Long Live The Queen - Part 3

From The Darkest Depths to Southampton

By day 3 we has settled in to a steady groove. The air had become somewhat more biting, as one would expect with our 200 mile detour to the north, but remained a still pleasant 60 - 62 degrees F, or 15C - 16C. But what really affects your comfort more than anything else on a fast ship like this is the wind speed and direction. For the most part we were very spoiled on this crossing as we had predominantly following winds, that is they were blowing at the back of the ship. Many times I looked at the weather on the nav display and would see it reading around 30 knots from 270 degrees, meaning it was right behind us and almost exactly matching our speed. This means if I were to go out on deck, the air should nearly be still. So I went out and amazingly... it was. Due to minor course changes, gusts and other little variables, you'd get the odd unpredictable breeze, but for the most part it was very, very calm. Even at 15C, you could sit just about anywhere on the sunny side of the ship and roast away.

In the afternoon we managed to get tickets to another planetarium show and this time made it in. And despite the design constraints of fitting it on a ship, it's just like being at the real thing! The dome is a large retractable affair which is housed in the ceiling of the ship's theater and is lowered when needed. When sitting anywhere but the very edge, it is every bit as good as the big boys. The shows themselves are produced by the American Museum of Natural History and are narrated by well known actors and space buffs like Tom Hanks and Harrison Ford. The second show in particular we saw the next day on the size of the universe was absolutely awesome. During the day you can also attend lectures by authors, historians and experts on various subjects. Those on our voyage included Margaret Atwood, astronomer Ian Ridpath from the Royal Astronomical Society, and an English coroner who's an authority on Jack the Ripper. I expect that last session was not for the squeamish. Every night there was a very good selection of movies to watch, but I couldn't imagine sitting in there while there was such much more of the ship to see, not to mention the whole experience of just being on deck and watching the North Atlantic roll by, something you simply cannot buy anywhere else.
If those things weren't enough to keep you occupied, the daily list of other activities delivered to our cabin every night with the ship's news letter was staggering. On any given day I counted more than 80 different scheduled activities... classes, workshops, seminars, lectures, ballroom dances, theater plays, wine tastings, opera performances, musical reviews, it was mind boggling.

One of my favorite daily rituals quickly became listening to the noon address by our ship's master. Commodore Warren would come on the P.A. at around 12:15 everyday to greet us and give a brief update on the ship's position, expected weather and various news and highlights about the voyage so far. Listening to him was a real treat as he had that perfectly formal ironclad British commander's voice. Icy cool, assured and confident, he ambled along at a stately, measured pace, with good long pauses for dramatic effect. But you could also hear a degree of warmth behind it that suggested this was a man who was extremely passionate about his position and the experiences it afforded him, and he peppered his daily speech with the sort of little trivial nuggets that might somewhat bore the average passenger but fascinated those of us who wanted to soak up every second of the true experience. If ever I had to go to war at sea, this was the man I wanted at the helm. It was in fact very, very easy to close one's eyes and imagine that we were now on a troop ship crossing the Atlantic in 1943, enemy on the hunt for us, mines lying in wait in the channel. I'm sure Commodore Warren would have sounded just about exactly the same...

"Ladies and Gentlemen, we're terribly sorry to have to interrupt the afternoon tea service, but our observers have just detected a U-boat several hundred yards off the starboard bow, and we must immediately commence depth charge operations (long pause)... We would ask that you kindly avoid walking on deck during this time (pause) due to the risk of flying debris (pause) and we do promise to resume the service once jerry has been successfully dispatched"...

