Couple’s blissful cruise devolved into nightmare
They arrived at their minisuite on the Grand Princess’ Dolphin Deck to find a “Happy Anniversary!” banner strung across the doorway. During “Formal Night,” Gina Pallotta and Michael Neky shared a whitetablecloth dinner to celebrate a marriage that had begun 16 years earlier on the bow of that very ship. They spent two blissful weeks floating through the Hawaiian Islands.
Looking back on the cruise one year later, they don’t think about those things.
Instead, they remember the days spent cir
cling international waters outside the Golden Gate Bridge, after the pandemic turned their pleasure cruise into a nightmare. Because, when the Grand Princess left San Francisco in February 2020, it carried not only 3,533 passengers and crew from 54 countries — but the coronavirus, too.
By early March, the Grand Princess became an early, ominous image of the devastation the pandemic would wreak on the United States. The luxurylinerturnedcontainmentzone floated near the Farallon Islands, forbidden from docking until government officials decided how to deal with its passengers. More and more fell ill by the day.
They wouldn’t disembark in Oakland until March 9. Quarantined in their state rooms, Pallotta, 61, and Neky, 63, worried they’d been sentenced to death.
To survive the cruise — not to mention the year of fear and uncertainty that followed — the pair were forced to do something they had spent nearly two decades of marriage practicing.
They had to stick together.
They got married aboard the Grand Princess on Jan. 20, 2004, friends and family watching by webcam.
Too many people had opinions on their wedding, including their grown children from previous marriages, so they opted to do it their own way. The marriage certificate was issued by the Bahamas, though Pallotta suspected they were closer to Cuba. That, along with their mismatched last names — she told him on their second date she wouldn’t change hers — sometimes made people assume the certificate was a fake.
As their 16th anniversary neared, the Modesto couple decided to return to the Grand Princess to celebrate. Pallotta considered canceling as the coronavirus began to dominate headlines, but Carnival assured her it was taking all precautions. And the virus seemed far away, in Wuhan, China.
Once aboard, she and Neky noticed the informational signs and bottled hand sanitizer placed strategically around the ship. It eased their minds. Still, she said, they avoided the buffet — just in case.
The fiveday trip across the Pacific was easy enough, and the trip through the Hawaiian islands, relaxing. But soon, Pallotta began to notice subtle shifts in protocol: Passengers could no longer salt and pepper their own food. Bread baskets vanished from dining tables. Waiters wore plastic gloves while tending to tables spaced with 6foot buffers.
On March 4, the captain announced he was cutting the trip short. At least 21 people were experiencing symptoms.
The next day, a 72yearold Santa Clara County man who had recently disembarked the cruise died in his home, the second suspected coronavirus death linked to the Grand Princess. The ship was officially placed under quarantine. No one was to leave their room.
Pallotta and Neky stocked up on bottled water and snacks. On their stateroom television, the couple watched as Gov. Gavin Newsom declared a state of emergency and as National Guard helicopters dropped virus test kits on the boat. They watched as President Donald Trump threatened to keep the boat at sea, for fear that the nation’s case count would double “because of one ship that wasn’t our fault.”
The Grand Princess kept going in circles. They felt trapped. Pallotta wished the boat would just dock, but it never did. Each day repeated like the last.
The crew slid activity packs under their door: “Sudoku at Sea,” coloring books and decks of cards. They noticed dozens of free movies added to their televisions, along with video meditation and yoga classes.
Then came the “fresh air and sunlight program,” the ship’s newest initiative, allowing an hour’s walk on the deck. That was OK, but Pallotta felt lucky she and Neky had a balcony. They chatted with their neighbors over the partition.
Pallotta, who worked as a child psychologist at a Kaiser hospital in Sacramento, figured she wouldn’t be going to work any time soon. She’d only taken two weeks off for the trip.
Neky was retired and didn’t have the same concerns — but he had diabetes, and he was running out of medication. Pallotta called the office of their local congressman, Rep. Josh Harder. On March 8, a helicopter dropped Neky’s insulin onto the ship, along with 405 other prescriptions.
The next day, March 9, the Grand Princess docked in Oakland. As the ship cut under the Golden Gate Bridge, passengers cheered from their balconies.
The Canadians were the first to disembark. After shuffling down the gangplank, officials took their temperatures in tents draped with the country’s flag.
Watching them leave from their balcony, Pallotta and Neky prepared for what would come next. Before they could go home, they knew, they would need to quarantine at Travis Air Force Base in Fairfield. Some passengers began calling it “Camp Corona.”
The couple heard that one woman’s husband had recently been ushered from the ship by ambulance. She didn’t know where he’d been taken, or how long he’d be gone. Palotta and Neky made a pact: no splitting up.
At the Air Force base, they holed up in their assigned apartment. They stayed together, even to turn in a load of laundry or to pick up meals. They watched as servings of fruit and vegetables dwindled. One day, Pallotta opened a takeout container to find half a moldy turkey sandwich.
Sometimes the wailing of ambulances — flashing red and blue in the dark of night — broke the quiet, telling them another passenger from the ship had been taken away. Two people tested positive within the first few days at the base, despite officials’ assurances that everyone had been screened beforehand.
Pallotta and Neky were afraid. They avoided leaving their room, wondering if they had been exposed.
Still, they didn’t feel alone. They continued to make each other laugh and smile. Behind the fences, their marriage grew stronger.
By April, they were finally home — a place that had become unfamiliar to them.
Pallotta missed six weeks of work. By the time she returned, everyone was working remotely. Pallotta was happy to skip her commute but missed her colleagues and seeing patients in person.
She works with children, and she’s seen them suffer, abused or left without food to eat. With the pandemic raging, they can’t escape to be with friends and teachers. Pallotta is troubled by the growing number of students who are depressed, even suicidal.
She feels lucky she has her husband to listen. These days, it’s mostly just the two of them.
Both from big families, they normally invite 20 people over for Christmas dinner. But this December, they arranged two placemats on the long dining table. It was both funny and sad, Pallotta thought.
They try to get out of the house when they can. They power up their Tesla and drive to Half Moon Bay for chowder and artichoke hearts from Sam’s Chowder House. They park with their takeout boxes in a lot overlooking the beach, eat, then go home. Their feet never touch the ground.
They try to make the best of things, but it’s not always easy. Neky’s 90yearold mother recently contracted the coronavirus in her nursing home. They’re both worried about her.
As a health care worker, Pallotta was vaccinated in February. Neky hasn’t received a vaccine yet, but they hope he’s next in line.
Pallotta is practical — her husband, not so much. Recently, she tried to convince Neky that they should purchase cemetery plots, side by side, because “you just never know.” She didn’t want to burden their children with that responsibility when the time came. He just shook his head.
This spring, Pallota and Neky’s anniversary arrived again on Jan. 20. They barbecued steaks and boiled pasta, split a nice bottle of red wine. It wasn’t an extravagant dinner, not like what they’d had aboard the Grand Princess.
But all of these years later — and after the cruise to nowhere, and a yearlong quarantine — Pallotta and Neky still enjoy each other’s company. That’s something, Pallotta said.
How many couples can still say that?