The hazards of sailing

We are out in the middle of the Atlantic. Every day around noon, the captain reminds us to set our clocks forward an hour. There are over 2000 passengers on board, each of us losing an hour a day. I picture these as Dali-esque jetsam trailing behind us in the wake of this enormous vessel. It has been several days since my body has been able to approximate what time it is.

Just before I went to bed last night, a friend sent me a link to a UPI article dated April 1 and titled 241 sickened with norovirus on Cunard's Queen Mary 2 flagship liner.  I should have guessed something was up. There is an almost religious dedication to handwashing on the QM2. There are handwashing and sanitizer stations throughout, and no one is allowed to enter the buffet area without washing their hands. Should we attempt to bypass this step, a charming crew member steps in front of us and says, "Kindly wash your hands." Even though the fare is laid out as a buffet, we have to point to what we want and a be-gloved server plops whatever it is on our plates. I assumed this was merely a wise precaution. There was no clue until yesterday that the virus was already rampant before we boarded, having begun on the Caribbean portion of the cruise. 

I decided to sail rather than fly to Europe because I wanted some time in a liminal zone to reflect and write before diving into this adventure. Now all I can think about is washing my hands--and hoping that others are similarly dedicated. I keep an eye on my shipmates. 

It's ironic that I am fleeing the ills of an emergent autocracy and have flung myself into a more immediate danger. As they say, you pull out one gray hair and two more rise up to take its place. 

And so it goes.