The Seabourn Baltic Cruise Part 2: Life at Sea

Hi All,

When I was growing up, I remember hearing stories about life on the ships that brought my grandparents to Ellis Island.  Remembering these, plus a little research online, and I was more than a bit anxious about our ocean voyage.  What about the huge crowds of passengers that would be pushing to get on and off the ship. Would we be forced to drink seawater?  How would bathroom time be allocated? Is there more than one bathroom on the ship?  Would there be long lines for medical care?  Would there be amenities, like food?  And where would we sleep? A hammock strung from the ceiling? And what would we eat, gruel (Seabourn is supposed to be a “luxury” cruise line, so I suppose there would be raisins with the gruel)?

So I was very pleasantly surprised as we were whisked aboard the ship with no delay and shown to our very own berth.

Berth is probably a misnomer.  Think luxurious, wonderful hotel suite at the Four Seasons, except more upscale.

A queen-size bed in the bedroom, a fully stocked refrigerator with every imaginable beverage (alcoholic or not). A flat screen, hi-def TV in the den. A large walk-in closet (with actual hangars for clothes — no nails). The bathroom had a full sized tub AND a shower (no long waits). Floor to ceiling windows and a large veranda about the size of our back yard (not including the pool), and for the frosting on the cake, a bottle of champagne chilling in an ice bucket.  Much, much better than I was expecting.

And I was quite surprised and delighted when I tasted the water from the tap in our room — it wasn’t salty, not even a little bit.

I was happy.  Meanwhile, Jill and I were standing in the “cabin” grinning at each other and about to open the champagne when there was a knock on door.  Our stewardess (a female butler) wanted to introduce herself and welcome us aboard.  She brought us two glasses of champagne for a “Welcome to Seabourn Cruises” toast.

Then we explored…

The communal bathing area on an open deck where I thought the crew forcibly bathed all the passengers to get rid of lice, turned out to be a swimming pool.

Who would have suspected?

 

And they have lots of Jacuzzis, too, almost enough for everyone to have his or her own.

 

The halls on the ship were enormous

An optical illusion-the ship didn’t look that long from the outside

It had a giant formal staircase

I thought the gold went a little overboard (which I hoped was the only thing that would be going overboard on this trip)

 

And even an entertainment area for dancing

 

I I have to apologize here.  In glancing over these pictures,there may be a bit of a mix up. Some of these may be the ones from the Hermitage (the Czars Winter Palace-now a museum) in St Petersburg, but they may be on the boat; it’s difficult to tell.

I’m pretty sure that this is the Grand Stairway on the ship.

Because Jill and I posed in front of it before the “formal dinner”

 

Jill (left) and Richard

 

I don’t want to give anyone the impression that all was perfect. There were issues that need to be addressed.  I was quite dismayed when we went out on our balcony to toast.  The view was terrible — a cement parking lot, a tent to process the passengers — unacceptable

Jill was the best part of the view

As previously stated, Seabourn is upscale organization, and I was not pleased. Before Jill could stop me, I called guest services and demanded to speak to the Captain regarding our view. I was told (very politely, I’ll admit) that the Captain was unavailable at the moment as he was driving the ship (or whatever Captains do to make the ship go), and we would shortly be leaving the port of Stockholm. I was assured that she would quickly alter our accommodations to ensure a more acceptable view.

And sure enough, just 20 minutes later, as the ship was leaving the port, our view, miraculously improved

and it just kept getting better

 

and better

It was just as she promised — this is a quality cruise line.  And another example of how the squeaky wheel gets oiled.

And about that gruel…

we never saw any (unless you include the most delicious homemade muesli I ever tasted).

One more mention about the food…try to imagine everything that you’ve ever eaten or even heard of eating for say, breakfast. They have all those things plus more. And if you don’t like what they have, they will make you what you want.  There were definite pluses.

But just because we had wonderful accommodations with a constantly changing view did not mean that we not in mortal danger from the common occurrences previously described.  After we were plied with copious amounts of champagne, we were invited (actually “ordered” or we would be forced off the ship and possibly flogged) to attend a “safety briefing.” This was basically instructions on how to survive the most common sea-faring disasters (many of which I mentioned in Part 1). We started with what the various alarm horn codes mean and which ones are the most ominous. That was followed by a 30-minute “life boat drill” so everyone knows exactly where to go if (and when) there is a disaster on the ship which causes it to either fill up with smoke or start to sink or both, two apparently pretty common scenarios.

So why were we (probably just me) concerned? And why do I mention this?

We, like many of you, travel frequently by airplane. As you are taxiing for take-off, prior to ascending to 35,000 feet and traveling at 500+ miles per hour, the flight attendants give a 2-minute talk about safety: what to do if there is a water landing (isn’t that an oxymoron?), how to use the slide (like who doesn’t know how to use a slide?), how to use an oxygen mask in case of cabin depressurization, and how to put on your air filled life preserver (which has both a light and a whistle and is quite comfortable to wear), etc. In these “safety briefings,” (which are in, fact, quite brief), I have never heard mention of anything called a “life plane” to be used in case the plane starts going down. There  is no explanation about where your parachutes are located on the plane nor instruction on how to use your parachute. Also, I never ever have I heard the phrase: “Abandon Plane.”

But back to the life boat drill/survival at sea lecture;

The discussion turned to the life jackets that seem to be stored everywhere on the ship, including a large section of our walk-in closet.

They were not comfortable nor air filled.

They are solid cork — impossible to get on or off (in retrospect, as I look at the picture above, I realize that it probably would have been easier had I unbuckled the life vest).

And not particularly comfortable to sleep in

Jill refused to sleep in the same bed if I didn’t remove it.

And of course there are the lifeboats in case you are ordered to “Abandon Ship.”

Hmmm, two lifeboats on each side of the boat for a total of four lifeboats which can probably hold 50 or 60 people each.  There are 450 passengers + 350 crew on the ship.  You do the math!  And where are the “lifeboat amenities”?  The pool? The cabins? The bathrooms?

It seemed to me, if these ships are so safe, why do they spend most of the first several hours on the boat, plying you with copious amounts of alcohol before the “safety lecture”?  Is it to dull the realization that you are on a potential death trap at sea with limited availability of successful escape if the unthinkable occurs?  And why aren’t there any fun things like slides or life jacket whistles, or even comfortable, air-filled life jackets?

On the other hand, there is unlimited caviar which, in the scheme of things, more than makes up for the possibility of the ship hitting an iceberg.

As much as you want, whenever you want.  Sadly, Jill and I only learned this key fact on day five of the seven-day cruise

As far as I can tell, aside from sleeping, there are only three things to do on a ship: drink alcohol, eat, and drink alcohol.

We often did all three

Generally at the same time

 

When we dined on the aft deck.  The crew offered to take our picture

maybe it was the poop deck (and if it was, how did it get its name?)

 

We felt like royalty.  Our every need was attended to.

A blanket if it was chilly

In fact, several of the crew addressed us as Czar Richard and Czarina Jill.  I admonished them explaining that we preferred the more familiar King and Queen.

The Navigation Officer even invited me into his cabin,

and I finally understood the meaning of a nautical phrase that I had heard before.

Officer’s Mess

 

Overall, my initial skepticism about sea travel dissipated rapidly.  Somewhere into the third glass of champagne, we started looking into where we could cruise to next.  Pirates be damned!

Stay tuned for little about out ports of call.

I will sign off with the crew’s moniker for us,

King Richard and Queen Jill

 

Her Majesty has read and approved this for distribution.