Gelli goes South-ish

I guess I should not really be surprised that the QM2 is in reality nothing more than a glorified ikea shuttle but it was still a tad surreal. With nothing more to be gained on deck I headed down to my cabin, shivering in the cold and soaked through : Fog, after all, is nothing more than a cloud which is too lazy to fly, and clouds are just water. I had a hot shower, and then went upstairs to join the queues for breakfast. I stocked up as much as I could and 2nd cup of tea in hand returned to the deck to survey the scene. After a week of essentially doing nothing except avoiding any rogue icebergs and shaking hands with rich passengers, the captain and crew had definitely earned their wages this morning. Daylight had by now fully broken, and though the fog was clearing, it was not an immediate process. Parts of Manhatten and it's skyline were now visible, though muted as opposed to gloriously lit up. The view including the top of 1 WTC which only 2 days earlier had become the tallest building in New York, and although the top was visible the middle section was still hidden by fog. The Statue was more obvious, though detail still not clear. Brooklyn Bridge was visible, and the fog was definitely clearing up, though slowly. This morning would not be a good time for anybody who planned a trip up the Empire State Building.

That is the world famous vista of the Manhattan skyline. Yes, exactly. It mean's i'll have to come back and do it all again in order to get a good view! Note the top of the under construction 1 WTC just appearing out of the fog, with lower reaches still hidden

Standing on deck, It all felt quite surreal and I had one of those “I can't quite believe I am really here” moments that I occasionally have. It felt quite strange but I also felt pretty good, especially in comparison with how I have been for the last few months. I muttered a phrase that I never expected to say: 'Good morning New York City', shivered in the still early morning cold and started pondering the next few weeks.

I had packed the night before – slightly disconcertingly my bag felt both lighter and emptier than when I boarded despite having gained a bottle of bubbly – and after checking my stuff, I paid up and closed my on-board account (previous voyages have all been well into hundreds of dollars. This trip was the princely sum of $13.58) and was back on deck, yet more tea in hand and marvelling as New York City slowly woke up and began to appear, whilst simultaneously being happy to be here and wishing I was still in bed.

I had chosen early self check-out, which basically meant that I was amongst those allowed off first providing I was happy to carry all of my own luggage and accept that there would be no assistance available. As I had little stuff, that was no problem. Immigration took a bit of time, but I was eventually stamped in, welcomed and kicked out on to the streets of a dodgy part of Brooklyn at 07.05 am. For a few short minutes, I just stood and surveyed the scene idly wondering if a taxi might, indeed, be cleverer than a walk. Foolish talk; I was aching for a good walk, and the taxi queue was already over 100deep with not a taxi in sight. And so I took my first steps on my fourth continent - still no planes although I suspect that the remaining 3 will be beyond me. Sooner or later I will have to fly, and I guess that it will probably be this year – mentally visualised my route to the nearest subway and started trudging through Red Hook.

No, I don't know why I always look so miserable in self portrait shots either

In such a rush before I had left England, I had not looked into arrival at the Brooklyn Cruise Terminal and had only discovered whilst at sea that virtually no map or tourist guide on-board bothers to map that part of Brooklyn. It took me three days to find somebody who could even tell me where the dock is, and the only map of the area I could find was in a fellow passengers 1999 Lonely Planet that I had had a quick perusal of. From that I had gleaned that it was quite a rough old industrial area and the subway was about a mile/20minute walk away.

That, indeed, proved to be the case. Well done LP! What it didn't tell me was that the station – Smith & 9th – was shut for 9months for reconstruction. It also didn't tell me that all hell was breaking loose, as just as I came up to the station all the sirens I could hear around me simultaneously converged on the shop 50metres ahead, and the owner came running out waving a huge carving knife and shouting at all the police (who were running around like headless chickens with guns pointed at everything and everyone anywhere nearby, including me) “They went that way! They went that way!” whilst pointing off ahead of me.

