And sundry other observations regarding trans-Atlantic crossing.
Tony Macaroni
The Queen Mary II is fairly bursting with musical diversions. There are no fewer than three pianists, a harpist, a jazz trio, a string quartet, a DJ, a roving classical guitarist, an entire guest orchestra and a musical revue troupe. The latter perform in an ornate theatre and are unaccountably popular. I say unaccountably because they focus on the kind of schtick that would have won standing ovations in Atlantic City or Brighton in 1959. Take last night for example when the program was entitled 'Viva Italia' and featured a character named Tony Macaroni (no, I'm not making this up) warbling pieces that brought the Bugs Bunny cartoon version of Italy to mind. We heard this through the thin wall separating the theatre from the board games area. A touch surreal.
The 25 Hour Day
Six out of the eight days we set our clocks back an hour, thus creating a delicious series of 25 hour days. This makes up for the lost Father's Day, eradicated by the International Date Line on the flight to Australia, and it fulfills the perennial fantasy to have just a little more time every day.
Fore - Aft Confusion
The ship is enormous and the layout bewildering. Although by this point I have more or less got the gist of where everything is and how to get there, when I can't see the ocean I often still get fore and aft confused and end up blundering a hundred meters or more in the wrong direction before I realize it. Little arrows incorporated into the decor would be welcome...
The Floor Moves
Even though the QM2 has the newest stabilizer technology, the floor still moves all the time. Not much mind you, but if you're foolish enough to dwell on it, it is noticeable. One's strides automatically get shorter and longer as the floor goes up and down and one automatically walks in a subtle serpentine, as the floor tips side to side, like a drunk trying hard to look sober. Our stateroom is near the bow where the movement is the greatest. Now I know why it was cheaper. I have to give credit to Lorraine though for talking me into the minor upgrade of a porthole as without a view of the horizon one could easily become queasy. Or worse.
The Promenade
Once around the teak promenade deck is 526 meters. Many modern cruise ships have done away with the promenade deck to increase the amount of space available for deluxe cabins with private balconies. This is an outrage. And this is one distinction between crossing and cruising. This distinction is a subject that gets me frothing and probably should have a post of its own.
Rejuvenation
The trans-Atlantic crossing is rejuvenating in two ways. Firstly, as long as you avoid the unspeakably foul ventilation shafts near the starboard aft the air here in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean is arguably amongst the purest on earth. Walking the promenade feels like it should add years. Secondly 80% of the passengers are older than me. Maybe even 90%. The main age categories on board are the "young old" (walking briskly), the "regular old" (walking slowly) and the "old old" (shuffling or rolling). I am called "young man" (!) and I would run, but I chose not to.
The Atlantic
It is pewter grey, it is brilliant blue, it is shining quicksilver. It is satin flat, it rolls in sensuous swells, it roils in chaotic whitecaps. Much like the Australian Outback and the Namib Desert it appears dull and featureless to the casual (careless) observer, but I love it and it does reward patient observation. The play of light, the subtle shadings and then suddenly out here, more than a thousand miles from anywhere, a pod of dolphins are arcing out of the water, miraculous, gleaming. The anti Tony Macaronis.
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