This is an AI translation from the original Chinese version.
Abstract: The luxury cruise ship “Diamond Princess” is like a five-star hotel on the sea. On February 1, a passenger from Hong Kong was diagnosed with the novel coronavirus pneumonia, followed by several others. This cruise ship, carrying 3,711 crew members and passengers, saw its number of confirmed cases rise to become the second highest globally, surpassing any country outside of China, and was dubbed a “floating prison” by the media. Without any psychological preparation, the captain led the passengers into an unexpected quarantine.
As of March 15, the last 145 people disembarked after completing health observation, with all virus tests returning negative. Starting from the 16th, they could return home in succession. A total of 712 people on the cruise ship were confirmed to be infected with COVID-19. American passenger Sarah Arana shared her experience aboard the “Diamond Princess” and during her quarantine at a U.S. Air Force base.
On March 6, on a deserted sunny beach in California, Sarah watched the familiar sea ebb and flow. She inhaled deeply, thinking about the “Diamond Princess,” a ship adrift on the vast ocean, infected with the coronavirus and uncertain of its future. She had just returned from its “sister” ship, also part of the same brand, the Diamond Princess, which was filled with 3,711 lives, 712 confirmed COVID-19 cases, and 7 deaths, shrouded in virus and terrifying fantasies, nearly taking a trip to hell.
For others, the Diamond Princess was a cold, beautiful ship that fell ill and could not dock. But for Sarah, it was a place where she lived out four movies in just 13 days: from the repetitive life of “Groundhog Day,” to the despair of being trapped in a controlled fate in “The Truman Show,” to suddenly falling into a surreal horror world in “The Sixth Sense,” and finally arriving at the uncertainty of being chosen, eliminated, or killed in “The Hunger Games.”
At this moment, following the sounds of the sea and birds, Sarah tried to soothe the trauma brought by that misfortune. The tides rose and fell, and the sea, with its calmness day after day, taught her to remain composed and breathe amidst the ups and downs of life. In a misfortune that could have torn her apart, the 53-year-old unexpectedly discovered that she was stronger than she had imagined. The disaster loomed large, but the soft heart wrapped in her small body had to find something to coexist with it.
Sarah Arana is a social worker with 18 years of crisis intervention experience.
The following content is organized based on Sarah Arana’s narrative:
Luxurious Journey
I often travel around the world alone, so this time was no exception. A friend told me that there would be many celebrations during the Chinese New Year, so I specifically chose this time to travel. The Diamond Princess was scheduled to dock in Hong Kong on the first day of the Lunar New Year. Therefore, I spent $2,100 to book the cruise from January 20 to February 4.
The Diamond Princess departed from Yokohama, Japan, and arrived in Hong Kong on January 25 after passing through Kagoshima. However, Hong Kong canceled all gatherings, fireworks, and celebrations, which left me very disappointed. Although I couldn’t participate, I still tried to remain hopeful about the remaining itinerary.
Later, we went to Vietnam, kayaked, visited the World Trade Center in Taiwan, enjoyed dumplings, and dined at an award-winning restaurant while drinking Asian beer. I had a great time. Life on the ship was also fantastic; the Diamond Princess is a beautiful cruise ship. Every night, I would watch movies on the open-air giant screen, enjoy top-notch performances in the large theater, and indulge in lobster, French snails, and caviar, all while receiving excellent service from the crew. Everything was high-end and luxurious; this was my first cruise and the most extravagant thing I had done in my life.
This wonderful journey suddenly turned strange in the last two days. Just as we were about to return to Yokohama, a passenger who disembarked in Hong Kong was diagnosed with COVID-19, leading the Japanese government to refuse our entry into Yokohama port. The Diamond Princess could only remain anchored offshore temporarily.
On the morning of February 4 at 6:30, Captain Gennaro Arma from Italy officially announced that we were entering a 14-day mandatory quarantine period, and all passengers had to stay in their cabins. At first, I was just a bit worried, not scared. It wasn’t until I saw Japanese officials come aboard to take everyone’s temperature that I suddenly realized things were serious.
Everyone was shocked; almost no one believed what was happening. Passengers quickly formed a Facebook group to gather information about the outbreak. The ship had one side facing the sea and the other facing land. Passengers on the land side would count the number of ambulances parked outside each day to know how many confirmed cases would be taken away. They would then share this information in the group to keep those facing the sea informed.
The most challenging part of the quarantine was being confined in the cabin for long periods with little activity. Some cabins had no windows, and passengers would go long stretches without fresh air. They could only go to the deck at designated times to get some fresh air. My room had a balcony, so I could step outside to breathe fresh air and relieve stress.
