The last several days of my trip are somewhat of a blur. Somewhere on the northbound stretch, I was made aware that my father's health was failing. As he had been declining in the last couple of years, I knew that this time would come, I just didn't know it would be while I was alone and across the world from him. I knew that I needed to get home. Around this time we also hit some stormy open seas, which made me rather sick.
To add to the challenge, I found that the airlines leaving Norway were on strike, so I was unable to get a flight home. My travel agent suggested possibly disembarking at an upcoming port and taking a train into Russia, to fly home from there. That option would have added days to my trip home so we didn't pursue that.
I used what remedies I had for nausea, and a couple I'd met gave me an anti-nausea patch to put behind my ear. I'm not sure it helped, but I appreciated their kindness.
Though I had no departure plans in place, I went to the customer service desk to explain the situation and see if they had any advice. They were so kind. One lady asked if I'd eaten lately and when I wasn't sure, she went and fixed me a plate of food. Bread, meat and cheese for a sandwich, and some fruit I took back to my room. When I next went to the restaurant, I found that they had moved me from my very sociable group table, to a small private table next to the window. There, turned towards the glass, I could hide my frequent tears as I nibbled at my food.
To help with nausea, I spent as much time as possible outside, under a covered area. Here the air was fresh, I could see the horizon, and I was usually alone.
The ship was ever moving, though I recall nothing of our getting to the end of the line at Kirkenes (a few miles from the border with Russia), turning around and making our way south. Finally, the couple who gave me the seasick patch found me and told me that they heard that the airline strike was over. I emailed my travel agent back home, and soon I had tickets to fly home from Tromso, through Oslo, then Iceland. We docked at Tromso around midnight. I was to have attended a classic concert at the beautiful Arctic Cathedral there. Instead, I found myself lugging my suitcases down to a taxi, who took me to a hotel I'd reserved for a few hours sleep and a shower. At this port, the dock was very low, which meant the stairs leading down from the ship were insanely steep. An elderly man from my group table assisted me in getting my luggage down.
Morning came way too early, but somehow I got off, into another taxi, and to the Tromso airport. I found some kind of breakfast there before boarding my flight to Oslo. Thankfully, despite the snow, flights were still operating.
From Tromso to Oslo. In Oslo I bought some lunch. Possibly the most expensive chicken salad I've ever eaten. But since getting off the rocking ship, my stomach had settled, I really appreciated the food.
And then I was off to Reykjavik, Iceland for a stop, before heading on to Portland. Leaving Reykjavik, I got assigned a seat in an exit row, which was nice, as it had some extra space. Then a guy got on and said I had his seat. And somehow two women seated near me thought they should have my seat and the one next to me. I offered the guy my seat, and he declined it and sat elsewhere. But the two women made a huge issue, and ranted to the flight attendant the whole way home, complaining about everything. I didn't care where I sat, but just wanted to be home.
At long last I was. I was taken straight to my father's bedside, where I was able to spend some precious days with him before he too, was home. Truly home.
This post has been completed 3 1/2 years after it was started. Much of the timeline is a blur to me so may be somewhat inaccurate. But I felt the need to write the final page on this journey as I soon will be embarking on a new one. The same route, in the same country, but a whole new journey.
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