli's "The Prince"). I say this because on May 9th I received a message from NPHO: "...upon your arrival in the country, an ambulance will pick you up and transfer you to a reference hospital unit. There, you will need to remain in preventive isolation for a period of at least fifteen (15) days (which may need to be extended), in accordance with current health protocols..." Even though 10 days have passed beyond the initial 15 without any medical reason (all lab tests come back negative, and they have stopped taking blood samples), I remain locked up. Ultimately, my doubt as to whether ...the virus is primarily political rather than medical... gives way to certainty: ...it is purely political... And anyone who disagrees should read the article in Le Canard enchaîné to exclaim ...political cost overwhelmingly defeats science..., even in France. In the US (Utah) as well, the conditions are similarly political-medieval... "...these requirements are dictated to us by the Federal Government and therefore our hands are tied..." is the doctors' response to those confined in their cells. At a later stage, I realized that extending my confinement did make some sense and was more tolerable (and reasonable) compared to other countries renowned for their medical systems. For now, though, "...I write what I feel...much like Edmond About, who settled in Greece in the 19th century and used to say "...I write what I see...
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| The article concerns the fact that the Prime Minister consulted medical experts, and they all said we didn't need to be kept under strict quarantine conditions in the hospital... advice that he ignored, and ...we are still in quarantine. Vive la France. |
In the United Kingdom, conditions are entirely different... ....here in UK we were allowed to leave hospital accommodation after 3 days to self isolate at home. Was a black cab that brought us home. (No escorts, thankfully) We were given really good information regarding what to do if we fell ill. (The hospital where the isolation unit would be if needed) Our details have been registered with all the emergency services to flag re Hanta virus, in case of an emergency, and will drop off the systems after isolation finished! We have blood test kits to do ourselves weekly which are couriered to Porton Down. Daily telephone call from UKHSA. Cant believe how everyone is treated so differently...they’ve also covered me for lost income (I’m self employed)....Jonathan mentions in our group chat.
June 3, Recent news reports mention that children aged 11–17 were also traveling on the famous flight 4Z132 (Saint Helena–Johannesburg). They were placed in quarantine as well and will be released (for home isolation) on Monday (June 8)—meaning after 30 days. All of this is happening in France, not in some developing country. If it were your own child in quarantine, would you still support the view "...let them stay in the IDU quarantine a bit longer for the public good..."?
June 4, From conversations, I realize that there is a very real war going on between Politics and Medicine. The initial request for me to continue my confinement at home was rejected by the leadership of the ministry. They were surely afraid of the impact from the media, which would start asking awkward questions, especially during an election period.
June 5, I remain confined for a 26th day (15 days + 11 additional days) in a space meant for people who are sick and need to get well. I, however, am healthy, and perhaps they are waiting for me to... fall sick(!)—otherwise my continued presence here cannot be explained. I should be continuing my quarantine at home ("...after the 15th day, provided there are no other reasons...", stated the protocol provided to me by NPHO). All PCR tests have come back negative, as is the case with all my fellow travelers experiencing similar situations. They, however, are allowed outside for air; I am not. I now feel like a prisoner, not someone in preventive isolation. Who can prove otherwise to me? This is the reason I am being held in here: 'to save our tourism', Adonis had said, and I add to my initial view: ...the virus is political... not medical...!
June 7, Tsiodras sent me 34 interview questions to include in a publication for a medical journal. If accepted, it will be the first medical interview of a passenger on the Hondius vs Hantavirus case. At the same time, I informed students from the European Culture program at the Hellenic Open University (HOU) to see if they want to create a documentary about the Atlantic adventure. A fitting title would be "Degrees of Isolation: from the Ocean to Hantavirus". This title carries the following characteristics: the term "Degrees" directly points to academia (degrees, grades, academic titles). Using it in a documentary about a scientific expedition creates a powerful sense of irony: the "degrees" no longer refer to academic qualifications, but to the levels of isolation we experienced. On the ocean, you have no freedom of movement—you are isolated between sky and sea, with no open land. The word Hantavirus implies the disease: isolated on the ship (no port will accept you) and continuing into total confinement.