Something about the scene told me that now was not the time to ask which the closest open station was. Happily, at this point the subway is elevated, so easy to follow, which I did. At the next stop, Carroll Street, I put my brand new US Dollar prepay debit card (I had thought I was being clever getting such a thing) into the machine to buy a ticket, whereupon it promptly got stuck. Completely stuck. 30Minutes, 7 people taking turns at trying to grasp the card and pull, lots of laughing and frustration and very, very careful use of a pair of scissors borrowed from the security office and I had prised it out. But the transaction had long since cancelled itself and I still had no ticket. I wasn't going to put another card in, so tried cash. I only had 50's. The price was $29. The maximum change given was $4. ****. So out I went, to find a shop and buy something – anything – in order to get change. That should also have been easier, but 20minutes later I had a bottle of coke and a subway ticket and was on a train going in the correct direction.

Brooklyn Bridge. Another glorious view hidden by the fog!

By this point, I just wanted to sit down, have a coffee and decompress slightly – gather my thoughts again. So I got off in central Brooklyn, assuming that finding a starbucks, coffeebucks, mcdonalds or something – anything – would not be that hard. I had reckoned without downtown Brooklyn being mostly closed, despite the number of people wandering around, and when I eventually found a coffee shop it had nowhere to sit. So I gave up, found another subway station, and headed to the hostel I had booked. What should have been a 45minute-ish trip from boat to front door had taken over 3hours, but I had made it, they had my reservation and even bed available at that early stage, and their was coffee brewing. I was finally there.

In the following few hours I witnessed 3 accidents, saw/heard more emergency sirens than in an average few months in London and saw a building on fire. America was going to welcome me in the way it saw fit. Later that afternoon it culminated when I went into a phone store to buy a SIM card. The transaction was going fine until the door opened and a drunk &/or insane &/or homeless guy burst through shouting incoherently, his hands full of shit – literally, handfulls of shit – which he dumped on the counted before promptly vomiting over himself and everything nearby.

That night, I had an early one and was just dozing off when 3 people came in a few minutes apart. They started whispering to each other in English, which was ok. What wasn't was that after about 10minutes, one suddenly asked another if they were French. Upon discovery that they were all, indeed, French, the dorm light was switched on and a discussion suddenly commenced at a great rate of decibels. Why you whisper in English and shout in French, I don't know, but this persisted with increased levels of excitement until I decided to utilise my best French and told them all to shut the f*** up so I could sleep.

To be fair, it was probably the best first day I could have got, as it meant that my levels of expectation were near rock bottom. From here, things could only get better.

It was an inauspicious start. After a few good nights, I had reverted to only very limited and poor quality sleep. I had finally dozed off properly and was in the middle of a very strange deja-vu style dream (I couldn't tell you what about any more – it is unusual for me to even know if I have dreamt) when the alarm went off at 04:20, and I dragged my sorry arse out of bed. But there was anticipation, excitement in my mood.

Even at this hour some other people were stirring, and I hurried up to my pre-planned vantage point on the front of deck 11, just below the bridge, to gaze at the glorious vista of New York lights in front of me. Or, I would have done if there had been any. In fact, there was nothing except fog. Lots and lots of fog. The fog was so thick that it was a struggle to even see the waterline below. Occasional glimpses of the water confirmed that yes, we were indeed still moving, but other than that, no clue.

Our fog horn went off at regular intervals, and even though we all knew it was coming it was still loud enough to make us all jump. Something in the back of my head told me that I had spent many hundred pounds and seven days on a ship, getting up at an hour which would be illegal in some cultures, just to see the approach to New York and all for nothing. The rest of humanity – and my friends – were probably correct. I really should just fly. Pah!

But at this point there was nothing left to do but enjoy anyway, and get involved in the kind of morbid banter with other passengers that only the Brits can in such a situation. By glimpsing occasional dim buoy lights to the starboard side, we knew we we're “in the channel” and on approach. Another dim light that we thought was a buoy turned out to be the stern of a harbour tanker, probably 100metres long and which we passed at maybe all of 25metres, yet only saw when we were practically alongside. We had passed half of the boat before we could see the bright light on it's front. The pilots boat travelling adjacent to us we saw only the lights of.

