Quarantine

June 21, 1926 ~ Kingston, Jamaica

The ship was scheduled to reach quarantine at 9 A.M. but it wasn’t until 10 A.M. that the Jamaican officials boarded the boat to examine the debarking passengers. Those of us getting off at Kingston were summoned to the dining salon where the two officials, the ship’s doctor and the purser, gathered at one of the tables. The purser called the names alphabetically and we marched over to have our tickets examined and to state the duration of our stay in Jamaica. After this business was finished the two officials got back into their small boat and we continued to the Kingston dock.

Among the last, we descended slowly and carefully down the companionway hovered along the side of the ship. According to Anne it was a hazardous feat.

We entered the pier by a regular freight entrance. There were stacks of cases and bales piled up and we walked quite a distance until we reached the enclosure where the customs men were gathered to examine our baggage. All our bags had been labeled “R” and were piled on the counter in section “R” and we were prepared to open them all for their inspection, however, they were content with our statement that we had nothing dutiable.

While we hadn’t been kept waiting very long, it was so hot that perspiration was trickling down my back as well as my face. Everyone else seemed to be suffering as much.

—

March 21, 2020 ~ Weston, CT

Dear Aunt Jean,
The world is under quarantine. I wish I could tell you that was a metaphor, but it’s not. We’ve not received official orders here in the States yet, they’re mostly self-imposed or by local government, but schools are dismissed, non-essential businesses are closing, we’re urged to confine ourselves at home in order to keep everyone at a distance. A virus has spread very quickly around the globe and we’re at a standstill, waiting. Waiting for direction, waiting for it to pass, waiting to resume “normal” daily functions like going to work or meeting friends for coffee. Travel is suspended, borders are being closed. It feels like we’re living in a bubble.

Just two months ago, Moose and I were in Costa Rica, isolated by choice up in the mountain jungle overlooking the ocean. Social distancing wasn’t an issue. A broken up dirt road was preventing anyone from coming up there unless they lived there. We had space, breathing room. There were days when we didn’t want to leave our little oasis. It was the perfect place to write and to be inspired. The sound of silence was welcome. We had not a care in the world. Fresh fruits and veggies growing right outside our door, should we need nourishment. I would give anything to be back there right now. Maybe being under quarantine in Hatillo wouldn’t feel so…jarring.