12:00, Tsiodras called me and said that the political leadership has agreed to home isolation, with prior approval from NPHO and a documented statement from him. I was to have a car ready and 'escape' quietly, stay home, and communicate daily via video call—something akin to an electronic tracking bracelet. Transporting the car was a complex operation: someone had to come get the keys (in sterilized form), go to the house (unlocking it wearing gloves like burglars) to get the vehicle keys, start the car after three months of inactivity, fuel it up, bring it to me, leave, and then I could drive away... The entire operation was guided step-by-step via video call.
13:00, happening in Paris 😧😧
June 3, Recent news reports mention that children aged 11–17 were also traveling on the famous flight 4Z132 (Saint Helena–Johannesburg). They were placed in quarantine as well and will be released (for home isolation) on Monday (June 8)—meaning after 30 days. All of this is happening in France, not in some developing country. If it were your own child in quarantine, would you still support the view "...let them stay in the IDU quarantine a bit longer for the public good..."?
June 4, From conversations, I realize that there is a very real war going on between Politics and Medicine. The initial request for me to continue my confinement at home was rejected by the leadership of the ministry. They were surely afraid of the impact from the media, which would start asking awkward questions, especially during an election period.
June 5, I remain confined for a 26th day (15 days + 11 additional days) in a space meant for people who are sick and need to get well. I, however, am healthy, and perhaps they are waiting for me to... fall sick(!)—otherwise my continued presence here cannot be explained. I should be continuing my quarantine at home ("...after the 15th day, provided there are no other reasons...", stated the protocol provided to me by NPHO). All PCR tests have come back negative, as is the case with all my fellow travelers experiencing similar situations. They, however, are allowed outside for air; I am not. I now feel like a prisoner, not someone in preventive isolation. Who can prove otherwise to me? This is the reason I am being held in here: 'to save our tourism', Adonis had said, and I add to my initial view: ...the virus is political... not medical...!
June 7, Tsiodras sent me 34 interview questions to include in a publication for a medical journal. If accepted, it will be the first medical interview of a passenger on the Hondius vs Hantavirus case. At the same time, I informed students from the European Culture program at the Hellenic Open University (HOU) to see if they want to create a documentary about the Atlantic adventure. A fitting title would be "Degrees of Isolation: from the Ocean to Hantavirus". This title carries the following characteristics: the term "Degrees" directly points to academia (degrees, grades, academic titles). Using it in a documentary about a scientific expedition creates a powerful sense of irony: the "degrees" no longer refer to academic qualifications, but to the levels of isolation we experienced. On the ocean, you have no freedom of movement—you are isolated between sky and sea, with no open land. The word Hantavirus implies the disease: isolated on the ship (no port will accept you) and continuing into total confinement.
June 8–17, A Wind of Freedom Blows
June 8, They took my blood before discharge! Is this real, or just another joke? Meanwhile, in Georgia, USA, they celebrated —quarantine is definitely over, no home quarantine, no masks, and they are permitted to fly on planes. The same in Germany, just as we are entering our fifth week.12:00, Tsiodras called me and said that the political leadership has agreed to home isolation, with prior approval from NPHO and a documented statement from him. I was to have a car ready and 'escape' quietly, stay home, and communicate daily via video call—something akin to an electronic tracking bracelet. Transporting the car was a complex operation: someone had to come get the keys (in sterilized form), go to the house (unlocking it wearing gloves like burglars) to get the vehicle keys, start the car after three months of inactivity, fuel it up, bring it to me, leave, and then I could drive away... The entire operation was guided step-by-step via video call.
13:00, happening in Paris 😧😧
An interview on France2. Julia and Roland are filming their daily life, which for the last thirty days has been confined to a hospital room. The isolation is absolute, following extremely strict medical protocols. They live in a 25-square-meter room, which is larger than their ship cabin... 'but at least it doesn't move' they joked. The couple was aboard the Hondius when the Hantavirus outbreak occurred, causing the death of three passengers. They are not sick, but they must observe strict quarantine. "...We have a view outside, but we have no access to it; it's quite restrictive in here, it's like a prison..." Roland explained. "...In the first few days, the rules were extremely severe, as we had no access to a bathroom. We had a chair with a bucket for our needs and a towel to wash ourselves... we were granted one hour outside a day for a walk in the hospital courtyard..." Julia points out.