There is water there somewhere, but the fog was so thick it was hard to work out where

As we approached the Verazanno-Narrows Bridge – a massive 2mile long/211m high structure that we passed under with only 4metres clearance – we saw nothing. We could hear the traffic on it about 20seconds away, but did not see it until we were virtually underneath it. My eyesight is one of the few things that really work and I saw it first: a ghostly line of lights at about head height. 2-3seconds later, everybody else saw it. A further 2 seconds and we were passing under it, almost as a shock despite it being lit up and on a clear day, being visible for many miles and minutes. It's sudden ghostly appearance *just* over our heads was both a bit spooky, and really cool. And at that point, we suddenly had precise confirmation of where we were.

The Verazanno-Narrows Bridge suddenly appears at a distance of a few metres. On a clear day, it can be seen for miles, whilst (below) looking back as the ship sneaks underneath it

On any normal entrance to the harbour, at this point the woman holding a torch would be dead ahead, the Manhattan skyline showing in all of it's glory. Today, nothing. As daylight slowly began to break and the fog marginally cleared, we started to see the outline of the lights of the Brooklyn shoreline. A few minutes later, a Staten Island ferry appeared just next to us. Still no woman and torch, no tall buildings.

Eventually, as we slowly turned past Governors Island, I spotted her. The mythical Statue of Liberty, a gift from the French (though how many American's know/admit to that is perhaps unsurprisingly quite small) maybe only a couple of hundred metres away, and only just a dim outline in the distance with a tiny light. Again I was the first to see her, but as we then turned away, many people who's eyesight was not perfect did not see her at all. Of the Manhattan skyline, there was still nothing.

The least exciting photo of the Statue of Liberty that you will ever see, just glimpsed as we approached the dock. Again, on a clear day, visible from a much greater distance and looking much more spectacular!

We then slowly turned, backed and manoeuvred into out moorings at the Brooklyn Cruise Terminal; at that point, looking out over Brooklyn I got my first view of proper land; of America. A few warehouses, some containers, a parking lot and my first American word. I actually laughed out loud when I saw it. Unmistakeable despite the fog, it proudly said “IKEA”...

A few days along and I have settled in. As is normal for me on a ship, I have acquired a basic routine now I know what is going on. One logical curiosity of the trip is the combination of time zones and journey time mean that the clocks change virtually every night (6 out of 7) – thus on a Westbound voyage, the days are generally 25hours long. After the first night the scene was quite empty, with just the occasional bird to be seen until Day 5 when occasional cargo ships started to be spotted as well as a random airplane that circled the ship one evening and came, I assume, from Newfoundland. After 24 hours on board, I was further West than I have ever been in my life and rapidly moving more into the unknown hemisphere.

Though I have found my niche on board, I have felt increasingly out of place. Whilst I freely admit that I haven't 'played the game' fully, at no point have I have ever really felt welcome on the ship. I have thus found it much harder to relax than normal, and making connections has also not really happened. In theory, I should find it easier to fall into conversation with people on this trip than on my HAL trips - the vast majority of people on board are native English speakers, and whilst many passengers are much older as a percentage there are more younger people. In practice, I have found it harder to connect with people. Although I talked to any number of people, I only managed to have anything resembling a meaningful conversation in isolated cases. For the first time on departing a ship, there is not a single person who I will stay in touch with once ashore or would wish to become friends with.

Thus instead of being social, making friends with crew or drinking beer, all of which were regular features of previous trips, I have spent more time alone, often in my cabin or reading in the library. Plans to attempt some work rapidly went up in a plume of smoke – literally - when the power supply on my macbook went BANG! on the first sea day, rendering me sadly mac-less for the voyage. Frequent strong winds and squalls (it was, after all, the North Atlantic in April/early May and not prime summer weather. Heck, 100 years ago this month, the Titanic and other ships were encountering icebergs on this very journey) limited the amount of time that could comfortably be spent on deck or that I would normally spend outside, although I still went out as much as possible and also tried to do a few laps every day at least. I went to a solo traveller meet on Day 2 (which was very, very scary being full of mostly retired American and Canadian ladies who seem to virtually live on cruise ships and I can only assume are not lacking the odd dollar – several had just completed the 4 month round the world voyage, and at least 3 had been on board for more than a year. To put into context, at the very cheapest rate that would cost me about 3 years salary just for the cabin alone), took in a couple of lectures, and watched some films and sport shown via satellite link in the main auditoriums.