I smile thinking about this, but the reality was no joke. And Queen Mary 2, believe it or not, is a direct descendant of ships that performed that exact duty.
From the very beginning of WWII, the most dangerous ocean on earth was the North Atlantic. If you were a merchant seaman at that time, things did not look good for you making it home. At the peak of the U-boat attacks in mid 1943, nearly 60 allied ships a month were being sunk. By war's end, allied merchant shipping had lost a total of 3500 ships and over 30,000 sailors. It was under these conditions that the commanders faced the difficult proposition of finding some way to transport the massive numbers of troops they needed to invade Europe from North America, and getting them there alive. On top of the horrible loss factor, there were no allied military ships in existence at that time that could carry the sheer number of men necessary in order to meet the schedule. The best option for addressing both the need for safety and capacity was to commandeer the largest passenger liners they could find, and the three stars of this converted fleet were Cunard's Aquitania, Queen Elizabeth, and Queen Mary. The latter two each could carry up to 16,000 men per crossing, which nearly on its own made the entire venture possible. But not only did they have enormous capacity, they were also three of the fastest ships in the world, and despite having some deck guns fitted to discourage would-be attackers it was this speed which provided their best defense. Unlike the thousands of vessels in the merchant ship convoys, the three big Cunarders ran in continuous service across the Atlantic for more than two years completely alone more than 90% of the time, without any form of military escort. One doesn't even want to begin to contemplate the horrors of one just of them being sunk... with 16,000 men on board not only would it have been the worst maritime disaster in history by a factor of ten, but it would have been one of the single greatest losses of any kind in WWII and terrible blow to morale for the allies.
Despite the perils, they ferried more than 1 million men in complete safety and by Winston Churchill's estimation, contributed to shortening the war by at least one year. This is without question the ultimate tribute to the incredible engineering of this family of liners. To further illustrate how rugged they were, consider these two incidents I came across on QM2's direct ancestor, the Queen Mary, during her WWII service...

On October 2nd 1942, the HMS Curacoa, a 450' long British gun ship, was sailing in formation with Queen Mary as she left Ireland. At that time it was normal for ships to steer a zigzag course to make torpedo intercepts more difficult, even when grouped. Unfortunately the Curacoa misjudged her partner's intentions and turned in front of QM at the wrong moment. The Queen Mary, having no time to maneuver, smashed into her at full speed amid ship and her massive bow split the Curacoa cleanly in two. Due to the danger of U-boats in the area, she was under strict orders to continue and made it to Boston only a day behind schedule. Other ships in the area arrivied shortly on scene, but unfortunaely only 98 of the 338 men aboard the Curacoa survived.

In December 1942, QM was carrying 16,082 American troops from New York to Great Britain, a standing record for the most passengers ever transported on one vessel. While 700 miles from Scotland during a gale, she was suddenly hit broadside by a rogue wave that may have reached a height of 28 metres (92 ft). An account of this crossing can be found in Walter Ford Carter's book, No Greater Sacrifice, No Greater Love. Carter's father, Dr. Norval Carter, part of the 110th Station Hospital on board at the time, wrote that at one point the Queen Mary "damned near capsized... One moment the top deck was at its usual height and then, swoom! Down, over, and forward she would pitch".Very few other ships would likely have survived the incident, especially with such a heavy load. The occurrence inspired Paul Gallico to write his story, The Poseidon Adventure, which was later made into a film by the same name, using the Queen Mary as a stand-in for the SS Poseidon.

Although we can be thankful that we don't have to worry about being torpedoed or dive-bombed, the threat of bad weather remains a real issue for crossing the Atlantic at all times, and can be extremely serious in winter. The danger posed to most ships cannot be underestimated, to this day commercial vessels still disappear at a rate of two a week due worldwide to weather conditions and the North Atlantic claims more than her share. Even ships designed for these waters can be at peril. During a westbound crossing in 1966 the Italian liner Michelangelo was hit by a large wave that collapsed part of her superstructure, injuring more than fifty people and killing two crewmen. That particular incident was foremost on the mind of naval architect Stephen Payne when her set out to design QM2. Borrowing and improving upon all the lessons learned by her formidable predecessors Queen Mary and specifically Queen Elizabeth 2, QM2 was conceived from the beginning to achieve, in his words, "epic invulnerability". I for one am happy with the results so far, and see no need to have the claim proven further to me.

Days 4, 5 and 6 seemed to fly by, I can't believe how quickly the time passed. Many wonderful opportunities kept coming my way, on Thursday I got to meet our ship's master at a book signing in the library.
I had to wait about a half an hour to make it to the head of the line, but once there Commodore Warren was extremely gracious, not only signing my book but indulging a number of my pointy questions on the ships technical aspects. He also corrected my assessment of what caused the pitching we had experienced in the wee hours of Monday morning. Although Bill did dump some leftover showers on us, he had little to do with the ride, that was due to some fairly aggressive waves caused by a mixture of some local offshore currents and the strong following winds. Although this type of wind is nice for walking the deck, it can actually cause the waves to race up and overtake you from behind, "jacking" the ship up from rear to front and causing some rather nasty pitching.