Today, they are appealing to the judge to lift their restrictions. The bulk of their daily activity consists of medical checks twice a day: temperature readings, blood pressure, heart rate, and respiration, as well as blood tests. "...It is necessary to ensure that the travelers have not contracted the virus that alarmed the world last May..." say the doctors. Their discharge is not scheduled before June 21st—a government decision to avoid any risk. But the couple is growing impatient and announced they will file an appeal with the judge on Monday, June 8th: "We just hope they send us home to finish the lockdown peacefully, that's all..." And all this, I might add, for people who were sitting on the ship alongside other (American) fellow travelers who were permitted (Sunday, June 7th) to exit quarantine and even travel by air! Why do we have different protocols for such a serious medical issue? Ultimately, their request was denied 😕😕.
June 9, Ms. Kavvatha, accompanied by the equally lovely doctor Maria Venetsianou, bring me my discharge papers—which confirm everything we had been saying for all these days: zero presence of the virus—accompanied by three densely written pages of blood tests. I have never had so many tests, let alone repeated ones, in my entire life. For precautionary reasons, I will remain confined at home until June 17th, which marks the formal end of the virus's incubation period according to the WHO. The initial date of May 6th was set as the day when the last cases were removed from the ship.
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| Julia and Roland, two travelers on the Hondius, are confined to their rooms at the Bichat hospital.. They told France 2 that they have filed a request with a judge to be sent home as soon as possible. |
Today, they are appealing to the judge to lift their restrictions. The bulk of their daily activity consists of medical checks twice a day: temperature readings, blood pressure, heart rate, and respiration, as well as blood tests. "...It is necessary to ensure that the travelers have not contracted the virus that alarmed the world last May..." say the doctors. Their discharge is not scheduled before June 21st—a government decision to avoid any risk. But the couple is growing impatient and announced they will file an appeal with the judge on Monday, June 8th: "We just hope they send us home to finish the lockdown peacefully, that's all..." And all this, I might add, for people who were sitting on the ship alongside other (American) fellow travelers who were permitted (Sunday, June 7th) to exit quarantine and even travel by air! Why do we have different protocols for such a serious medical issue? Ultimately, their request was denied 😕😕.
June 9, Ms. Kavvatha, accompanied by the equally lovely doctor Maria Venetsianou, bring me my discharge papers—which confirm everything we had been saying for all these days: zero presence of the virus—accompanied by three densely written pages of blood tests. I have never had so many tests, let alone repeated ones, in my entire life. For precautionary reasons, I will remain confined at home until June 17th, which marks the formal end of the virus's incubation period according to the WHO. The initial date of May 6th was set as the day when the last cases were removed from the ship.
I warmly thank the team at Attikon Hospital (Tsiodras, Kavvatha, Venetsianou, and Karantana, the nurses and the rest of the staff, as well as Mr. Apostolopoulos and Nikos), as well as the group of friends and colleagues who organized my 'escape' in a way that was safe for everyone. They brought me the vehicle and stocked the house with food, coffee, and beer so that I wouldn't lack anything in the coming days. I consider myself privileged and lucky to have such friends, as well as such doctors. Around noon, I arrived home away from the prying eyes of the media. I immediately weighed myself and realized that you actually lose weight in the hospital; even with physical inactivity, you don't gain pounds. My muscle mass hasn't deserted me, but strengthening is on the schedule... metaphorically speaking, I needed a bit of a 'fallow period' so I could come back stronger! I realize where I am and make a coffee—I had missed it for so long. I open the fridge and it's full of beers, Guinness Draught, my favorites... ha...ha, they had foreseen even that. The shelves are packed with food for quite a while, as if we were facing a war.
23:00, News from distant Canada via a report. A "symptomatic" traveler has recovered and is now considered asymptomatic. It was likely a false-positive case initially. The website Arcis.com reports it as: "Monitoring case, Onboard ship, departed April 24th, no symptoms".
June 10, I had my first video call (11:15) with the medical staff. Polite and cheerful, we talked, they asked if I was doing well and if I... miss them 😂😂. I place my first order (12:30) using IRIS, and the e-delivery driver leaves it at the front door. He must be wondering ...who is this strange recipient who won't open the door for me... All day long I had a heavy head and low blood pressure, which was perhaps due to the negative pressure room I lived in for several days; adjusting to normal conditions might take 1–2 days, as indeed it did.
23:00, News from distant Canada via a report. A "symptomatic" traveler has recovered and is now considered asymptomatic. It was likely a false-positive case initially. The website Arcis.com reports it as: "Monitoring case, Onboard ship, departed April 24th, no symptoms".