In the early evening of Day 5 we passed 50miles north of the final resting place of RMS Titanic, a slightly eerie and sobering moment on any transatlantic voyage, but more poignant in the 100th anniversary of it's sinking and barely a couple of weeks after a memorial cruise had come this way. But onwards, relentlessly we sailed. I tried hard to empty my head, to relax, to forget things and to a point it definitely worked. Perhaps not quite as well as I would have hoped, but it was not bad. After all, I was no longer in Newbury. I also managed to sleep about as much during the week as in the previous month or two combined, and for that reason alone the trip has been worthwhile.

Though it has not been a bad voyage, I admit that it has probably been the least enjoyable of all my voyages to date. It is also the first time that I have been increasingly happy that I will be disembarking soon; on all previous ships I would have been content to remain on board for longer. I am not entirely sure why, but guess that my mental and physical state have probably not helped and the novelty of passenger trips has also probably worn off. But as previously noted, I don't fit the desired demographic of passenger and feel quite awkward because of it. This does not necessarily bode well for the return voyage, especially as an administrative balls-up has led to my paying in excess of 400gbp more than I should have done – something I had resigned myself to before this voyage, but after this experience it certainly hasn't helped my mood about the incident. I may well have company on my return trip, which will force me to get some fancy clothes and play the game more, and it may mean I enjoy it more. I should also be much healthier, which will be a definite help. Time will tell. But on this trip at least, though I have enjoyed being at sea again, especially after finding a nice spot to watch the sea, I have found the whole experience just a bit, well, oddly underwhelming. I have realised that I miss the slight chaos of German chartered HAL ships, but more than that, I really miss the freedom of cargo ships.

Oh well. Tomorrow is a new day, and assuming I can prize myself awake in time, I should see the promised land – America; New York City – slowly appear though the dawn.

One of the main events of any time at sea is the cuisine. Whether a container ship or a cruise ship, life almost inevitably ends up revolving around food. It is quite interesting. The QM2 was no exception. The number of options available means that your main daily decisions are often based around where you are going to eat. I have the program for Tuesday 1st to hand, and it lists 5 different locations which I could choose to go for breakfast, nine for lunch and seven for dinner, many of which had several options within them. Should none appeal, room service is a constant extra option, as are “between meal” snacks.

In general, I found Breakfast to be pretty good. Because a majority of people ate casually, the choice in the Kings Court was pretty good: everything from cereal and porridge through continental to full English. Having said that, on the one morning that I braved the 'proper' dinning room, though having some extra options and being fairly tasty, my choice of breakfast (smoked haddock and scrambled eggs – for which it took a long discussion to be allowed to have both together and not individually as on the menu) transpired to be so small – bear in mind that I was essentially ordering 2 breakfasts by this choice - and the fish full of bones, that on finishing I headed up to the buffet for a second breakfast to help me make it through to lunch. Lunch, similarly, had a number of options, from simple sandwiches through numerous cooked options – served or self service - to pub lunches (served, of course, in the pub). Afternoon snacks and late lunch were available, ditto traditional Afternoon tea (with or without champagne and service charge), although options were generally less than I had encountered elsewhere and the inevitable late night snack was rarely hugely appealing. In fact, although not small, in virtually every case I found the food or the available options (or both) to be inferior to other passenger ships I have travelled on, and in cases less appealing even than that which I have experienced on freight ships, which I found somewhat surprising.

It was at dinner that I really struggled. Upon booking, each guest is assigned to one of the three main restaurants: the suites split between two restaurants for (doubtless) fancy eating, and the rest of us in the Britannia; a large double level venue which was additionally spilt into an early and a late seating. The problem was that many of the guests were here for the “full experience”, and Cunard actively advertised that very experience. For many that included dressing up in full tuxedo et al, and I would guess a majority were also paying significantly more money than I was for their journey; this is at odds with how I normally travel, and although paying a not inconsiderable single supplement, I was very much travelling steerage.