We saw a second planetarium show, ate more fabulous food, hung out at the pub and the champagne bar, and continued to find new rooms, passageways and decks. On the morning of our last day at sea, I take an early morning walk around the lower decks. One spot I love in particular is the Game Room corridor, where there are about twenty tables lined up alongside a like number of big portholes, looking out onto the ocean flying by at near eye level. Once again, I am amazed at how the sea surges and pounds at the hull outside, but nary a thing moves inside the ship. Spotting a backgammon chip lying on one of the tables, I get an idea.
Time for a little Bill Nye the Science guy style experiment...

Despite my leisurely pace and best efforts to rest, my cold worsened, and it was getting to the point where I couldn't stop coughing. I tried every over-the-counter med I could buy in the ship store, but nothing seemed to work for more than an hour at best. By the last afternoon I could take it no more, and I suspect my mom, despite her her vehement claims otherwise, was by now entertaining the idea of chucking me overboard in my sleep, so I went down to the ship's medical center and saw the doc. Expecting to find little more than a desk and a small examination room, I walked into for what appeared to be a full blown CLSC sized operation, and the service was as polite and efficient as anywhere else on the ship.
The prognosis: Bronchitis.
Lovely.
But the doc fixed me up with the good stuff, some heavily fortified codeine cough syrup, and finally I had some relief.
My plan for the last day was to get up in the wee hours so I could see the English coast appear and watch the intricate dance needed to shuffle such a massive liner into the docks at Southampton, but it was not to be. I did wake up at the required 3:00 am, but one walk outside into the chilly breeze on the balcony convinced me that it wouldn't be a bright move from a health perspective. It's a rare day that I choose the sensible solution over the exciting alternative, but knowing I would have to be back at my desk in what seemed like mere hours now I thought the better of it. I knew I would regret it. When we awoke for real it was eerily quiet, no sound of the seas, no nothing. I peeled back the drapes and looked out, sure enough we were parked at the docks. Damn.
We eat breakfast on board for the last time and at the appointed moment head for the main theater, where the passengers are staged in groups for disembarkation. This goes without a hitch, and my mom, old-time cruise hand, is amazed at the lack of lines, crowds, or bottlenecks of any sort. In a matter of moments we are in our bus and on our way to Heathrow, where we will spend nearly the entire day trapped in the terminal waiting for our flight. Ugh.
As our bus pulls away from the pier, I take one good, long, last look at Her Highness. I can't believe we have to go. Given my choice, I would hop right back on and ride back to the Big Apple. And that's just what many people do. I now can now fully and completely understand why.
I've really tried my best to convey the experience of what this was like in words, but reading it back now it's not even close to cutting it. This ship has more soul, spirit and thundering majesty than all other means of locomotion I've had the pleasure of travelling in or on combined. If you have the time and the funds, there is simply NO other way to go. This may have been my first voyage on Queen Mary 2, but rest assured, it will definitely not be my last.

Farewell, Queen.

More images available at:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/41542666@N07/sets/72157622115382203/detail/

Long Live The Queen - Part 2

Days 1 & 2 At Sea

Until yesterday evening, I thought little would top our first night at sea for excitement.
Right up until we went to bed on Sunday night, the ship was riding so smoothly you would have thought we were in port. I for one have little to compare it to, the largest vessel I’d been on to date was the ferry to P.E.I…. not quite in the same league.
Our dinner table companions however all turned out to be veteran cruisers, and were unanimous in their opinion that the Queen was in class by herself when it came to stability. Little did I know we would be testing that substantially in just a few hours.
Speaking of dinner companions, the fellow guests we are seated with in the Britannia room are very good company. This is a relief, as one’s table seating is established in advance and is generally supposed to remain the same for the entire voyage.
Now, you can certainly request a change in time – there are 6:00 pm and 8:30 pm seatings for dinner – or you could alternatively request a table for two instead of 6. But happily we very much enjoy our little gang; a couple from Tampa who spend a great deal of time cruising and are very entertaining, a very nice ex-pat English lady from Victoria B.C., and our last guest is just exactly whom I pictured meeting in such a setting, a very cultured French widow who has lived most of her life in Manhattan and is quite fascinating. This is actually her third crossing on QM2, so she is definitely our group’s expert on the matter.
The food is wonderful, the first night I have a steak that simply melted in my mouth, and when dessert is served, I am delighted to see that each night’s selections include at least one sugar-free option, in this case a tasty plum cobbler. Maybe I won’t come home looking like the Michelin man after all.
Another nice thing is that the dress code is quite formal. Even the “casual” night requires a jacket, and for two of our six dinners a full-blown tux is mandatory! I must admit, initially I was not happy about having to shell out large for the new clothes required just to be semi-presentable here, but I’m now a convert. During the day, where one can wander around in whatever one pleases, I haven’t been able to bring myself to don a pair of jeans… even when in “deck wear”, long shorts and a golf shirt, I can’t bear to leave the shirt un-tucked. Bad form, you know. What would Samuel Cunard say if he were here today?