June 10, I had my first video call (11:15) with the medical staff. Polite and cheerful, we talked, they asked if I was doing well and if I... miss them 😂😂. I place my first order (12:30) using IRIS, and the e-delivery driver leaves it at the front door. He must be wondering ...who is this strange recipient who won't open the door for me... All day long I had a heavy head and low blood pressure, which was perhaps due to the negative pressure room I lived in for several days; adjusting to normal conditions might take 1–2 days, as indeed it did.
June 11, A friend calls me on the phone and asks how I am feeling in my "home" confinement. I answer him that it is no longer "ward" confinement, and to let him grasp my momentary feelings, I tell him: "...have you ever asked a diver, who has found themselves at a great depth and cannot surface abruptly because they need time for the pressure in their body to adjust, what they felt when they saw the water's surface? I felt something similar when I saw the front door...
18:00, Tsiodras (along with Dr. Maria Venetsianou) informed me that my final blood sample came back negative as well and therefore the blood draw process is officially complete. The same happened with my other fellow travelers, but the most noteworthy point is that Karla—who is already back home and the passenger was shared a cabin with Veronica—was not infected. As I have mentioned before, she was the barometer for the spread of the virus. According to Arcis.com, 11 out of 149 people (88 passengers and 61 crew members) were infected by Hantavirus—a rate of 7–8%, which is lower than that of COVID. The website does not list one additional case (case 12), a crew member, as he reported himself in the WhatsApp group. Today, he is completely asymptomatic. Additionally, there is a press report regarding a Spanish woman from Alicante (case 13), who did not belong to the passenger group and was possibly on the same plane as Mirjam.
22:00, The World Cup is starting—who cares about Hantavirus anymore? Everyone is watching football, and so am I.
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| Decompression before reaching the surface. Source: MaFelipe / Getty Images |
18:00, Tsiodras (along with Dr. Maria Venetsianou) informed me that my final blood sample came back negative as well and therefore the blood draw process is officially complete. The same happened with my other fellow travelers, but the most noteworthy point is that Karla—who is already back home and the passenger was shared a cabin with Veronica—was not infected. As I have mentioned before, she was the barometer for the spread of the virus. According to Arcis.com, 11 out of 149 people (88 passengers and 61 crew members) were infected by Hantavirus—a rate of 7–8%, which is lower than that of COVID. The website does not list one additional case (case 12), a crew member, as he reported himself in the WhatsApp group. Today, he is completely asymptomatic. Additionally, there is a press report regarding a Spanish woman from Alicante (case 13), who did not belong to the passenger group and was possibly on the same plane as Mirjam.
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| case 12: continuing his recovery at home |
22:00, The World Cup is starting—who cares about Hantavirus anymore? Everyone is watching football, and so am I.
June 12–14, ABC News published an article stating that the Trump administration spent $750,000 to repatriate the American citizen from the remote island of Pitcairn, where she had been in quarantine (see my entry from May 6th, 13:00). However, the passenger has neither denied nor confirmed the report. A commenter on WhatsApp notes: '...Trump got jealous of the Brits..' following the epic approach of a British frigate under extremely adverse conditions at Tristan da Cunha to deliver medical aid. On July 10, a Dutch newspaper reported the event as follows: "..the American passenger on the Hondius, who also disembarked prematurely, traveled via San Francisco and Tahiti to the British island of Pitcairn, in the middle of the Pacific Ocean between South America and New Zealand, after the news broke. Because she did not declare that she had been a passenger on the Hondius during her return trip, French Polynesian authorities are denying her permission to travel back through Tahiti. The US is chartering a private yacht for approximately €650,000 to bring her back..." It remains unclear whether this amount was covered by the traveler's insurance policy, which in the case of medical evacuation covers up to €1,000,000.