Every night on-board, one of three dress codes applies and this is enforced in the Britannia restaurant. The problem is that I am not a hugely formal person, and thus was not up to the required standard and so denied access. In fact, even if I had brought all the clothes that I have ever owned along, I would only have barely qualified for the least formal of the three, the “casual” days (shirt, shoes and jacket) – the semi-formal and formal requirements being well out of my league. I knew this beforehand and thus it was not something I had worried about as I was assured that less formal options were always available. On HAL ships, I had pretty much lived off the less formal options, and still had superb food and choice throughout. But on the QM2, this becomes less friendly. With the main Britannia not open to me, I explored other options. The Todd English restaurant also enforced the dress code, and charged a supplement to dine there. Worse, the casual Kings Court area changed at night, so that 3 of the 4 sectors became reservation only, charged a supplement and though not as strict as elsewhere also enforced a dress code. With certain other options not serving dinner, it left me with room service (food ok, but when your room doesn't even have a window, not necessarily enticing) and the final Kings Court option. Here, at least, I could eat without having to be wearing fancy clothes, although even here t-shirts, jeans etc were banned. There was normally a decent turnover of people eating in this location, and at least a handful of regulars indicated that I was not the only person travelling without approved clothing. But sadly, on most evenings, I found the food here was remarkably poor and generally unappetising. It reminded me more of the bottom end of my days as a student in halls of residence than any type of restaurant, and certainly was below my expectations despite the fact that it was reasonably popular.

After a couple of days had proved to me that it wasn't a one off, I started eating more earlier in the day and not relying on large tasty dinners. But the fact that most other people on the ship were dressed up also made me feel unusually self-conscious and once I was actively removed from a communal area on the first night by exceptionally rude staff who obviously wanted to make a scene (my bag had not even arrived in my cabin by then, so even if I had had clothing to change into, it would have been impossible), in that instant I knew I was in for a long week and was not really welcome on board.

As I am still currently off alcohol, it was not a major issue but I was also disappointed to note that several bars open during the day were closed in evenings (including all outside venues), which meant options were limited to the deck 2 and 3 public areas, all within the dress-code areas. In effect, after dark, people not dressed up were limited to room service for their alcoholic needs. Thus by evenings I generally avoided large parts of the ships communal areas staying in the upper deck casual areas, in my cabin, wandering outside looking at stars (on the clear nights) or being buffeted by the wind and rain (more frequent), or occasionally watch the evening showing of the day's film. That way I could avoid the disapproving looks that some of the crew would give me for how I was dressed, and feel a bit more relaxed. I am sure for the majority of people everything was fine, but for me I just found that the experience was not as relaxing or as enjoyable as it really should be. And therein lies the crux.

It is an odd conundrum: For a non-flyer such as myself, probably the single most useful ship in the world is the QM2: A regular, scheduled passenger ship, which goes somewhere very tricky to get to by land. But it is also deliberately an extremely formal ship, and I am by nature, generally very un-formal. In addition, even though the QE2 it replaced was a third of the size in terms of tonnage, she had a number of single cabins designed for regular travellers, whereas the QM2 has none – hitting solo travellers instead with single supplement of 90%. Put together, it means that the QM2 is probably the least useful or “user-friendly” ship in the world for someone like me. I simply do not fit with it's desired demographic. It is quite odd, and I find it a bit frustrating and paradoxically, if I do end up based in North America for a while as currently envisioned, the presence of such a ship and a service may end up contributing more to me eventually flying than if no such passenger service existed at all.

In a perverse way, though, I was glad that at least one thing measured up to my past experiences on HAL ships. But consistency can be over rated at times, and sadly the coffee on the QM2 is as truly awful as I remember it being on the Westerdam.

I have never had a sweet-tooth, but even i found some of the cake selections tempting. Sadly, some of the rest of the food did not live up to the cakes

One of the things I traditionally enjoy about any trip is the bit before - the dreaming; the planning; the anticipation. In this case, everything had happened so fast that I hadn't really had time to take it all in, especially in my still less than perfect state. Though I was expecting to be heading to the US for a period and had finally received my visa earlier this year, I was expecting to be going to work. Thus most of the pre-preparation had been work related. But this trip is entirely personal, for convalescence, and essentially unplanned which left no time for any build up or anticipation. Baring some time hiding out in the sticks and hopefully regaining something resembling “normality”, I have very little idea of what I am going to do or where I am going. But I do like being at sea. It is one of the things that generally relaxes me most. At the moment relaxation is something I desperately need, and I settled onto the QM2 pretty quickly.

