What it's like to sail on a liner of luxuries

Published on Tuesday 13 July 2004 11:45

‘WE have a long, uncertain night ahead." Boarding the Queen Mary 2 on Sunday afternoon in Southampton, that statement, writ large on a wall near the lifts, summed up my feelings pretty well. Which was worrying because it was a quote from someone about the Titanic.

I didn’t feel any sense of impending doom, though, despite having read all about the 430 million QM2 - the successor to the QE2 - being jinxed. Before the ship was even completed, 15 people tragically died after a temporary gangway collapsed while families of workers were visiting the liner.

It was more a sense of the ridiculous. And it began before we even left dry land. Waiting in the departure lounge at Southampton Docks, I tried to do a little millionaire-spotting but they all appeared to have come heavily disguised.

While I noticed a limo had dropped some passengers off, cagoules were far more evident than Chanel suits and one woman was sporting a cheap-looking tattoo of the Canadian flag on her upper arm. Maybe the rich people were all hiding behind the amazing numbers of Financial Times papers being read. Predictably, there seemed to be a strong contingent of Americans, and Japanese, but I also overheard French, Spanish and English.

We were all waiting to be allowed to embark, a process which was regulated by a bizarre colour-code system.

Every now and then a Tannoy would crackle into life and a woman would announce that all those in possession of peach/dark green/whatever coloured cards could board.

After waiting for more than an hour I discovered that the QM2 has as many words for colours as Eskimos have for snow - but none of them light blue, the colour of my boarding pass. I sought out one of the 1253 members of staff - it transpired that my fellow light blues had boarded ages ago and I was ushered through swiftly.

As we left Southampton - to the strains of music, including the slightly cheesy We are Sailing, and blasts from the ship - we were "chaperoned" by a collection of little boats, from yachts and speedboats to jetskis.

Keen to see my cabin, I abandoned the queue for the lifts and took the stairs, which were covered in a carpet that looked worryingly close to leopard-skin print.

I was on Deck 5, and within minutes was swiping my new QM2 ID card to open the door to my room.

My cabin was not as opulent as some of the suites - but then they are at the pricier end of the market. A top-class suite for a 15-day Caribbean cruise this December is currently being advertised for more than 8000. But the bed was beautifully made, scattered with red and gold cushions, two bolster pillows as well as plump pillows and covered with a gold coloured bedspread. The sheets were crisp white cotton and very comfortable. The carpet was soft underfoot and matched the bedspread.

I had my own small settee and table with a TV which could be used for e-mailing as well.

My balcony had two loungers with green cushions to relax on, so you could feel the wind on your face as the ship moved along. The bathroom was pretty compact, with no bath, but a powerful shower.

A half-bottle of champagne was waiting for me, but before I could crack it open and sip a glass, my friendly room steward, Ronald, arrived. His neat outfit put the passengers to shame. He proceeded to give me a guided tour of my room, beaming as he pointed out the vital items - life jacket, shampoo, TV . . . I would be needing the life jacket pretty soon, he added, still beaming. Thankfully, I realised that he was referring to a safety drill.

Trying to banish the Titanic from my thoughts, I continued exploring the ship. It wasn’t easy though. The spiralling staircase in the Grand Lobby immediately conjured up images of Kate Winslet and Leonardo DiCaprio.

It was easy to bond with my fellow passengers as we moved about in the same state of confusion - one of the hazards of being on board the largest cruise ship in the world was being permanently lost.

It was like an unspoken game. Sometimes we pretended we actually knew where we were going, striding purposefully past each other, only to march back just as intently the opposite way, eyebrows raised, with perhaps a small grin.

I ate that evening in the cavernous and classically elegant Britannia Dining Room. Looking up, there was a large, rectangular glass ceiling, deep blue in colour. I was told that in the morning for breakfast it changes to yellow.

Immaculately turned-out waiting staff hurried to seat me and make sure my glass was never less than half-full. Service was ultra-smooth but with a smile, not stuffy at all.

The food was delicious. I had already sampled room service earlier in the day (the guacamole and salsa wrap came with wonderfully fresh salad and beautiful slim silver cutlery) so I had high hopes for dinner. I was not disappointed. My starter of buffalo mozzarella came with shavings of orange peel, artfully arranged, adding real flavour. My main course of flounder was also tasty. Dessert was lovely, a peach tart with cinnamon parfait.

The liner boasts the largest wine collection at sea, and the sancerre and sauvignon blanc I tried were excellent. The glasses and crockery were nothing to write home about, though.

I noticed several pianos around the ship, which looked fabulous, and the jazz band I saw were fantastic. Again, like the rest of the staff they really dressed the part, in smart black djs. But walking around the ship, the decor was not as impressive as I expected. The carpets were nothing special - some had swirly patterns on dull beige backgrounds. There were also noticeable stains on some, despite the ship being so new.

The smell was different though, thankfully, a heady mix of posh perfume. Mostly the walls were decorated with information boards, like the one about the Titanic. In fact, many seemed to refer to disasters at sea, which seemed a little unwise.

The sports facilities impressed the most. There were luxurious whirlpools almost everywhere you looked. Several on deck were steaming quietly, while bar staff waited for customers at nearby bars.

It was cold and windy and we were off the east coast of England, so, unsurprisingly, I saw no-one brave the outdoor swimming pool. There were a few people languishing in the indoor pools, however, which featured not only heated whirlpools and a bar, but also loungers and - the height of luxury - a live band.

On deck there was also a basketball court, tennis court - not full size, and areas for playing quoits and shuffleboard. Inside there was a golf driving range. And for the less energetic, the Canyon Ranch Spa Club offered a host of luxuriant and expensive treatments.

The sailing was smooth and easy - although one of the most bizarre moments happened as we headed up the English east coast - where veteran TV presenter Sir Jimmy Saville had arranged for the ship to sail near his home in Scarborough Bay.

The veteran 78-year-old presenter claimed Cunard, the ship’s owner, owed him a favour - and this was his repayment.

As we reached the seaside North Yorkshire town, we were buzzed by numerous planes and a helicopter, and again met by a collection of other boats. Although we could see the land and were told that thousands of people had lined the shore to see the ship, we were not quite close enough to spot Sir Jimmy or his gold jewellery.

Perhaps it was just as well . . .

• For more information on the QM2, visit www.qm2-uk.com or call 0870-112 1102