How I discovered the 10 rules of cruising
Cruise ships are big. The biggest cruise ships are huge. To get an idea of their size, ask yourself this: On checking into a high rise hotel, would you eschew the lift for the stairs? OK, so you would if you had a phobia of lifts, fair enough, but only an idiot would walk 14 storeys to their room. So why do that on a boat?
The first rule of cruising: Remember that the ship is a floating high-rise hotel
So don't take the stairs, as I did, to the 14th floor.
That said, the stairs were very nice with their swirly brown and cream carpet and nice arty titbits on display between decks.
Gasping, I reach my state room.
Second rule of cruising: Class is important.
Yours is not a cabin, it is a state room, got that? A STATE ROOM. Cabins are for staff only or those in steerage. Crack the door and OMG. We'll start with the linen. Crisp – of course the sheets are crisp, pure cotton. Handsome bolsters, decent-size bed, big TV, writing desk, leather suite, mini bar and private deck.
Haul on the ranchslider and hello, Sydney. Open a beer and soak up a view of downtown on a sunny, sunny day.
Perfect.
Third rule of cruising: There's really no need to leave the ship, ever.
And true enough, some people rarely leave their state rooms. At least, that's what staff say. Is it because they are infirm, I politely inquire. No, it seems their horizons are limited – no pun intended – and the pull of having everything at their finger tips is too hard to resist.
For example, there's the ever-changing view, room service, mini bar, comfy bed, on-demand TV and music, internet access and a tropical sea breeze to accompany the aforementioned.
I am aboard Royal Caribbean's Celebrity Solstice for an eight-night cruise around the South Pacific.
It is not enough to say the ship is magnificent or that every nook and cranny is delightful and purpose built for pleasure. There is simply nothing ugly about it and that includes the staff, of which there are about 3000, or two for every passenger. They come from across the globe and they appear as varied as the vessel's extensive wine cellar, which spans three decks in a cacophony of bottles many of which are too rich for my budget but not my taste.
They have good memories, the staff. Barrelling down a corridor at 2am after a lengthy session at the vodka bar, do not be surprised if the saint who cleans and tidies your cabin greets you by name.
"Have you enjoyed yourself this evening, Mr Jonathan?"
Yes, it is your state room attendant. The man who cleans the loo, plumps the pillows and thoughfully folds a snake, frog or maybe even a dog out of a bath towel, which he gingerly places on the end of your bed so you will delighted at the end of a long and glorious evening the moment you open the cabin door and behold: your very own towel animal.
For a moment you wonder if you should use that towel.
Fourth rule of cruising: Gluttony is good.
To mangle a nautical phrase, the Solstice bars no holds when it comes to gastronomy. She has 12 restaurants, three of which are specialised and therefore cost a little extra.
All is abundance and this extends beyond the popular 24/7 buffet, which is itself no slouch in the quality department. Though not widely publicised, diners in the a la carte restaurants are entitled to ask for as many entrees, mains and desserts as they wish.
Case in point. If you want the lobster and the rib eye in the French-inspired Murano restaurant, ask for both. Or how about a goat's cheese souffle and the quail for starters? The wait staff learn quickly. "Would you like the frog's legs and the snails tonight, Mr Jonathan?"
The only governor on this excess is the size of a diner's appetite. If, like David Lange once quipped, your body is a warehouse and not a temple, cruising could be for you.
Fifth rule of cruising: It's OK to ask for a bloody mary at breakfast.
Waiting staff won't bat an eyelid, let alone flinch at the request. One does assume, of course, that the cocktail is accompanied by a made-to-order omelette or maybe bacon and eggs or a selection of pastries. The list is endless and it's all served in the Grand Epernay, where if they choose, diners can take breakfast, lunch and dinner.
Sixth rule of cruising: Some conversations direct and overheard can be disturbing.
The Sunset bar on Solstice's top deck. Wicker furniture, drinks all round, early evening. An Australian man is talking about his time working in the highlands of Papua New Guinea as some type of contractor, not security. Ordinarily, I suspect, he is a quiet type with an unquiet mind, but on the night in question, he is chugging Appleton's and smoking cigarettes. He has seen a lot of things he would rather forget, including the brutal killing of village women suspected of being witches.
There is nothing to do except to bid him goodnight and stride across a half acre of real green grass, past the glass-blowing studio to a gigantic white cotton hammock for a spot of relaxation before dinner, and maybe a sneaky cigar.
Except on arrival there is a stocky Australian lady swinging wildly in the hammock, her legs akimbo in a tight, short skirt. "C'mon, love, no one wants to see your clacker," says her partner, with a stubbie in hand. Such was its popularity I never got a swing in the clacker hammock, but I did get to tell the story over dinner that evening. A fair trade, I think.
Seventh rule of cruising: Get to concerts early if you want a seat.
The auditorium is plush and vast and packed with passengers desperate to see the Neil Diamond tribute act and yearning for a group sing-along to Sweet Caroline and Cracklin Rosie. I am young enough to stand, so I do, but I am still three rows back from the last seat, wishing for binoculars.
It wasn't like this for Music Through the Decades with the Smart Casuals.
Eighth rule of cruising: It pays to be a good sailor.
There is plenty of fun to be had when the going gets rough. The swimming pools – both indoor and out – are magnificent in a rough sea, as they are at once transformed with a tidal theme. The bars and restaurants empty while the library fills up. It's a perfect opportunity to stretch out on the top deck lawn with a single malt and a strong cigar. Glorious and not a soul around.
Ninth rule of cruising: Be patient.
There are a lot of folk around. Herds of them grind in a creaky shuffle in and out of the lifts in a wrinkly tide of benevolence and bonhomie. Some make delightful dinner guests and smoking companions, but remember: as a rule, they expect first dibs for roast of the day.
Tenth rule of cruising: You won't want to leave.
So be prepared for post-cruise blues. Re-entry to the real world is brutal. A terrible pall hung over my group as we trudged off Solstice and onto the streets of Sydney. How gruesome it was to lunch opposite the mighty vessel in a cafe where Mr Jonathan was not offered two mains or even two starters, for that matter. And to see the crew scurrying about and readying the liner for departure in only a matter of hours, as if the last eight days had never happened, was nearly enough to put me off my lunch. But not quite.
Have you ever been on a cruise before? How did you enjoy this description, do you feel like it was on the money or did it leave a little to the imagination?
Share your thoughts in the comments.
Written by Jonathan Mackenzie. First appeared on Stuff.co.nz.
Related links:
5 things you MUST do to avoid seasickness on a cruise
10 things you must never do in a cruise cabin
P&O’s first cruise around New Zealand