Caribbean Queen
Seemed like such a good idea. Hop on the luxurious Queen Mary II right in New York, and sail away for 14 days in the sunny Caribbean. No airlines or TSA to deal with, a few peaceful days at sea, visit 6 exotic ports in the southern stretches, and return home. Perfect. Well, not so much.
First, the ship. Queen Mary II is the last of the ocean liners, built to cross the Atlantic in the middle of winter. At launch in 2004, it was the largest cruise ship in history, designed to recall the glory days of ocean voyage. Unlike the rest of the world’s cruising fleet, it is not a playground on the sea. The pools are small, there are no water slides or go kart tracks. There are also no children. In fact, rather than a playground it is closer to a floating assisted living facility. Activities on board included many variations of trivia and bingo. Like the passengers, the Queen is showing her age – one expects the stateroom drawers to open and close without a hammer.
The food was mostly the English version of French, also known as bad. Who puts gravy on a steak? I am no gourmand, but this is the first time I can recall needing the internet to interpret a menu printed in English. Is using strange words supposed to make the food taste better? Who knew an aubergine was an eggplant? There was, however, afternoon tea, England’s most significant contribution to the culinary landscape.
The islands. A quick perusal of this post will show there are no pictures other than the front of the ship. That’s because there was nothing to photograph. Every stop looked like the last. Nothing remotely interesting in any of the port towns – no architecture, no culture. No nothing. Just the same folks hawking the same awful t-shirts or tours to see a ten-foot waterfall.
Leaving the ship we were funneled through a welcome center, with duty free shops and trinket stalls. In St. Lucia we walked off the ship, looked around for 5 minutes, and went right back on board. It was horrific. In Granada … I think it was, I can’t remember … I spotted an old church on the hillside – perhaps, at last, a point of interest. We ran the gauntlet, made our way out of the protected zone of the port, climbed the hill out of town, only to find the church closed off at the road, with walls that would have made Trump proud.
I heard one guy quipping that the ship only goes to one island, anchors in the morning, sails around the island at night and enters the same island from the other side, giving the illusion of movement.
At one island stop, (again, I can’t remember which), there were six cruise ships in port. Two of them were of the giant class with nearly 7000 passengers each. We went to the beach that day … packed in like sardines on a strip of beach about 10 yards wide. How about some local food? Not a chance. All the chicken tenders you can eat, but nothing else, I am at a loss to understand why anyone would pay good money to waddle off the ship, walk 100 yards, pull up stool at the tiki bar and drink beer all day and eat the same stuff old RFK Jr. is complaining about.
And let’s not forget the noro virus. The Queen made the news back home, with some 10% of the passengers coming down with the all-exits digestive flu. The ship instituted quarantine for the unlucky souls who reported the illness and increased sanitary precautions for everyone else. They managed to get it under control … had they not I am certain the next step would have been mandatory personal pressure-washing before each meal. Oh and one poor crew member had a nasty fall and had to be air lifted off the upper deck, at sea, at night, in a basket. The French coast guard did not stop for a bite to eat.
It wasn’t all bad. There were six days at sea, smoothly cutting through some choppy seas, peaceful, refreshing monotony. The Queen is built for reading, with a lovely library, deck chairs and lounges to enjoy the ride, and, if you are lucky, your own balcony off the stateroom to enjoy with your travelling companion. And … sunshine, lots and lots of sunshine.