June 15, The process of returning our luggage—which had remained on the ship (during repatriation we were only carrying a single piece of hand luggage)—has begun. They underwent sanitary cleaning and are being sent to their recipients through a time-consuming process involving customs and logistics. Within Schengen countries, I hope the process will be faster. The message from Oceanwide read as follows: ... Dear Guest, We would like to provide you with an update regarding the return of your luggage following your voyage aboard Hondius. First and foremost, we sincerely apologize for the delay and understand that many of you are eager to be reunited with your belongings..... all luggage is currently being handled by a specialized logistics company in Rotterdam.... The process initially experienced delays due to requirements and inspections imposed by the Dutch National Institute for Public Health and the Environment (RIVM). In addition to the necessary sanitization procedures, the luggage could only be released for shipment once all inspections and approvals had been completed by the relevant authorities..... Furthermore, the logistics company works with different shipping partners in each destination country, and these shipments can only be initiated once all official documentation and certificates have been approved. For certain countries, including the United States and Australia, the process is particularly complex.... We are pleased to report that the first pieces of luggage have already been successfully shipped and delivered to their owners... (Meaning the crew who remain in quarantine in the Netherlands). Within EU countries, the suitcases arrived within normal timeframes, but outside the EU (e.g., USA, New Zealand, Turkey, etc.), they were either lost, severely delayed, or the recipient had to pay customs duties for their own personal belongings.
The report from a fellow traveler (who struggled to retrieve his suitcase) is telling:...After putting a bit of pressure on them, this is what happened… This morning I got a call from UPS, and they said, “We never claimed your suitcase hadn’t arrived in Turkey”. Half an hour later, it was delivered to my home. I don’t know how things work over there, but it might be worth putting a little pressure on them. Once we made it clear through a couple of conversations and emails that we had a strong legal position, the “lost” suitcase suddenly reappeared. Best regards to everyone. And with that, we’re finally done with the cruise.
June 16, In The Guardian, I read an article with a title:"Right now, we could be living through a hantavirus disaster. The world avoided that, and this is why"; after describing the chaos that could have unfolded, the tone shifts—praising the Spanish government, while remaining completely silent about the Canary Islands and Cape Verde, which tried to rid themselves of us as fast as possible. Nor does it mention the French authorities, whose treatment of our fellow travelers was excessive (in reality, a violation of human rights), while mistakenly stating that the quarantine had already ended as of last Sunday (June 14th)..
An interesting detail missing from almost all international news reports is the "big" thank you owed to the 149 passengers and crew, who endured 42 days of isolation and adhered to excessively strict conditions to keep the rest of the global population safe and prevent panic! We were in constant communication and knew exactly how and what everyone was feeling, what strength they had left; our thoughts were always with them, wishing 🙏🙏 for those final days of confinement to pass quickly without further traumatic experiences (being healthy yet waiting to fall sick). We were eager and kept asking one another what we would all do once we were finally free.
21:30, In France, the confinement thriller continues... they won't let them leave. ...I just cannot imagine that to happen in France. Which would explain that they would rather have us kept in hospital. Much easier to keep an eye on us…
June 15, The process of returning our luggage—which had remained on the ship (during repatriation we were only carrying a single piece of hand luggage)—has begun. They underwent sanitary cleaning and are being sent to their recipients through a time-consuming process involving customs and logistics. Within Schengen countries, I hope the process will be faster. The message from Oceanwide read as follows: ... Dear Guest, We would like to provide you with an update regarding the return of your luggage following your voyage aboard Hondius. First and foremost, we sincerely apologize for the delay and understand that many of you are eager to be reunited with your belongings..... all luggage is currently being handled by a specialized logistics company in Rotterdam.... The process initially experienced delays due to requirements and inspections imposed by the Dutch National Institute for Public Health and the Environment (RIVM). In addition to the necessary sanitization procedures, the luggage could only be released for shipment once all inspections and approvals had been completed by the relevant authorities..... Furthermore, the logistics company works with different shipping partners in each destination country, and these shipments can only be initiated once all official documentation and certificates have been approved. For certain countries, including the United States and Australia, the process is particularly complex.... We are pleased to report that the first pieces of luggage have already been successfully shipped and delivered to their owners... (Meaning the crew who remain in quarantine in the Netherlands). Within EU countries, the suitcases arrived within normal timeframes, but outside the EU (e.g., USA, New Zealand, Turkey, etc.), they were either lost, severely delayed, or the recipient had to pay customs duties for their own personal belongings.
The report from a fellow traveler (who struggled to retrieve his suitcase) is telling:...After putting a bit of pressure on them, this is what happened… This morning I got a call from UPS, and they said, “We never claimed your suitcase hadn’t arrived in Turkey”. Half an hour later, it was delivered to my home. I don’t know how things work over there, but it might be worth putting a little pressure on them. Once we made it clear through a couple of conversations and emails that we had a strong legal position, the “lost” suitcase suddenly reappeared. Best regards to everyone. And with that, we’re finally done with the cruise.