Cunard and the Queen Mary 2 pride themselves as the very epitome of luxury; throwbacks to the glory days before jet air travel, when transatlantic voyages were the norm and evocative names of companies such as White Star line and Cunard themselves, competed to be the most luxurious way to cross between Europe and North America. Given more time between booking and sailing, i'm sure my expectations would have increasingly risen, and in a way I think I am glad that I have not had that anticipation time. Why? Because thus far, and admittedly I am not entirely sure what I was expecting, I think I was expecting more from the QM2. First impressions are often telling, and after the first few hours on board I admit that I am not overly impressed. Whilst there is nothing wrong with the decor, to my mind, none of it is really very fancy: rooms feel like midrange chain hotel rooms, whilst the restaurants feel either a bit more or bit less fancy than that - I have been on a couple of cruise ferries in the Baltic which had not overly dissimilar standards in certain restaurants. Even the grand lobby and staircase looked surprisingly understated to me. Yes, there are posher bits, but after a pretty full exploration of the ship, I am still searching for that thing which gives me the “wow” factor that I should undoubtedly have received.

---

Though I have been on passenger ships before, I suppose this is my first proper crossing/cruise. The nature of the RMS St. Helena means that it is a very different sort of experience as well as being tiny in comparison, and whilst the HAL Noordam and Westerdam which I used to and from South Africa for the World Cup in 2010 are much closer in scale and scope to the QM2, both voyages were private charters and thus not really typical of more regular or scheduled services. Beyond that, I have only been on ferry-type vessels and cargo ships.

The QM2 is 345metres long and about 148,000 gross tonnes. Big, yes, the largest liner ever built by some distance and large amongst cruise ships when built, but are only average by modern cruise ship standards. The Allure of the Seas and her sister ship, for example, are over 225,000 tonnage, whilst the liner design of the QM2 means that she is significantly narrower than modern cruise ships. In terms of passengers, capacity on the QM2 is considered to be about 2,600 although the theoretical maximum is just over 3,000 (the extra people come from using the fold down beds in some cabins and suites and sharing with friends, not extra bookings). Yes, this is allot of people but in nautical terms, not as many as you might expect. In comparison, the Titanic also had a passenger capacity of about 2600, but in a tonnage of under 47,000 – less a third of the QM2, whilst the average modern cruise ship takes 3000-3500+, and a handful comfortably take upwards of 6000 passengers. Staff numbers generally add 50% to that total. As a comparison, The HAL ships I had been on were about 82,000tonnes, 285 metres and about 1,900 passengers, so significantly smaller that the QM2.

My first night on-board was not great. My cabin is on deck 4 (of 12), above the Queens Room near the stern of the ship. But it is, I assume, also above the engines, because I can hear a constant mechanical droning noise in the background, and feel (and even see, if I put a book on the desk, as the cover flaps up and down) a constant and noteworthy vibration in the room. Though the noise is generally audible on the lower decks, I can't see or feel the vibration anywhere else on ship including in the corridor just outside my cabin. In the evening, I can hear the music of whichever show was being performed below, which added an extra irritant and mean't that early nights were impossible. My cabin is roughly the same as my return on the Westerdam: both inside cabins of approximately the same size, style, layout and content. It can be converted between between double or twin beds, and two extra beds can be dropped down from the ceiling for use by a family or a group of 3-4 friends. These are folded up and locked into the roof when not required, which is sensible. But they both rattle something chronic, and really affected my sleep.

By the first morning I knew that if I didn't do anything about it, the rattle would be constantly on my nerves and I would struggle for sleep all week, but after asking both my cabin steward and the pursers office (the nautical equivalent of a hotel's reception) I was told that they couldn't do anything and even refused to send somebody to come and have a look. That seemed very poor customer service to me, and forced me to take matters into my own hands: some judicious use of tightly folded cardboard wedged into offending gaps, combined with unsightly but effective duct tape and rebuilding a desk lamp which also rattled gave me some much needed peace and quiet. For the remainder of the trip, I was forced to add an extra “room-rattle fix” approximately daily, with the end result being that my cabin started to resemble a bizarre piece if modern art or failed origami. A couple of existing bits of cardboard in the roof suggested that I was not the first to encounter these issues, but it was equally obvious that it was not one that Cunard cared about or checked when they were making the room up.