Sunday evening we drift off with just the slightest hint of rocking to lull us. We leave the balcony door open as we can hear the soothing sound of the bow wake rolling along, sounding very much like a slow motion version of a gentle beach surf. But that wasn’t going to last for long. Somewhere around 3:00 am my sinuses begin to revolt, and I awake to something I’ve never experienced, a ship pitching at sea. Just as in aircraft terminology, “pitch” is when the ship rocks back and forth from bow to stern (or nose to tail, for all you land-lubbers). Unlike roll, the side-to-side motion that can be controlled by the ship’s stabilizer fins, pitch is not easily fixed; you pretty much just have to ride it out. The main advantage with QM2 is that her enormous length, weight and center-positioned engines go a very long way in negating this effect. Knowing this, I am now very curious as to why I can feel it. And I mean really feel it. If I plant my head hard into the dense feather pillow, I suddenly can pick up noises coming up through the deck floor, it’s like my ear is connected to the ship’s structure. I can now hear the cycle… the bow starts to rise, very faint, distant creaking from the hull, a long pause at the top, then she starts to go down, and suddenly waves crash along the bow all the way to the hull below our cabin. Wow. What a show. I lie there and listen, finally curiosity gets the better of me and I lumber out on to balcony to see if I can gauge the swells. Nope, it’s pure black out there, save for the furious, churning cauldron of foam as the bow crashes into the sea, just barely visible in the faint glow from the deck lights.
After I while I get used to it, it’s not anywhere near bad enough that you would have trouble walking around, and eventually drift off to sleep.

The next morning, I make a connection; we have likely run through the remnants of hurricane Bill. Although we know well in advance that Bill was going to pass right by NY the day before our departure, the beautiful sun and high seventies temperatures when we sailed convinced me that Bill had long packed up shop, so I pretty much gave up hope of him provide any excitement or tests of the Queen’s mettle (or metal). But it seems he’s left a bit of a mess a couple of hundred miles out, as the churlish coastal waters attested. Once again, the veteran cruisers claim what we felt on board was nothing. If that’s the case, I can now begin to understand why most flat-bottom cruise ships are decorated in barf bags. I’ve yet to even spot any here. Nevertheless, this morning our Rolls Royce like ride is back, I can balance a dime just about anywhere on the ship, despite the 5 to 10 foot waves outside.
Cool discovery: channel 38 on the TV has a continuous rotation of live data feeds from the bridge with the ship’s position, heading, speed as well as all the weather and sea reports you could want. I can now just sit back, watch the north Atlantic roll by and totally geek out!

Why is there a kink in this track? Read on...

That afternoon brings a sobering moment. Every day around noon our commodore – yes, lesser ships have captains, QM2 has a commodore – comes on the P.A. and gives us an update on how the voyage is progressing, important events, etc, and today’s announcement includes the fact that around 3:00 pm we’ll be passing about 40 miles north of Titanic’s final resting place.
Say what?
My boss Glenn had been joking for weeks prior to departure about my imminent demise on “the Titanic”. I reassured him that despite the fact there was little chance of us seeing any icebergs, after Titanic’s tragic encounter the liner companies had long since moved their routes further south. But apparently that’s changed! We are now following nearly the in the exact same footsteps of the most famous ship of all time. Maybe I should get back up on the lookout deck…
My miserable cold is now in full swing, so I spend most of my day sitting around the cabin watching the sea go by. The weather however is lovely, early morning showers have given way to sun and high seventies once again. But it’s hardly imprisonment, just sitting in a deck chair and looking at the white caps, listening to the roar of the ocean being split by the Queen’s mighty 4 screws, and imagining what’s below us, is wonderfully therapeutic.
Speaking of depth, the commodore announces we are now off the shallow area of the Grand Banks and out into the North Atlantic’s deep. The ocean’s floor now lies some 16,000 ft below us. Imagine getting out here for a swim, and knowing that the water below you goes on for 5 kilometers straight down.
With a small bit of charge in now my batteries, I go out for a little excursion. Down at the bow end of our deck is the library. With over 9,000 books, it’s the largest one afloat. But what is really striking is that it is surrounded by beautiful bay-window sized portholes that look out over the bow, and from this height the view is nearly as good as that of the crew’s on the bridge just above us. I carefully stalk and eventually snag a seat right in front of one of these.