June 16, In The Guardian, I read an article with a title:"Right now, we could be living through a hantavirus disaster. The world avoided that, and this is why"; after describing the chaos that could have unfolded, the tone shifts—praising the Spanish government, while remaining completely silent about the Canary Islands and Cape Verde, which tried to rid themselves of us as fast as possible. Nor does it mention the French authorities, whose treatment of our fellow travelers was excessive (in reality, a violation of human rights), while mistakenly stating that the quarantine had already ended as of last Sunday (June 14th)..
An interesting detail missing from almost all international news reports is the "big" thank you owed to the 149 passengers and crew, who endured 42 days of isolation and adhered to excessively strict conditions to keep the rest of the global population safe and prevent panic! We were in constant communication and knew exactly how and what everyone was feeling, what strength they had left; our thoughts were always with them, wishing 🙏🙏 for those final days of confinement to pass quickly without further traumatic experiences (being healthy yet waiting to fall sick). We were eager and kept asking one another what we would all do once we were finally free.
21:30, In France, the confinement thriller continues... they won't let them leave. ...I just cannot imagine that to happen in France. Which would explain that they would rather have us kept in hospital. Much easier to keep an eye on us…
June 17, The Final Day of Confinement and the Moment of Reflection
I started keeping a journal as if I knew this would turn out to be an epic journey, from the moment I locked my front door until the moment I opened it again (nearly three months later). In it, I described all the natural and wondrous sights—Antarctica's icebergs, raging seas, and Atlantic seabirds—as well as the tragic events that unfolded at sea and the preventive confinements. I documented it across six installments, starting from those carefree early days onwards (destination2017.blogspot.com).- The journey belonged to the category of an expedition, not a simple cruise. Even the Antarctic Peninsula required solid preparation in clothing, physical endurance, and genuine interest. There was never a moment where you would say ...we’ve seen it, let's move on... because every single instant was unique, and no moment resembled the last. How many times did we have to rely on Plan B due to unpredictable weather and gale-force winds in the Scotia Sea.
- We were a total of 88 travelers from 15 countries; most were scientists whose goal was to observe birds and their behaviors. The rest (like myself) were globetrotters, world travelers, or hodophiles—a word used to describe someone who "loves the journey" and travel in general.
- From the very beginning of the trip, I had many hours of solitude. I chose this consciously, not out of anti-social behavior, but as a deliberate attempt to experience the ocean's grandeur (wildlife, rough seas) without distractions—let's call it "solitude-seeking" to help you understand that my choice was positive, stemming from a need for meaningful connection with the sea, even though I am fundamentally a mountain person.
- I do not recall the moments of offering condolences to the Leo's wife (case 1), nor can I recall the couple's faces, though I later recognized them from photos and videos. However, I did know Veronica (case 4), and we had spoken in German.
- The events, tragic and terrifying as they were, did not affect us decisively at the time because we were informed only three days before the end of the trip about how dangerously a virus was circulating among us. Expeditions like this always carry the inherent risk of illness, and in some cases death, but no one could have imagined such extreme circumstances. Forensic examinations of the deceased were required to yield these unexpected results, which shocked the international community and us personally—though to a lesser degree. In summary, the virus took the lives of three fellow travelers, left two in critical condition in intensive care, and caused milder symptoms in 7 others—totaling 12 travelers. It remains unknown whether anyone else outside the passenger list who came into contact with them became infected.
- The WHO, in conjunction with the Dutch authorities, acted swiftly and decisively. Nevertheless, medical protocols varied significantly from country to country and carried political undertones that were apparent from the start—hence my phrasing: "...the virus is primarily political, not medical..."
- WHO officials expressed fears that new cases might emerge, but within the incubation period, no new cases were observed, except for passenger Case 9 (on the day of repatriation) and a crew member, Case 12. These cases likely pre-existed through close contact and had simply gone untraced.
- Social media went... completely overboard. They painted an exaggerated (and in some isolated cases, hateful) picture of the event, causing panic among the public and the families of many travelers. Thus, we decided not to feed the media frenzy until the story blew over (which happened after 4–5 days). We were left with the strong impression that the press was chasing sensationalism rather than news—an observation corroborated by a recent study from the Reuters Institute.