However, upon returning to my cabin, I saw on the television that the world was discussing this new, deadly virus, and the number of confirmed cases was rapidly increasing. It was my first time on a cruise, my first time in Japan, and I was unfamiliar with the Japanese government. All these unknowns pressed in on me in that small, confined cabin. Things suddenly felt completely out of my control; I felt helpless and desperate, but at that moment, I decided: how to respond was the only thing I could control.
This was a skill and mindset I had developed. Over 18 years, I managed an emergency medical station at the Burning Man festival in the U.S., gaining a lot of crisis intervention experience. These experiences prepared me psychologically for the sudden disaster that had befallen us.
On the first day of quarantine, to pass the time, I started dancing on the balcony, with the sound of helicopters buzzing overhead. If you see someone dancing in the photos of the cruise ship, it’s probably me. I hope my neighbors don’t mind my endless loop of singing various American country, pop, and rock songs.
By the third day, there were 41 new confirmed cases on board. We began taking our temperatures several times a day. If anyone had a fever, they had to call the front desk immediately, and they would arrange for us to disembark. That day, I realized it was a bit difficult to manage everything on my own. I decided to reach out to a network group for “solo female travelers” to see if anyone else was on the ship and seek some support.
No one responded.
But within just a few hours, over 2,000 women from around the world stepped forward, offering me a lot of support and encouragement. That day, Captain Arma also mentioned our Facebook “passenger group” in a broadcast. He encouraged us to support, help, and communicate with each other in the group. Alright, let’s do it! Under his guidance, we picked up the phones in our cabins and called other passengers to comfort each other. I communicated most with a family with a 6-year-old child, who were in a cabin without fresh air. There was also a wife whose husband had been taken away after being diagnosed, leaving her alone on the ship.
Of course, there were other people, and we later became friends. We shared jokes, tried to laugh, and made an effort to do our best. We also kept in touch with those who had been diagnosed, learning that they were being well cared for and that many only had mild symptoms and were recovering quickly.
At the same time, I kept telling myself, “Don’t be afraid; I’m not afraid.” I kept myself busy researching herbs, drinking tea, chatting with friends online, breathing fresh air on the balcony, soaking up the sun, and applying face masks. I focused my energy on staying optimistic rather than letting fear consume me, refusing to let my thoughts drift into dark corners.
Despite this, by the fourth to sixth day, as the number of confirmed cases rapidly increased, everyone began to feel very frustrated and angry.
You never knew what would happen tomorrow. Would everyone eventually be able to disembark? We even wondered how many hospital beds were available in Japan. I heard that two patients taken to the hospital were sent back after six hours because all the beds in Tokyo and Yokohama were full. But there were over 3,700 people on our ship. We all thought, “Oh my God, what if we test positive?” Even more frightening was that no one knew how the virus was spreading. People speculated it was through the ventilation system, or that if someone opened their cabin door, the virus would spread down the corridor.
On February 6, Sarah secretly opened her door to look at the corridor. Cruise staff did not allow passengers to leave their cabins.
I cried several times, alone in my cabin with no one to talk to. At that time, everyone wondered if all the sick people would eventually die. We saw the death toll in China rising on television, with more and more confirmed cases, while we were stuck on a ship filled with the virus and increasing numbers of infections. One night, as the cruise ship sailed out to collect water and dispose of waste, the sky was filled with thunder and lightning. I truly thought, “Am I going to die?”
I kept having nightmares. In my dreams, the Diamond Princess sank into the sea, and I was left forever in Japan, never returning to my family.
One day, I suddenly smelled a strong chemical odor coming from the ventilation system, and my eyes and throat hurt intensely. For several seconds, I asked myself, “Are they trying to poison us? Are they afraid that everyone on the ship will get infected, and they want to eliminate us all, sinking the ship into the ocean?”
This was not a dream; it was something that happened while I was awake.
The entire process was extremely tense, but it was difficult to accurately convey this emotion to outsiders. It came and went like waves, intense and terrifying. Many passengers struggled and suffered greatly; some refused meals for fear of the food being contaminated; others complained of chest pain due to missing blood pressure medication, some with Parkinson’s medication running out, others crying in pain from kidney issues, and some smokers unable to find a place to smoke. When a neighboring passenger tested positive, it made them panic. They suffered significant psychological trauma, with some developing post-traumatic stress disorder and needing psychological treatment.
During the isolation at sea, Sarah leaned on the balcony to breathe fresh air and relieve stress.
In the midst of these pains, terrifying nightmares, fantasies, and the blurring of reality, Captain Alma would turn the ship so that passengers could see the sea instead of the rows of ambulances on land. He frequently spoke to us over the intercom, offering comforting words like, “I know this is very difficult for everyone, and I am sorry. We are with you,” “100% of the air is purified; the virus will not spread through the ventilation,” “We will do our best,” or “My gladiators, let us unite and face today.” These words felt like a lifeline to us every day.