After a brief snooze it’s once again dinnertime. Tonight is a formal night, so the ladies are required to wear evening gowns, and the men tuxedos. This really drives home the experience, just seeing the crowd lined up to enter the dining room, dressed to the nines, string quartet playing as we are ushered to our table... it’s like the clock has suddenly been turned back 90 years. One thing I didn’t expect though was the hugely mixed demographic. Brig wasn’t the least bit worried about letting me loose for this gig, as we both figured it was going to be the blue-rinse crowd all the way. She loved to joke on how I was going to get hit on by all the eighty-something ladies. This turns out not to be the case. Everyone you can imagine was aboard, young, old, kids, adults, singles, couples. There may have even been some unusually attractive women wearing dresses of less than a, shall we say, formal length. But I didn’t notice. At least I think I didn’t notice… I’m really quite sure I didn’t notice.
Day 2 at sea begins with even better weather, a pretty mix of sun and cloud. I finally get down to the business of blogging, but take breaks to visit a few spots on the ship for inspiration, one being the main cafeteria called Kings Court. They have a fairly normal assortment of breakfast foods, but I am most impressed with the quality of their scrambled eggs, omelets and sausages, which I consume to near bursting point. Again, like most public areas on the ship, there are full size windows out onto the sea all around, so it’s easy to stay ringside for the show outside. Another feature we are to discover today is the ship’s planetarium. Yes, you read that right, QM2 has her own genuine planetarium, unique so far in the ocean-going world. The room it’s housed in also performs the duties of meeting/lecture hall and movie theater. We get tickets to the 2:30 pm show, but lose track of time and wind up missing it. No matter, the shows repeat throughout the voyage, so we will have many opportunities to catch the two different ones offered.

Shortly before dinner, the P.A.sounds. This time the speaker in our cabin crackles to life, meaning the announcement is important. The commodore comes on to say that one of the passengers on board is gravely ill and will have to be taken off the ship to hospital. The problem is that we are well out to sea, now beyond the range of any helicopters, so we must immediately change course and steam north towards Newfoundland. Once we are within range – about 200 miles away – a Canadian Coast Guard helicopter will rendezvous with us, which is expected to be around 9:00 pm this evening.
This ought be interesting…
But for now there’s little we can do about it, so we proceed with our dinner plans.
Tonight’s meal will be a special treat, we have reserved a spot at Todd English, yes, of the chain belonging to the famous chef. Here one pays a minor premium for the privilege, but the quieter ambience makes a nice change, and if the food in the dining room was really good, then Todd’s is out of this world. I had a beef tenderloin cut garnished with pieces of lobster in a cream sauce that was just spectacular. For dessert Todd doesn’t do sugar free, so I throw the rules out the window (sorry, porthole) and indulge in a banana crème brule topped with coconut cream pudding. Wonderful.
After dinner the countdown begins. Shortly before 9:00 pm I make my way towards the observation deck to see if I can find a spot to watch the rendezvous. This will be quite a feat, as the upper decks of the ship are not sufficiently reinforced to bear he weight of something the size of a Sea King helicopter (Editor's note: fellow passenger and Montrealer Martin was kind enough to correct me on this, ye olde Sea Kings have been retired in favour of a fleet of new CH-149 Cormerants - shame on me. This is why, he also points out, we were not showered in loose parts as they hovered overhead...), so they will have to hover over the ship and winch the patient up. Unfortunately, within a few minutes an army of security personnel appears and starts herding us off the decks, safety concerns, you know. Damn.
I make like I’m heading back to my cabin, but once inside the ship fake right and head for a different corridor, hoping to work my way up one of the back stairwells into an incognito spot. Just as I am about to make it down the hall, a security woman nabs me and asks where I’m going…
“Er, just for a walk”, I say, not looking at all suspicious in my big black hooded raincoat.
She explains that all access routes to the outside deck are closed for the rescue operation, and that I will have to head somewhere else. By now there are security people roaming everywhere, and I hear then telling some people that even the cabin corridors for decks 11 and 12 are closed.
Expletive.
No chance now.
I skulk back to our cabin, the best I can hope for now s a glimpse of the chopper as it comes in, but I won’t see anything else from our balcony. But as soon as I walk outside, I see yet another sign of just how seriously they prepare for such matters; a full rescue crew is manning one of the life boats and preparing it for drop in case something goes wrong.

