Cliched notions of getting stuck between the nearly dead and the newly wed are wide of the mark - cruises cater for everyone and are great fun, as Miriam Lorddiscovers in the eastern Mediterranean
ON THE flight from Dublin the man in the next seat asks where I am going. "I'm going on a cruise." His eyes lit up. "What ship?" "
Navigator of the Seas." Whereupon a broad smile sweeps across his face and he extends a hand. "Put it here," he cries. "Put. It. Here!" You don't get reactions like that on a flight to the Canaries.
It turns out that he, too, is bound for Rome and a seven-day voyage around the eastern Mediterranean. In normal circumstances such an expression of delight from a total stranger might seem a bit over the top, but many cruise devotees believe they've found the holy grail of holidays. My friend is merely recognising a kindred spirit, another discerning traveler in on the secret.
"Is this your first time?" asks his wife. "Yes." They almost burst with happiness for me. "You'll love it. You'll never go back to ordinary holidays again."
It's a familiar refrain from old cruise hands. Message boards on the web provide an entertaining insight into the mindset of the international "cruise community". "My husband and I are worried about the formal evenings. Can he wear his cummerbund?" writes one worried American lady before declaring she has "long gloves" and intends to wear them, no matter what.
Ah, yes. What to wear? Cummerbunds aside, it's the question that strikes dread into the heart of prospective cruisers and is probably the single biggest reason why people dismiss the idea of a holiday at sea. That and visions of elderly middle-Englanders rattling their jewellery and looking down their snobby noses at commoners wearing chain-store clothes.
But while we can't be bothered with that sort of rubbish, the idea of snoozing in a steamer chair, tartan rug across the knees while your ship ploughs its stately progress through the waves, is a beguiling one. It's that fear of being stuck with the smug retirement set and spooning honeymooners that gives people second thoughts. The nearly dead and the newly wed, as the saying goes. Some cliches are very hard to shift.
Utter bedlam at the airport. In the arrivals hall, we - that's the big sister and I - attach the cruise company's colour-coded tags to our suitcases. Our guide from the Travel Department arrives, gathers up her greying chicks and ushers us through the sweltering chaos to the coach. It's been a while since I've been the youngest passenger on a bus.
Our driver takes us on a tour of the sights of Rome before the drive to Civitavecchia port and our home for the next week. What the hell if we hate this cruise. We are on a kind of surf'n'turf package, beginning with the voyage and finishing with a four-night escorted holiday on the Sorrento coast.
On the quayside passengers ooh and aah at the sheer size of the ship while their bags vanish inside. Check-in takes place in a warehouse of roped-off lines and reception desks and is surprisingly quick and painless. We report for duty and collect our SeaPass cards.
This piece of plastic is central to everything you do on board. Royal Carribean International operates, as most companies in the business do, a cashless system. It's very convenient, so it's also very easy to spend money. Almost all facilities and meals - apart from those in a couple of premium restaurants, which carry a surcharge - are free. But you have to pay for your alcohol and most soft drinks.
In theory a disciplined person could book a cruise, stick to a strict policy of not forking out for extras and still have a good time. But that would mean no wine with meals, no cocktails to sip on your balcony at sunset, no nightcaps after seeing a show. It would mean no organised shore excursions, no trips to the beauty salon and no going mad in the gift shops.
You would have to ignore the photographers positioned outside the dining room on formal nights, when himself is resplendent in his cummerbund and you're swanning around like Wallis Simpson in your evening gloves.
In other words, the company has perfected the art of painlessly separating passengers from their money. Just swipe that plastic card and we'll settle up later. And with each swipe of a card containing the holder's details, Royal Caribbean is also building up a priceless customer profile. As in: sack the photographers and manicurists and lay in extra wine and nosh if Dublin women of a certain age are travelling.
Navigator of the Seasis a huge floating resort with room for more than 3,000 passengers. Factor in the staff and you're talking the population of a small Irish town. Banks of lifts whizz up and down an airy multidecked atrium that runs almost the entire length of the ship. The heart of the vessel is a long mall of shops and bars, where the cummerbund brigade like to promenade on formal nights and the staff put on midnight parades.
The place feels more like a Las Vegas hotel than a ship. Disappointingly, there is no pitching and rolling to lend an authentic touch to the adventure. We put this down to the miracles of engineering and the benignity of the Mediterranean.
During our seven days on board there are two "formal attire" evenings in the main dining room, three "smart casual" and two "casual". This appeals to the traditionalists, who like to dress up, but, really, anything goes. The company is catering for a mass market, from those who still think they're travelling in the days of
The Queen Maryto the rest of us, who aren't so fussed.
Despite all the angst it's pretty hard to get thrown out of the dining room for breaking the dress code; shorts, vests and flip-flops seem to be the only items that are strictly forbidden.
Weeks before departure we were allocated our seats in the dining room, a three-storey shrine to tacky glamour, with a sweeping main staircase, enormous chandeliers and the most enthusiastic and cheery waiters you're ever likely to encounter. These boys work for their tips.
We are a table of eight, including the nicest couple you could meet from Galway, an olive farmer from Chile and his wife, and George and Patti from the US. Patti seems to spend most of her time in the casino or playing bingo, while George continues to run his business via the internet when not pounding around the track in running shorts. They don't do shore trips. This is their 23rd cruise, and they feel it their duty to mark our cards.