To alleviate our stress, he also provided us with many new movies, puzzles, games, Japanese origami, thermoses, and instant noodles. The father, who had been supporting me and had a six-year-old child, told me they received toys, Legos, candy, and ice cream from the cruise. The child was overjoyed and didn’t want to leave the cabin when it was finally their turn to get some fresh air on the deck.
Looking back now, Captain Alma was also in isolation, but he continued to work. The Diamond Princess was his ship, and he needed to communicate various matters with the Japanese government, the Ministry of Health, all the crew members, and embassies from different countries, while also facing over 2,600 frightened, crying, and angry passengers with endless questions. Yet, he never lost his temper or acted rudely. Throughout his time on the ship, he treated every situation and person with integrity and respect, displaying great poise.
Under his leadership, over 1,000 crew members performed exceptionally well under pressure. During those days when we all faced isolation, the virus, and death, I sometimes just wanted to lie down and do a headstand to help me relax, but the crew had to keep working, serving one cabin after another.
For example, providing three meals a day was a very challenging task, as passengers were spread across 15 decks.
By the ninth day of isolation, I was running low on tea in my cabin. For me, running out of tea was a crisis. I asked a crew member if I could get some tea from the kitchen. Later, that crew member knocked on my door and said, “I didn’t know which kind you liked, so I brought you all the varieties.” I was so happy.
On that difficult ninth day, I received support from a group of over 5,000 women from around the world who were part of the “Solo Female Travelers” group! Wow! I was so touched.
Every minute, the outpouring of support made the feeling of isolation feel very different. Although various emotions came and went intensely, like a roller coaster, I tried to focus my energy on the love I felt. For example, there was a very friendly Japanese media ship that displayed signs of hope and encouragement every day. One day, 35 doctors and 45 nurses came on board to help us, all volunteers who exposed themselves to danger. I felt deep sympathy and respect for their willingness to serve.
I let this love inspire me to keep going. I told myself that although this process was long, there would eventually be an end.
Despite this, in the last few days of isolation, the entire ship was enveloped in depression. More and more people began calling their embassies—America, Canada, Australia, the UK—strongly expressing our need for evacuation because we could no longer stay on the ship. I thought that isolating on the ship was a terrible decision. Although there were many people on board, I knew it would be difficult, but I still felt we needed to disembark and isolate elsewhere.
The crew brought me local newspapers, and the Diamond Princess’s photo was printed on the front page. For me, on the ship, it felt surreal. Although the ship looked familiar, it was surrounded by so much fog, dark and mysterious.
Before the end of the isolation, the U.S. State Department finally confirmed they would come to evacuate us. However, the condition was that upon returning to the U.S., we would need to be isolated for another 14 days to prevent the spread of the virus. Some passengers felt frustrated upon hearing about the additional 14-day isolation period after returning to the U.S. However, I understood this decision; if it could save a life, then those 14 days were worth it. It was also my responsibility as a citizen.
I was finally going home. I couldn’t stop crying.
On February 14, Valentine’s Day, the crew gave all passengers roses and chocolates.
Captain Alma read a verse from the Bible to everyone: “Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never fails. I wish you all a happy Valentine’s Day.” That night, I felt a mix of emotions. I was about to leave the ship, and while I felt a sense of relief, I was also a bit sad. It’s hard to explain. Just before I left, the crew gave me a gift—a cross-stitch anchor that could be worn as a necklace once finished. I really liked it.
The evacuation took place late at night on February 16, and everything took longer than expected.
The entire evacuation process was chaotic. We were split into seven buses, watching two planes parked in the distance, but we sat and waited for five hours without being able to board. At night, it was hard to see what was happening around us, and we had no idea what was going on.
However, I learned the truth later. When our plane landed in California, I opened my phone and was bombarded with news. I found out that during the evacuation, Japanese officials suddenly appeared, announcing that 14 confirmed cases were among the evacuees. The U.S. State Department insisted on bringing the confirmed cases back home, while the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) insisted on refusing them. They were in a heated argument, but in the end, it was clear that the State Department won.
Throughout the evacuation, no one informed us that there were confirmed cases on the plane. We didn’t see any of the arguments. In the several emails the embassy sent us regarding the evacuation, they repeatedly emphasized that they would not bring back confirmed cases or symptomatic individuals, which is why everyone decided to board the evacuation flight. I had no idea that confirmed patients were sitting just behind the plastic curtain on the plane. I didn’t even know there were people there. It was a ten-hour flight, which meant we were exposed to a virus-laden environment both in the car and on the plane.