At about 9:15 a Coast Guard C-130 Hercules aircraft buzzes over, confirming our location and radioing it back to the helicopter still a few miles out. Suddenly the chopper appears. I can just make out the familiar fuselage shape in the dim glow of its navigational lights as it does a slow circuit of the ship, finally positioning itself out of sight over the top deck.

What’s interesting is that we don’t stop, we are still moving forward at around 10 – 12 knots. I suspect this is to give us some stability, if we were to come to a full stop we would have no effective directional or stabilization control and would wind up bobbing around like a cork. This way at least things are rock steady on our end, making the winching operation that much safer. I must say I have tremendous respect for the Coast Guard pilot though; keeping a steady hover over a moving ship at sea can’t be easy. Not long after, a second helicopter appears, no doubt a backup. The C-130 continues to circle us and drops flares to light up the area.

Quite the show! But it’s taking a long time. By my watch, nearly 30 minutes go by with the two choppers hovering over us. That’s not good, I can’t imagine they’re going to have anything more than fumes left by the time they get home.

Update: We make the news!... http://www.canada.com/Cormorant+airlifts+passenger+luxury+liner/1931569/story.html

Then as suddenly as they appeared, they’re gone.
Moments later the commodore comes back on the P.A. to tell us the operation was a success and thanks us for our cooperation and patience. Although we have steamed some 200 miles off route, he assures us that we will still be precisely on time in Southampton. Some quick mental calculations tell me this is possible, but he’s going to have to push the throttles to their stops. And if we want to hit the Queen’s maximum speed, 29.6 knots as per her sea trials, he’ll have to retract the stabilizers. So now not only do we get to see if she really can hit her advertised top end in seas which will soon rock with swells topping 10 to 20 ft, but also how she does when playing it old school, that is without benefit of her computerized fins holding us level.
By 11:00 pm we are back on course and headed out for what may well be the worst waters of the trip, the center of the North Atlantic. All 4 diesels and both gas turbines are in full song, and you can now actually feel a bit of a thrumming through the floor when you walk around. But damned if the ride isn’t still glass smooth. There is just the tiniest bit of side-to-side shunting, reminiscent of the way a train rocks on its tracks, but otherwise it’s business as usual. I turn on the TV and wait for the speed to appear on the navigational display…
Exactly 29.6 knots.
The sea outside is smashing, churning and flying by like I’ve never seen.
I drift off to sleep in awe.

More images available at:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/41542666@N07/sets/72157622115382203/detail/

Long Live The Queen - Part 1

The Voyage Begins

Greetings all, and welcome aboard the Queen Mary 2, the grandest ocean liner ever to sail the seven seas. And that’s no exaggeration.
At 1,132 ft in length, 152 ft in width and 150,000 tons in weight, she literally is the largest passenger vessel ever constructed.
At $800 million U.S, by far the most expensive.
And with a top cruising speed of 30 knots, one of the fastest as well.
For the next 4 days, I will endeavor to try and bring you all along in spirit for what I believe so to be one of the greatest travel experiences there is, a trans-Atlantic crossing on a proper ocean liner.
The story of how I wound up here goes back quite some time. For many years, I have been surrounded by a family of cruise ship addicts. It started with my parents, and then at some point infected my sister, her husband… even my niece Emily has now been assimilated.
However the traditional “cruise” holds little interest for me. As long as I have been old enough to travel on my own, my idea of a good trip has been to set my own agenda; that is go where I want to go, see what I want to see and stay as long – or as short – a time as I like. The idea of being herded around islands day after day and having to stick to a rigid schedule, running from bus to bus and follow a guide around is not my idea of a good time. I so much prefer to just fly somewhere, rent a car, jeep, scooter, whatever, and just disappear, only to return when it’s time to fly home.
But a crossing is quite a different matter.
For one thing, there is a tremendously rich history here. Before the age of the airliner, this was the premium mode of international travel. As well, there are the thousands of stories of so many immigrants who sailed ships like this to The New World. Unless you’re 100% aboriginal in origin, there’s a very good chance that someone in your not so distant past arrived this way. And finally there is the North Atlantic herself, an ocean with a legacy so vast it could fill a reasonable size library on its own. From the Vikings to Columbus, Jacques Cartier to the Pilgrims, the horrific stories of the Liberty ships against the U-boats, and of course the grand dame of these waters, the Titanic, the realization of who and what has passed before me – or lies beneath me – is astounding.
So for many years when I would see images of one of the great liners steaming into New York or Southampton, I always felt a sense that I was missing something, and that if the chance came to experience such a voyage I would gladly jump on it. Unfortunately, time seemed to be running out. By the late nineties, most of the great liners had long since retired, only the QE2 was doing yeoman’s duty, and she was on the brink of retirement to due to steadily declining business.

