Cruising on the Quantum of the Seas

 

I must go down to the sea again,

to the lonely sea⁽¹⁾ and the sky.

And all I ask is a tall ship and

another piece of pie.

 

^{(1) a very pathetic fallacy}

 

The Floating Feast

Every day at 7 am, slices of cantaloupes, wedges of water- melon, bland beef curries, stewed pork, tasteless chicken, greasy hamburgers, mystery hot dogs, pizzas with and without pepperoni, ham sandwiches, rock hard hash browns, limp French fries, buckets of smashed potatoes, and heaps of sticky rice are set out to pacify the natives and make them dance to the hornpipe to sea shanties sung by Elvis Presley.

The rule of thumb is that a passenger will gain 2 pounds a day if she sticks to her diet. Strong men who strode aboard the ship will be forced to disembark by rolling down the gangplank like warm barrels of beer.

Breakfast from 7 am to 11am. Lunch 11 am to 3 pm. Dinner 5:30 pm to 8:30 pm. Pizza 11:00 am to 3 am. Cafes 24 hours. All you can eat, all the time. Yesterday, the Windjammer Market, which serves breakfast, lunch and some dinners, announced that they prepare and serve10,000 meals a day.

To keep things in balance, there is a secret cadre in the gym on the 16^th floor who spend their days losing weight and chiseling their bodies to shame us all. They play pickleball. They swim. They climb plastic rock walls. They play basketball, ping pong, and soccer. I would throw rocks at them, but they would only beat me up. 

And then there are the Chinese men and women who eat enormous quantities, play elaborate card games, and remain thin as ghosts.

 

A Night to Remember  

No one saw the great white iceberg waiting in ambush.   At first, the dandies collected slivers of ice for their gin and tonics. Later, they would change from black tuxedos into florid dresses and speak in falsetto while seated in lifeboats, as the world’s largest passenger ship sank into the celluloid fame.  

 

A Shanty

Call me retail.

Call me upscale

Call me tell-tale

with a beating heart.

Call me Ishmael,

floating on a coffin,

waiting for a ride

on a white whale.

 

Floating Condominiums

In 1995, the world’s biggest cruise ship was the Sovereign of the Seas, but its capacity in terms of passengers was not significantly larger than that of the Titanic.  Mass water tourism was just starting to take off, and cruise ships got bigger and bigger. By 2024, the Icon of the Seas, the new, largest ship in the world, could carry three times the number of passengers as the Titanic.  Its design was the triumph of condominiums, a layer-cake of cabins, balconies, ballrooms, upscale shopping centers, restaurants, spas, water parks, and amusement park attractions.  The great American mall was not dead; it just moved out to sea.

The rapid increase in the size of cruise ships was both positive and negative. Cruises were no longer the sole providence of the tuxedoed class. Even the middle class could enjoy the stark Greek islands of Odysseus, experience the calving of icebergs, and bask in the warmth of Caribbean islands, all the while safely ensconced in steel ships where everyone spoke English.

But increased tourism is not necessarily beneficial for the natives. For example, Sitka, Alaska is a small town on the outer coast of the Inland Passage. The former capital of Russian America, Sitka is situated in a beautiful archipelago of small islands and one large, majestic volcano, Mount Edgecumbe.

With a population of about 9,000 people and an excellent harbor, Sitka’s harbor can dock two cruise ships at the same time and disgorge thousands of passengers, flooding the town and the lives of its inhabitants. Most tourists never get beyond the pier and its string of tacky souvenir shops with Native American curios made in China. More and more destinations (Venice, Barcelona, Monte Albán, Tulum) are trying to limit mass tourism. Still circling groups of tourists fill Saint Mark’s Plaza in Venice, crowding out the pigeons.

Quantum of the Seas

Our ship is the Quantum of the Seas, a name that makes little sense, since quantum usually refers to the smallest unit. Perhaps it refers to “spooky actions at a distance,” as Albert Einstein once described his experience with a rowboat. But the name probably derives from “Quantum Leap,” as a dramatic advancement of the art or a television show. Take your pick.

The Quantum of the Sea was built in 2014 with a capacity of a mere 4,905 passengers and a crew of 1,500. A small ship in today’s market that is only half the size of the newer ships, but still, it is the largest ship that we have been on. Bigger is not better, but at least better than the class separations enforced by Cunard.

Before boarding, I thought that a significant portion of the passengers might be of Japanese descent, but no. More than half the passengers on the ship appear to be Chinese. Our dinner partner, April, tells me that they are speaking Cantonese, a southern dialect. The people I have talked to live in the United States or Canada.  Japan is not a destination for them, but rather waystation for yet another cruise to Singapore, Taiwan and Hong Kong. They are not, for the most part, visiting relatives, but are traveling to enjoy their culture and home cooking.

Another surprise is how many old people there are aboard with walkers, motorized wheelchairs, or mobility scooters. Of course, this includes me. Cruises are one way to continue travelling even when you are feeble. This also includes me: feeble but still rabid.

Having 4,000 passengers aboard and a 14-day voyage means that the cruise line has a multitude of activities and amusements to keep the natives quiet. This includes water parks, surf machines, bars, trivia contests, light shows featuring professional dancers, restaurants, an upscale shopping center, stretch classes, pickleball courts, casinos, bumper bad art galleries, cars, climbing walls, theaters, ice skating arenas, pizza joints, and a multitude of diversions. The newer cruise ships have Ferris Wheels and merry go rounds.

 

Why We Cruise

After all my complaints and whining, why we take a cruise at all is a legitimate question. First and foremost, it is not flying.  It is not the cattle class that airlines condemn passengers to endure. It does not require three or four days for my spine to recover, nor produce gob-smacking jetlag that I could tolerate when I was younger because of my enthusiasm.

Secondly, the food. Cruise food is mediocre to be sure, but it is there when needed. It requires no planning, shopping or washing dishes. Producing so many thousands of meals a day for people of diverse tastes is daunting, and the culinary staff has my respect, despite forcing the wait staff to dance and sing for Hawaiian Night, Mexican Night, Disco Night, ad nauseum.

Cruising also separates you from the world. We missed four weeks of the presidential campaign. No political ads, no pleas for money, no sightings of the orange beast. Four weeks of minimal guilt and anger at the rise of racism and fascism. No shouting at the television.

Finally, cruising allows my biggest vice: reading. I finished six books. Not a record by any means but still a good time.