So when we got off the plane and received notifications about confirmed cases on board, many people were furious. My first reaction was that they were American citizens, and it was indeed right to bring them home. They should be with their families and receive treatment on their own soil. I firmly believed that.
Although the process was not smooth, when we landed, personnel from the CDC, the Department of Health and Human Services, the Global Immigration and Quarantine Office, and various military personnel stood in a line at the plane’s door to welcome us, holding signs that read “Welcome Home.” Everyone was very warm and enthusiastic. Although we were extremely tired, we were touched. I had heard “Welcome Home” before, but this time it felt different—sincere, and I could feel it deep inside me. I will never forget this moment. It was 2 a.m.
On February 15, before the evacuation, the crew gave Sara a cross-stitch gift.
The days at Travis Air Force Base were much better, although we were still under strict quarantine. We could go outside for walks, but everyone had to keep their distance; no one could touch us. This was very different from the isolation on the ship. At that time, we were always on the water, feeling the flow of the waves, and the cabin was small. Now we were back in our country, without a language barrier, on solid ground, with more space, and we could go out and exercise. Overall, it was much better.
Many people might think this was quite relaxing, but it wasn’t. There were always people knocking on the door to deliver meals, take our temperatures, convey information, or ask questions, which made it quite stressful.
February 20 was my birthday, and it was a tough day. I should have been with my family, but due to the quarantine, all gatherings were canceled. I turned off everything and sat quietly by myself. After a while, there was a knock at the door, but I didn’t answer. After a long time, there was another knock. It was someone from the health department; they came to take my temperature twice a day.
One person asked me to come out. They had never called me out before. My heart sank! I knew I was about to be taken away in a “free” vehicle to some bright, transparent laboratory. I was on the verge of tears.
When I stepped out of the room, they started singing “Happy Birthday” to me. One person had a guitar, and it sounded like they had rehearsed it beforehand. Oh my God, these uniformed health department workers were singing “Happy Birthday” to me? They gave me an electronic card game and a cupcake before leaving. After a while, someone else knocked on the door and told me to leave it open, then unloaded a pile of gift packages into my room. Some were sent by supporters who had seen my diary on Facebook.
I can’t find the words to describe how deeply this experience touched me. Thank you for your kindness, generosity, and love.
On March 1, the quarantine finally came to an end, and we received a farewell video from Captain Alma. Hearing the familiar voice of the Diamond Princess captain strangely comforted me.
The captain was the last person to leave the Diamond Princess. When I saw the photo of him leaving, I completely broke down. By then, I had been brought back to the U.S. and had been quarantined in a nice military base hotel for over ten days, but oh my God, he had just left that ship. Seeing the captain in his uniform, holding his captain’s hat under his arm, still wearing a mask but looking optimistic, made me cry. It was hard to imagine how well he had handled everything. Let this photo be the concluding image of my pandemic diary. Thank you, Captain Alma.
If one day I decide to take a cruise again, I would not hesitate to board his ship.
The quarantine finally ended, and I gradually returned to my daily life. I am single and used to spending time alone. In this world, there can be negative and frightening times, and many people struggle and suffer. However, this time, it wasn’t just one person; it was thousands of strangers who supported me, even sending me gifts, encouraging me to persevere. These people came together to bring love, and my heart was completely opened. This shift in the world restored my faith in humanity and gave me strength and courage to live more optimistically. I really want to keep this momentum going and bring some change to the world, whether through blogging or writing a book. Because there are still many beautiful things in this world.
Finally, I want Chinese readers to know that I stand with you. I don’t want the Chinese people to feel that everyone will hate or blame you because of this virus. I know there is indeed some discrimination; I have spoken out against it, and others have too. I want you to know that we love you. I know this is not your fault, and you are also enduring this misfortune. Stay optimistic; this will all pass, and I hope we can rebuild trust. My heart is with you.
P.S. On February 9, the Diamond Princess announced full refunds for passengers, including airfare, hotel, ground transportation, shore excursions, tips, and other expenses. Although tips will be refunded to passengers, the company will pay the crew their earned tips. All passengers will also receive another full free trip. All expenses during the quarantine will not be counted.
Captain Gennaro Alma of the Diamond Princess has been called the “Hero Captain” by Italians for his performance during this crisis, embodying the Italian spirit of never giving up. On March 1, he became the last person to leave the Diamond Princess and will be awarded the highest national honor—the Commander of the Order of the Italian Republic—by the Italian president. At 44 years old, he often encouraged the 3,710 lives he led through the dark quarantine period, saying, “A diamond is a carbon that performs excellently under pressure.”