Suddenly, it all changed.
When James Cameron released his epic Titanic in 1998, few people realized what a dramatic impact it would have in recapturing the public’s interest in the grandeur of the traditional ocean crossing. That same year, the famous but fading Cunard line was picked up by cruise giant Carnival, and plans were set in motion to build the greatest liner the world had ever seen – the Queen Mary 2. In 2004 she set sail for the first time, and the grand tradition gained a new lease on life.
The moment I first saw it in pictures I was stunned. I had no idea that she existed until she made the news on her first sailings, and I clearly remember my first reaction…
“Now THAT’S a proper ship!!!”
None of this upturned-bathtub, floating strip mall nonsense like all those eyesores bobbing around in the Caribbean. This was sleek, elegant, powerful, fast, and built to withstand anything one of the world’s fiercest oceans could dish out.
I was sold.
However, I wasn’t quite sure when I would actually get the chance to sail her. When the subject was brought up, most folks around me just stared blankly.
“You wanna spend six days on a ship heaving up and down in the North Atlantic? To see… nothing?”
Yes.
The reaction was always the same. Pass.
They just didn’t get it.
However one person in my family did. My mom. On the number of occasions when she would try selling me on the idea of joining the rest of them for one of their many cruises, my answer was always the same. Nyet. But at some point I did mention that given the chance I would definitely do a crossing on a real liner.
Little did I know that chance would come sooner rather than later.
Having duly noted these comments, my mother began surreptitiously checking the QM2’s schedules and fares, and when the economy tanked last winter, an opportunity presented itself. QM2 rides were going for a song… was I still truly interested?
What, are you kidding? Where’s my dinner jacket and walking stick…
And so here I am.

Of course the first thing you all want to know is… what’s it like?
In a word, fabulous.
From the moment we pulled into the port in Brooklyn, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. This thing just completely dominates the space around her. At nearly a quarter of a mile long, I suspect she probably creates a noticeable disturbance in the earth’s gravity field. But despite her enormous size, she is truly stunning to look at. From every angle this ship looks the part, drawing heavily on the DNA of great Cunard liners before her to give her that magical blend of elegance and invincibility.

Although the ship appeared stately and ready to go, I unfortunately was far from it. Having spent the last three days on a business trip jumping from air-conditioned car to humid hot air to air-conditioned plane to humid hot air to air-conditioned bus to… well you get the idea, I had come down with some kind of vile cold or flu bug. This was NOT good, because one of the pre-requisites to board was filling out and signing a certificate stating that one was in good health, right down to asking if you had a sore throat (um, no) coughing (of course – HACK! – not) or others symptoms.
In fact I sat for some two hours in the port terminal while waiting to board fighting the instinct to cough or blow my nose with every fiber of my body, lest some clandestine Cunard health inspectors be on the lookout for my sort.
Even while now on board, I’m still careful about displaying such symptoms as anyone with a contagious illness can be confined to quarters.
How bad would that suck?
All this to say it has taken me two days just to find the energy to simultaneously think and type. But I refuse to let it put a damper on my spirits. I am determined to explore and enjoy every aspect of the voyage, even if it means pneumonia for the next 4 weeks!
But enough of my whining, you wanted to know what it was like.
The first thing that strikes you when walking aboard is a sense of reserved opulence. It really does look like the great liners of yore, no ice sculptures or flashy faux surroundings, just the rich, dark textures of fine woods, frosted glass, brass fittings, beautiful carpeting and lovely artwork everywhere you look.
And quiet.
My god is this thing quiet. No matter where you are on the ship, whether you’re in port or pounding back the Atlantic at 30 knots, you can pretty much hear a pin drop.
QM2 has 12 decks and our cabin is on the 8th. It is pleasingly roomy for ship accommodations, but the best part is having a balcony with a large door opening up onto the sea. The view from the 8th is a bit obstructed as we have the life boats parked along side us at this level, but one can still easily see the ocean, and I kind of like having them there. For one, if something really did go wrong, we can literally hop over our railing and be ready to go in a matter of seconds, and two, their space-pod like futuristic design make them look like hi-tech submersibles. This leads to me wandering off in thought, maybe we’re actually out on some expedition with Bob Ballard from the Woods-Hole Oceanographic Institute, searching for the lost continent of Atlantis…