- The total cost of the operation amounted (by my estimates) to several hundred thousand euros—perhaps up to a million—and fell mostly on the Oceanwide. Although all travelers were mandatorily insured up to €1,000,000 for medical evacuation and €150,000–€300,000 for medical support, the authorities did not claim a single cent from the insurance companies involved. I do not know the reason, though intergovernmental agreements may have been reached.
- Once the evacuation of the ship and repatriation were complete, we were isolated either at home or in specialized facilities until the incubation period passed. Here too, there were stark differences depending on the country of repatriation—ranging from total leniency (Belgium) to strict confinement (France) and Utah (US state). Greece landed somewhere in the middle, alongside most countries.
- Everything I shared on my social media came from personal moments, recorded in real time as events unfolded; thus, there is no fiction or exaggeration.
- At home, I remained confined for nine days, and it was a genuine, strict confinement without exaggeration. I did not step outside at all. I could have (e.g., late at night when no one was around), but I didn't, even though nobody knew where I was. It was one of those rare times in my life when I could test the limits of my endurance, my discipline, and my respect for the doctors who granted my release from the Infectious Disease Unit—and I didn't want to waste that opportunity. It is a profound thing to know that you are medically clear and physically sound, yet still master your brain (an awkward phrase—the brain cannot be mastered, but it can be tricked) to restrain itself against the human urge to live, socialize, and break free from a multi-day confinement unprecedented for any of us.
- And because this epic journey was not defined solely by grief, let us hold onto the moments of joy as we lived them on the wild southern seas.
some of our happiest moments
Today, June 17, I feel that I am emerging unscathed from this great adventure, both physically (I am virus-free) and mentally (the ultimate test). I probably don't need a psychologist or psychiatrist to process my experience—my notebook alone is enough. I feel strong, just as I did from the very beginning of this ordeal; fear never took hold of me. And if someone were to ask me what the word "freedom" means to me, I have the answer: "The right to exist among friends and loved ones".
June 18, When Life Becomes a Postage Stamp
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| "First Day Cover": a Greek play on words for my very first day roaming free |
June 19-today, The Interview, Go Home
June 19, The Greek newspaper TA NEA published an interview I gave to journalist Giorgos Schoinas, and I posted it in our fellow travelers' group chat, so everyone read it via Google Translate. A Spanish fellow traveler replied to me: ... Hi Dimitris, this is Juan, from the Odyssey trip. Congratulations for the article, very good, accurate and necessary. Spanish media has done completely the opposite, just spreading panic and lies...June 20, We all forgot about the Hantavirus because the new frenzy is called the Silver-cheeked Toadfish (Lagocephalus), which has invaded our lives, causing an uproar and threatening to ruin our tourism (tourists won't come to swim anymore), while Adonis (our Minister of Health) seems unable to react and put it into quarantine. Hantavirus and Lagocephalus share common traits: both are toxic as well as lethal, and both are unpredictable in their attack—yet they spark different kinds of panic: when you are on a cruise ship and Hantavirus breaks out, you are ready to jump into the sea, whereas in the presence of Lagocephalus, you scramble out of it.
It saddens me how we interfere with wildlife, destroying it—to an extreme degree, even, through fishing competitions and placing bounties on species, which is appalling if you really think about it.
On an Atlantic Odyssey, as I experienced it, you become an ambassador for wildlife and learn not to trespass where you have no rights. It isn't the Lagocephalus causing the problem so much as climate change, which forces it to seek survival in waters it was never adapted to. We witnessed this firsthand. We noticed the absence of certain breeding bird species in remote reaches of the ocean (ornithologists suspect due to climate changes), yet we left the wildlife untouched. Instead, through Roland's lens we captured a deeply meaningful photograph: a Skua stealing food right from a seal. The South Polar Skua is a large, striking seabird—one of the very few species that breeds on Antarctica's frozen shores. It is an aggressive predator and an extraordinary hunter, known for harassing other birds and seals until they drop their prey. In summer, it breeds in Antarctica, while during the rest of the year it migrates to tropical and temperate waters, traveling right alongside us, fearless. The photo was taken at close range. Roland didn't try to shoo it away; his posture showed not cruelty, but respect for non-interference in the wild.