The sister is fretting about what to wear on formal night. "A dress and heels and you'll be fine," declares George, matter-of-factly. (Can you imagine an Irish guy saying that with a straight face and meaning it?)
"If the lobster is on, order it twice," counsels Patti. (You never know how long you might be at the craps table.) And, yes, you can order two starters. Or three, if you've no shame and sufficient elastic in your waistband.
On day three, cruising from Sicily to Athens, a local mobile-phone network bleeps a message of greeting. "Wind welcomes you to Greece." At this stage, given our prodigious intake of prepaid "free" food, it should read "wind accompanies you to Greece".
But back to Sicily, our first port of call. We dock at Messina and take a tour to the mountain village of Taormina, passing a mist-shrouded Mount Etna on the way. Taormina overlooks the sea and some nice-looking beach resorts.
One of the best things about a cruise is that it provides you with the travel equivalent of a tasting menu. You can visit a place for an afternoon and decide whether you would like to go there again for a longer stay.
The embarrassment of having to follow a loud person holding up a big numbered paddle soon passes, because you don't want to get lost and miss the boat.
We wander down into Granduca restaurant, on Corso Umberto, and enjoy a very nice lunch on a terrace perched high above the Mediterranean. We spend only a few hours in the village, but it is enough to conclude it would be a nice place for a holiday.
The next day is spent at sea. The cabins are small but well equipped. Unless you are on a very tight budget, go the extra mile and make sure to book a room with a balcony. It costs more that an interior room, but nothing beats the warm breeze, the indigo waves below, the churning wash behind and the beautiful sight of land rising in the distance.
At night, way out to sea away from artificial light, the stars are amazing.
Initially, the cruise experience is surreal. But before you know it you're wondering how you can possibly fit in dinner and a show and the Tequila bar, where passengers who clearly do nothing for the rest of the year but practise their salsa steps try to outdo each other on the dance floor. You sneak a little pre-dinner sushi in the buffet restaurant and end the night at a karaoke session hosted by the chronically enthusiastic entertainment manager. It sounds like hell, but it is great fun.
Meanwhile, back at the cabin, the attendant has left clean towels and twisted one of them into an animal shape. A different animal each night. We determine to go to the towel-folding demonstration and learn how to make elephants and chickens.
But the poolside line-dancing intervenes, along with the sister's determination to make a show of herself among the snake-hipped salsa set. Happily institutionalised, we give Athens a miss.
TO KUSADASI, in Turkey. We take a tour to the ancient Roman city of Ephesus, one of those places everyone should see before they die. Our urbane tour guide is knowledgeable and witty, but he rather spoils it at the finish by decanting us from the coach into a carpet shop, where everyone is brought into a large room and given the hard sell for the best part of an hour, as men in immaculate suits and pristine white shirts silently hover around the doors. Nobody has the nerve to leave.
After such an enjoyable morning people end up resentful and annoyed: this is a practice the cruise line should stop. An afternoon lying on the beach calms matters.
Final port of call is Crete. It's a short stop, with trips available to a local beach resort or the Minoan ruins at Knossos. Many opt to stroll down to the shops and cafes of Heraklion.
A cruise conjures up old-world visions of doing very little, very languidly, while the world slips by. The reality on behemoths such as
Navigator of the Seascouldn't be farther from the truth. There are quiet decks where you can read your book, and the quietest place is the library. But with so many people on board the imperative is to keep them happy and distracted at all times.
We make it back to Rome and waddle off our ship, exhausted after a week of doing nothing. The Travel Department group - we hadn't seen each other among the mass of humanity on board - set off on the very long drive to Sorrento. We stop on the way to buy horrible food thrown at us by surly staff in a roadside cafe. We miss the boat.
This is not a Club 18-30 trip, so the fact that we have a guide with us is welcomed by many in the group. She is a most pleasant and helpful young woman, but after a few hours on the road her giggling and prattling in broken English begin to give some of us murderous thoughts.
We go to Pompeii, a wonderful experience despite the blistering heat. Our local guide looks like a cross between Oliver Reid and Pavarotti as he points out objects of particular interest using a rolled-up copy of Italy's equivalent of the Racing Post, the previous day's returns from Leopardstown uppermost.
Preferring to rest after the cruise, some of the group opt out of the scheduled trips around the Amalfi Coast and do their own thing. We take off for Capri and regret it. The ferries are packed, sweating tourists roam like herds of wildebeest through the narrow streets, few restaurants are open, the shops are outrageously expensive and there is little to do. Perhaps it gets nice when the day trippers go home.
There are some great little shops and restaurants in Sorrento, but taxis are very expensive, so take care when choosing the location of your hotel. We dine at L'Antica Trattoria, on Via PR Giuliani, on the recommendation of a friend who had been doubly impressed by the food and the fact that Trevor McDonald, the newscaster, was at an adjoining table. It's a little more expensive than its neighbours but is well worth a visit.
Just down the road is the grand old Hotel Tramontano, with its tranquil and elegant terrace bar overlooking Mount Vesuvius and the Bay of Naples. It's a great spot for catching the sunset and watching the ships come and go.
We arrive back from our cruise without rich husbands and twice the size we were before we left. Cruises are not the holy grail of holidays, but they're great fun. Next time I'm packing the long gloves.
Miriam Lord was a guest of the Travel Department (
[ www.thetraveldepartment.ie ]
, or call 01-6371600). Mediterranean cruises costs from €1,099 for eight nights