Elsewhere on the ship, I kept finding small things which were irritating or just not thought out properly. In isolated terms none of them were a huge problem, but all in combination convinced me that the ship was just not quite as well designed or as user friendly as others I had been on. For example, one of the larger lounges - the Winter Garden - was full of comfy chairs and tables. But all of the tables were either so low or so poorly designed that it was impossible to put legs under the tables, leading to an uncomfortable stretch to get drinks/other things from the tables. In the Kings Court area – location of many meals, including the self service options – each of the food serving areas had large perspex overhangs, as is normal. In theory, the idea is to stop the spread of germs by preventing people sneezing etc on the food, but in practice overhangs here are so large that it is incredibly awkward to actually get any of the food, especially from the back row. Air conditioning in the cabin could be varied by temperature, but not level as would be expected and can not be turned off. Sign-posting around the ship was patchy and lacking in many places where it would be helpful, whilst oddly, neither in cabins or with the welcome pack was there a top-down deck plan of the ship which would certainly have helped aid learning orientation of the ship, especially as some of stairwells and passageways do not run the entire height/length of the ship.

I also find some of the little details irritating or missing: though allegedly with a much larger selection of books on board, the library is probably less than a quarter of the size of that of the Westerdam and feels claustrophobic, whilst the presence of DVD players in cabins with a vast library of films, music and shows available to be borrowed on HAL ships added extensively to entertainment options, especially for those not feeling very well or sociable, and wishing to remain in their cabins. On the QM2, you are restricted to a few generally unexciting films shown on a daily loop on the TV, some of which were being repeated after the first day or two. In the Chart room, there are some lovely large charts are on the wall – the North Atlantic initially one looks quite impressive, but (admittedly, to a cartographer) at a slightly more detailed glance has some 'interesting' content. All of the text and names are in English, except for Corsica which is randomly shown as “Corse”. There are some curious inconsistencies in font sizes and styles, whilst despite the ship being launched 10years after the split, “Czechoslovakia” is shown; the only place named in Scandinavia and one of only 8 in the half of Europe that is shown is somewhere called “Viken” which despite the fact it is located within about 50km of Kristianstad where I lived for 6 years took me 2 days to recall it's existence, as it is only a village of maybe 4,000 people.

I also noted that whilst the variety of drinks on board was quite extensive, the entire selection of Ale's were stored in fridges or freezers. Whilst this is a constant battle outside of Britain and Ireland to make people understand why they should be stored and served at room temperature, for a mostly British crew on a British ship catering to at least a strong percentage of British passengers, this is unforgivable. Also, although I am sure it is done to disguise the true cost, I was irritated by the fact that 15% is automatically added to all drink purchases on board – hot or cold, in bars or room-service, bottled or hand made, alcoholic or not – and is compulsory. It is not that fact the service is compulsory that I dislike, but rather that it is not included in the price-lists (although the fact that it is added is mentioned on every page). I don't want to have to work out what 15% of 5.85usd is and if it is impossible to avoid, why not just show the total price with a note saying that 15% service is included? That, at least, is more honest.

I have also found staff attentiveness to be lacking: To take one example, on the entire voyage I was only once asked if I wanted something to drink: On all other ships, people are constantly enquiring if they can get you a beer or glass of wine with your meal or when you are sat in communal areas. I have also witnessed a couple of arguments/discussions between crew and passengers, to which the general attitude of the crew has been surprising and an almost arrogant “we work for Cunard. Of course we are correct. How dare you question us, you mere passengers who should be grateful just to be allowed on board”. Combined with my own experiences, I can say that there definitely hasn't been the levels of service and politeness that I would expect in any circumstances, let alone towards people paying hundreds (or in some cases, many thousands) of pounds to be there. The whole thing just feels, i'm not sure, perhaps elitist and not as relaxing or welcoming as I would expect. Oh well.