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| A skua trying to steal food from a seal |
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| June 21: You're all heroes |
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| last day, last message |
June 25, Hantavirus: the 'grand' fiasco. If anyone were to conduct a study on the Hantavirus situation today, they would undoubtedly brand it as the 'grand' fiasco of the year. Read below in the original text what I mean, and then we will break it down; Roland, along with four others who were confined in a French hospital under conditions that violate even basic human rights (see my report "It Happens in Paris"), writes in a comment: ...Fucking crazy world....A doctor flew back from the Congo, and was found sick (slightly supposedly) with ebola upon landing. Hardly any media coverage. Our government who kidnapped the guys from the planes of st helena and Tenerife 42 days (by the time they got in two weeks had passed) in strict hospital conditions, has decided that the contact cases (not the whole plane major difference) will be under medical surveillance for 3 weeks at home. As a reminder Ebola is more deadly and far more contagious than Andes...Find a logic (the delay is due to incubation period - but not the conditions). Fact is medias are talking about the heatwave all the time, so busy, and government has to deal with that and cannot keep hundreds of passengers in hospital rooms, they are loaded right now...
This is what happens in modern France (and beyond) when the media stokes panic, forcing the state to take 'drastic measures' just to pacify the public. When faced with a "slow news cycle", a sensationalized story must be manufactured (hence my phrase: sensationalism exists, not real news) so that journalists don't sit idle. Even French journalists conceded as much after the Hantavirus storm passed, but by then, the damage was done. The reason they aren't dwelling on Ebola today is that the "heatwave" scorching Western Europe at 45oC has caused numerous deaths (whereas Ebola has claimed over 250, being far more lethal and contagious than extreme heat), leaving no room for other topics. It is, of course, a disgrace for a modern society. Taken together with "trust in the news reaching an all-time low globally" and the reality that "the next virus could visit us soon", it brings to mind Aesop's fable, The Boy Who Cried Wolf. I would remind my journalist friends that in a later English poetic version of the tale, the wolf ultimately devours the lying shepherd boy as well. And if anyone asks me why I use the word 'fiasco' for Hantavirus, I tell them this: ...the Andes virus (which is not an airborne virus like Coronavirus) appeared in a closed community of 150 people, of whom 13 were infected (3 died) during the month of April. Since then, no one else became infected, no one else displayed symptoms (even though a Spanish woman and a Canadian man tested positive in their respective countries, they were later deemed false positives), and many people endured grueling conditions (fortunately not everyone) that the public today knows nothing about and cares even less—though back then, they were shaking in their boots... At the same time, a deadly heatwave is currently gripping Spain with over 1000 recorded deaths, yet the news remains buried in fine print. Some claim that Hantavirus was a "dress rehearsal"—and that is the single thought that truly worries me!
July 2, Hantavirus: end of the alert. Who remembers today how, two months ago, the world was in turmoil over an impending pandemic that ultimately never materialized—yet mobilized numerous agencies with incredible restrictive measures and led the governments of many countries to show their political power by quarantining the passengers and crew of the famous ship Hondius. Today, the "pandemic" officially came to an end, as reported by WHO.
July 2, Hantavirus: end of the alert. Who remembers today how, two months ago, the world was in turmoil over an impending pandemic that ultimately never materialized—yet mobilized numerous agencies with incredible restrictive measures and led the governments of many countries to show their political power by quarantining the passengers and crew of the famous ship Hondius. Today, the "pandemic" officially came to an end, as reported by WHO.
July 10, An article in a Dutch newspaper looks back on the event. Two Dutch journalists attempt a review of the event, clearly with valuable details collected from the travelers, mainly the expedition leader and the ship’s doctor (indeed, both are Dutch). As they report ...the ship did not become a threat to public health. Everyone involved in this story is satisfied and proud, and despite the circumstances, the passengers remained patient and calm. The authorities reacted swiftly and, with the help of international cooperation and the virus’s slow rate of spread, managed to contain the fallout. Epidemiologists around the world are now trying to uncover the route the Andes virus took to and aboard the ship. The journalists, Schadd and Van Vugt, are surprised by how quickly a bond was formed with the passengers.
July 17, Article by Spanish author Elisabet Jane
...we paid the consequences of a media and political circus. Read the article here. 
July 17, Article by Spanish author Elisabet Jane
...we paid the consequences of a media and political circus. Read the article here.
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