MS QUEEN VICTORIA: LUXURY CRUISE OR A PRISON CELL?

Before I step away from our Caribbean tour I thought I would give you an insight into life afloat on the good ship MS Queen Victoria.

This may take two episodes or three, I don’t know yet. For heaven’s sake, I don’t want you thinking I plan these things out. After this I am probably going to jump ship and review our visit to the Canaries in 2022 or, perhaps, stay in the UK with a visit to Scotland in either 21 or 22 or Wales in 2023.

I will change this plan should something more current crop up. I will be short of fresh material this winter as we are on baby watch duty with our middle child, oldest daughter, due to produce our fifth grandchild in December.

I have now spent a total of 88 days upon the briny deep aboard cruise ships. That is more than most, I realise that, but the thing is, I am still not sure whether I like it or not. Some aspects are unsurpassable, mainly that you don’t necessarily have to fly, especially if you do what we did and drive to Southampton. Trouble is, if you have only joined up for that reason, it is a long way to anywhere of significance, especially in winter.

We had signed up to do a Caribbean tour, many would be jealous, I think I would have been. Thing is it was a massive 35 nights, and we were going to be calling at only eleven ports. Do the maths. That’s a full 23 days doing nothing but watch the ocean pass by under our balcony, and I wasn’t sure I was ready for that.

Sorry, a small oversight on my part, I had forgotten that we actually stayed overnight in Aruba. Well, you try and find two days of stuff to do in Oranjestad.

Whilst many aspects of life have improved with time, I am not sure that getting to the West Indies is one of them. It only took Christopher Columbus 70 days to reach the region in 1492, including a stop in the Canaries, I mean who wouldn’t, and he didn’t even know where he was going.

The following year, when he did know where he was going, he only took 39 days to get there. Just bear in mind that he didn’t have diesel engines or GPS, yet it was still going to take us around ten days, including calling in at Funchal in Madeira. I am not convinced that represents great progress over the intervening five-and-a-bit centuries.

Now, some think that there is nothing grander than spending every living hour aboard a luxury Cunard cruise ship. I am of the opinion that it is more akin to a prison ship.

Cunard claim that they are a luxury brand, held in the highest esteem by the discerning traveller among us. I can tell you now, my opinion only, it is a long way from luxury. We have now sailed with five different lines, and I wouldn’t even rate it in the top three. If any of you belong to the Cunard Snobs group, I am sure you will be most offended by my views.

I have learned, only during this past week, that QV has checked in for a much-needed refit. I am sorry to say, much like the queen she is named for, she has let herself go in recent times. She needs a bit of work, that is for sure.

I am really unclear as to whether I have totally grasped it as an ideal way of spending a holiday. True, you get picked up from home and get deposited on a pavement just outside the terminal, that’s a good start. From there, you stroll at your leisure to the checking-in booths, where the staff are incredibly attentive and helpful, unlike an airport where you are nothing more than an annoyance to the airline.

For starters, there is no handing over of hard-earned cash just to pay for the pleasure of being dropped off at the door to use the company’s own facilities. I wonder if I should begin charging the postman to put letters in my letterbox.

We approached a desk, I had my white cane out for all to see, I had booked assistance. As soon as the most-polite lady in Southampton spotted my stick, she could not do enough to make my day any better. Once she had put my name in the computer, quite surprisingly, it said yes. What a relief!

Most times we rock up at an airport we press the button for assistance, and no-one has ever heard of me. It is like I am a nuisance, much like a family cat who has dumped a dead pigeon in the kitchen and is seeking your approbation.

We were escorted through a maze of zig-zag corridors, up and down stairs, lifts were available, before we found ourselves passing through one final set of doors. We discovered that we were in the well-appointed ship’s reception, taking proffered glasses of something bubbly from smiling stewards, it was rather magnificent.

It has to be pointed out here that I am a bit of a philistine when it comes to things of an effervescent nature. As it happens, so were others. What is it with some folk, give them a glass of fizz and they display knowledge only known to connoisseurs. I had no idea whether I was glugging champagne or prosecco or, for that matter, bubble bath, and, frankly, didn’t care.

