Andrea Zelinski
I might have Covid.
That was the thought running through my mind as I walked down the stairs to the Deck 1 medical center on Holland America Line's Rotterdam the day before its naming ceremony.
I felt great when I climbed aboard the ship two days earlier. Not only had I tested negative in a medically-supervised Covid test taken within three days of climbing aboard in Bergen, Norway, but I passed an antigen test the day of my embarkation. And the ship has a mask mandate in place. All was well.
The next day I felt sluggish, which I brushed off to getting too little sleep the night before; I'd been listening to the rock ballads of an 80's cover band playing in the ship's Rolling Stone Rock Room and marveling at the midnight sun clinging to the sky.
I kept thinking I needed more sleep, but that didn't help. A headache grew and my appetite disappeared. When an occasional cough followed, I knew it was time to get tested.
Once I went in for a test, a series of protocols clicks into place. Regardless of the results, I was to leave my cabin and isolate myself in a wing with negative-pressure cabins to keep my airflow within my room. I was no longer going to be able to roam freely about the ship (nor, in my case, watch the naming ceremony in person).
If I tested positive at any point, I'd sit in quarantine until the ship reached a port with a hotel to take me in. If I was negative, I'd isolate for 24 hours and then test again.
My PCR test came back negative. Relieved, I dutifully moved into my isolation room. I wasn't alone in my situation. I saw the lonely signs of others in isolation down the hallway, signaled by small tables outside seven doors, many accompanied by empty disposable food and drink containers.
The next day I tested negative, and I was free to go. But like many American travelers, getting stuck in another country and facing unplanned hotel expenses was a major fear. If I tested positive, I would have had to wait 10 days from that date to get on a plane back to the States.