There are His holidays and Hers holidays and this was definitely His. My husband loves ships. I don’t. Worse, I get seasick. So why did we sign up for an Atlantic crossing (always call it a crossing, never a cruise) from Southampton to New York on Cunard’s imperious Queen Mary 2? Let’s just say, it wasn’t my idea.
The first inkling that I might actually enjoy it came at the “Sail Away” party. We took our places side by side at the deck rail, glass of champagne in hand, peering over at murky churning water below. Then I turned and looked backwards at the ship.
Her decks are tiered, stretching gently backwards. More than 2,500 passengers were on board and it looked as if they’d all turned out together, hugging the rails as the ropes were cast off and we slid slowly out of port. Overhead, gulls swooped and dived. On a middle deck, a live band in evening dress was playing and a singer was crooning: “Hello Dolly!” We were launching ourselves into five days of vast watery nothingness, an epic voyage. Then I looked at my husband. He was tearful with joy.
The Queen Mary 2 is almost as long as the Empire State Building is tall, with an elegantly streamlined silhouette, her bottom third painted black and topped by the distinctive Cunard bright red and black funnel. But she’s also tall. Her central section is a chunky square of accommodation and function rooms, including passenger staterooms, many with private balconies. From afar, she looks an odd architectural compromise between traditional ship and grand hotel.
In fact, she’s more of a floating town than a ship. We spend the next few hours dashing up and down swaying corridors and staircases with our ship plan, exploring like over-excited children. When the Queen Mary 2 was launched in 2003, she was the biggest liner in the world. I checked with my husband: she’s not the biggest now though, is she? “No, but some say she’s still the grandest.”
She’s certainly well equipped; from the gym and spa to the full-size theatre which has more than a thousand padded seats on two levels. She even has a planetarium.
The interior has the feel of a luxury hotel. Grand staircases with wooden handrails sweep down to piano lounges. The colours are muted deep reds and blues, off-set by vast urns of fresh flowers, bulbous table lamps and carefully placed pieces of original art work in niches and on occasional tables. The carpets underfoot are plush and thick.
Our stateroom is the size of a small apartment. Drapes fold around the alcove which leads from the main bedroom to the dressing table, walk-in wardrobe and giant bathroom. When we draw the curtains, apart from the shudder of the propellers and the gentle rocking, we could be in a top quality hotel on dry land.
But somehow, all this makes her feel less like a proper ship. It’s a difficult balance. The market demands top facilities and non-stop entertainment. Passengers expect luxurious, modern staterooms with king-sized beds, internet access and movie channels. To them, this isn’t so much a voyage as a holiday on water. So the new generation of Cunard liners must uphold the Romance and Very Important Traditions of the past while also serving as floating tourist resorts.
The type of stateroom dictates where passengers may dine. We were heading for The Queen’s Grill, the most exclusive restaurant on board. Dress etiquette is another of Cunard’s Very Important Traditions. Each day the daily programme, thrust under our stateroom door, reminded us of the coming evening’s dress code – often as formal as tuxedo and ball-gown. In The Queen’s Grill, food and service were lavish and extraordinary. Endlessly attentive, white-gloved waiting staff, from all corners of the globe, were eager to be our new best friends.
I imagined life afloat would involve lazing on deck in wooden recliners, reading, with a plaid rug tucked round my knees, just like in the films. In fact, there wasn’t time. Each day had a rousing start from: “Wake up with Ray!” the hearty breakfast show on in-ship TV. Ray is the ship’s entertainment director.
The activities were a bizarre mix. Some were elegant and Very Traditional, such as the formal Black and White Ball, the dance bands, afternoon tea, plays and lectures on history and art. There was even a chance to meet the captain for cocktails which made us feel very important – at least for the duration of a handshake. Other activities seemed to be, well, let’s say less in keeping with Cunard’s historic past: the passenger talent show; the casino slot machines; the quiz nights and contests at The Golden Lion pub, which also offered karaoke. One evening during our crossing, I was told, ladies at a karaoke session pelted a fellow passenger with their panties as he performed a Tom Jones number – a long way from Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr in An Affair to Remember.
Our own pursuits were tamer, punctuated by vast quantities of silver service food. In the morning, we walked three times round the ship on the promenade deck – just over a mile. We visited the ship’s library (8,000 books, plenty of easy chairs and a spectacular plate-glass window view right out over the bow which makes you feel as if you’re actually driving the monster). Then there were lectures, plays and shows and many daily classes – everything from bridge to a knitting circle.
The grand finale came on the final morning. Anticipation built as we shivered in the darkness and the wind scattered our hair. Some clutched mugs of coffee and pastries. Others sipped champagne. The fading night exploded with camera flashes. New York police helicopters and gunboats circled us as the Queen Mary 2 did a limbo dance under the Verrazano Narrows Bridge. Truck drivers, passing overhead, sounded their horns. We waved like mad at everyone.
By the time dawn broke, the Manhattan skyline was rising on the horizon and there we were, sailing right by the Statue of Liberty. The Americans beside me at the rail were choked up. They’d been abroad for seven years. We too got misty-eyed, imagining legions of past immigrants, catching sight of the brave symbols of the New World for the first time. And then, after six nights of being pampered like royalty, it was all over.
So was I sea-sick? Well, a bit. Don’t believe anyone who says liners this big don’t rock, creak and pitch. But my husband looked happier than I’ve seen him for years. As they say in the adverts: priceless.
Jill McGivering is a BBC World Affairs correspondent and was formerly a correspondent for the BBC in south Asia and at the State Department