Others, though, sniffed the liquid, perhaps they thought it was glue of some sort, I have no idea, before proclaiming, “My word, what an extraordinary example of the 1764 vintage from the barrels that used to store the king’s bodily waste. They then twirl it around, I knew they were doing this as I felt the occasional splash land on my face, before declaring how wonderful its density and nose were.

What’s the saying, I think it is something like if people think you look stupid, don’t open your mouth to confirm it. It seems like a thin line separating stupid from supercilious. I looked up what makes a good wine. That was a mistake, go and do it, I am not sure you will ever want to drink it again. At one point it said you should be able to taste the earth and the forest floor in it. Well, I have walked through a number of forests and wouldn’t be particularly attracted to anything I might find laying on the ground there.

Some thought it to be champers whilst others said it was an amazing prosecco. I would much have preferred a bottle of IPA, no glass required. What always surprises me during these moments is that my wife always seems to know what I am thinking. Most of the time she is unerringly accurate. Pretentious and pompous come to mind.

Robert abord Cunard's MS Queen Victoria

Quite remarkably, our cabin was ready, don’t ever call it a room in front of the crew, they get a bit sniffy about that sort of thing. Oh, and another thing about etiquette, it isn’t a boat, it’s a ship. That mistake could lead to a keelhauling.

Ah, hold on a minute, you were not allowed to go straight to your suite, an acceptable noun given that, remember, Cunard is a luxury brand. Who bestows these honorifics on organisations? I couldn’t let that one go, so I plunged down a few online rabbit holes and, frankly, am none the wiser. Here is one definition I discovered lurking within the AI world:

“The Incomparability Factor: Premium brands are comparable, for example, comparing an Apple iPhone to a Samsung Galaxy). Luxury objects position themselves as incomparable pieces of art or heritage; you do not buy a Rolex purely to check the time more accurately than a Casio.”

What about that then? As clear as mud. I have never owned a Rolex but have had a number of Casio timepieces. I have never been the victim of a smashing over the head and could still tell the time. I don’t get it, but that’s just me.

Okay, I think there are plenty passenger ships that compare well to Cunard. Then, though, they have the heritage. True, but let’s take a look at that one. They pride themselves on their White Star service. I am not sure that I would be using this in my advertising if I were Cunard.

Let’s think about it for a minute. White Star is a brand they picked up when they bought the White Star line. Yeah, it goes back years, so certainly falls into the incomparable heritage box. White Star once owned “RMS Titanic,” and we all know what happened there. So, I have come to this conclusion, it does you no good seeking out luxury brands, you can still end up at the bottom of the sea although, it has to be said, you would be found with a smile on your face because you were wearing a Rolex.

Our first port of call was the muster station. This is where we would gather in the unlikely event that we might sink. Now, given that they have an inherited history on this I thought they might have afforded it a little more attention. In the past, we have joined other passengers on deck by the lifeboats.

Don’t get me wrong, I believe we were all grateful to remain indoors, it was perishing outside, but we gathered in the theatre and all we had to do was swipe our cabin keycards to confirm our attendance. That was it, all done, we were now free to go off and roam. I did think we might, at least, get to try a lifejacket on.

Forgive me for banging on here, it is time for a whinge. In my ante-cruise correspondence with the company I had informed them that I was registered blind and might need assistance. Not a problem, if I waited in my cabin a member of staff would collect me for a personal tour to acquaint myself with the layout, especially the health and safety stuff.

I can’t remember how long it was before I reported into the purser, maybe three or four days, where a lovely young lady, with a minimal grasp of English, informed me that they had no such record. And, to boot, to the best of her knowledge, it wasn’t a service that they offered. It had all been going so well!

Have you noticed, after an enquiry has taken place into some sort of foreseen and avoidable tragedy an organisation will always put some poor fellow in front of the news media to apologise and state that they hope to learn from their mistakes. The encounter with the iceberg took place nearly 114 years prior to our setting sail. I wasn’t convinced.