You may know the story of the woman whose travel agent asked her whether she’d enjoyed her round-the-world cruise. “Oh yes,” she replied, “but next time I want to go somewhere different.”
For me, this gag summed up both the good and the bad of cruising: the breadth of places it can take you, and in the most convenient possible way; but also the potential narrowness of your companions. I could handle the six-course meals and the excursions to the Pyramids, I reckoned. I was less sure I wanted to be trapped for days in a small space with a bunch of geriatrics who didn’t know where France was. Anyway, that’s what I thought – until I went on a cruise.
I was lucky, I confess. The ship I joined, on a warm winter afternoon in Port Said, was not one of those floating skyscrapers operated by a US mega-line – Carnival, Celebrity and the rest – with thousands of “guests”, onboard shopping malls, and Vegas-style decor so lurid you need dark glasses just to open the brochure. My ship, the Silver Cloud, was small – 300 passengers, the best size – and ranked tenth in the world by the standard reference work, the 2007 Berlitz guide, which reviews all 276 cruise ships sailing the seas.
I had my doubts about Berlitz from the moment I noticed it had given exactly the same score, and almost word-for-word the same write-up, to one of the Silver Cloud’s sister vessels – even on things, such as service, that are bound to differ from ship to ship. But there was no doubt at all that the Silver Cloud was lovely.
Its operator, Silversea, sails very firmly at the top end of the market. The standard cabins are as big as many hotel rooms, with a spacious sitting area and full-length windows opening on to a private, teak-covered balcony. Most cruise-ship bathrooms have only a shower, but this one had a bath. A marble-topped bath.
The sundeck was teak, too, and every time I walked round it I saw someone painting the railings and the superstructure. Above the sundeck, there was a promenade laid with green synthetic turf. On the other side of the rails, as we waited to leave, there was the thrilling sight of convoys of big ships lining up in the distance to pass down the Suez Canal – our own intended route, too, for this was a “positioning” cruise that took the Silver Cloud away from the northern-hemisphere winter, following the sun to the Indian and Pacific Oceans.
The public areas inside the ship were a bit less distinguished – I was half-expecting brass and mahogany, but apparently too much wood is now against the fire regulations. There was, however, a fine panorama lounge, with an uninterrupted view aft, and an outside terrace where drinks or meals were served whenever you wanted them. There was a small, panelled library with books and DVDs (Titanic included, I was pleased to see). And there was a cosy smoking room for those gentlemanly after-dinner chats.
The way you reach this nirvana is the first clue that luxury cruising is different. Your luggage, tagged with the special labels they’ve sent you, mysteriously vanishes from the airport or hotel, to reappear hanging up in the wardrobe of your cabin. Your passage through security and customs is attended by unobtrusive, even helpful officials and police. At every step, there is some nice person to eliminate any possibility whatever of confusion, hassle or indeed choice.
Your passport is gently but firmly removed, your picture taken and you are guided into the Silversea universe in the hands of someone in a white apron who informs you that they are your personal steward and can be summoned by pressing the zero on your telephone. You notice that the writing paper on the desk has “From the Suite of Andrew Gilligan” printed across the top of each sheet. Is this what it feels like to be Prince Charles?