We leave port at 5:00 pm sharp. With minutes to spare I make a beeline for the observation platform at the very top of the ship. At nearly 200 ft up from the waterline, you are literally at eye-to-eye level with the Statue of Liberty as you go by. A mighty, deafening blast suddenly erupts from one of the Queen’s horns – which I’m told can be heard from 16 kms away, and let me tell you I don’t doubt it – and we’re under way.
At first I don’t notice anything but the sudden appearance of smoke from the main stack, but I look out over to the terminal and sure enough we are gracefully easing out into the harbor.
Along with hundreds of other excited passengers, I spend the next hour watching all the famous NY landmarks go by, with the piece-de-resistance being the passage under the Verrazano bridge. When the QM2 was designed, this was actually one of the major constraints, as there is no other access route to the Brooklyn port. As it stands she still has to pass at the highest point, dead center of the span, and even then she only clears the bottom of structure with average of 3 meters. It’s so close that the crew must constantly monitor the tide levels to make sure she’ll fit.

Once out in open waters, we rapidly start passing other traffic. Freighters on the same route are left in our wake like they’re standing still. She may be big, but she hauls! At 30 knots, the QM2 is no faster than her predecessors Queen Mary and Queen Elizabeth 2, but considering she outweighs the two of them combined her speed is still an extraordinarily impressive achievement. The only ships that surpass 100,000 tons and can make 30 knots or better are U.S. navy aircraft carriers, and they rely on massive nuclear powerplants to do it. Although the QM2 has power to spare – her 4 diesels and 2 jet engines provide more than 157,000 hp – the real secret to her hustle is her hull design. Like the other true liners that have come before, she has a much more pronounced V-form to her hull, with a deep draft and a very pointed and elongated bow. This makes for a very clean and efficient shape to cut through the waves. In addition, a large, bulbous cylindrical bow protrusion below the waterline helps to greatly reduce the bow wake and resulting drag.
Soon the shore starts to disappear in the distance and the sun heads for the horizon. I suddenly realize that the hundreds of folks mobbing the upper decks have virtually disappeared.

I walk the length and breadth of the various open areas and passageways of the top deck, and have them pretty much to myself. I take the opportunity to shoot a hundred photos or so, trying to capture the vast size of the thing and beautiful way she is lit from the setting sun through the hazy summer clouds.
At one point I am standing in a large open deck that spans the width of the ship, just behind the superstructure that houses the exhaust stacks. I haven’t seen anyone come by for what seems like an eternity, it’s actually a bit spooky. Walking along one of the far walls, I suddenly feel an overwhelming thrumming in my chest… WHUM WHUM WHUM WHUM WHUM WHUM…
Wow.
I have found a little acoustic corner where the engines’ mighty voice can actually be heard. The pitch is so low it’s nearly inaudible; you feel it more than hear it. But what a sound. It’s like listening to an earthquake.
I stand with my back to the wall, looking up at the mighty stacks, listening and feeling the thunder emanating from the belly of this giant steel beast. I then realize I can just barely feel the ship move with the swells, and can now see the minor course corrections as I watch the horizon to either side. For a few brief moments, I feel like I am one with the vessel that’s been tasked with taking me and 2,500 other passengers safely across one of the world’s most hazardous oceans. I can think of no other I’d rather trust.

NEWSFLASH!!
Day 2 at sea: Just as I am preparing to upload this, an announcement is made that a patient is gravely ill and must be medevac’ed out by helicopter. Since the Canadian Coast Guard helicopters have a range of little more than 200 miles and we are well on our way out into the mid-Atlantic, we immediately change course and steam north for Newfoundland. The Coast Guard chopper will then rendezvous with us at its maximum range and hover over the ship to pick up the patient at approximately 9:00 pm Newfoundland time.
Stayed tuned for details of the rescue in tomorrow’s installment!

More images available at:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/41542666@N07/sets/72157622115382203/detail/