Bertram's logbook

Cruises in your head (I)

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In times like these, traveling has become purely a matter of the mind. After all, you can hardly get further than the nearest supermarket with your feet - and other means of transportation - and it looks like this won't change much over the next few weeks. Anyone longing to get away has exactly two options: Either they dream of future trips or they remember past ones. Like me. After all, in two decades of cruise journalism, a lot of ships, people, images and experiences have accumulated in my head. So today and in the next blog post, there are a few truly magical moments to look back on:

1. with the QE2 to New York.
The crossing from Southampton took six days. Our constant companion: an Atlantic low that even our storm-tested Queen had hardly ever experienced before. We spent most of the time sucking ginger sticks and reading books in our cabin - the open deck areas were closed for safety reasons anyway and gala evenings or five o'clock teas were out of the question ...
And then the last night: all of a sudden the wind and waves had died down and the silence on our ship became so loud that it woke us up. In our bathrobes, we made our way outside, where liveried stewards served hot coffee in paper cups and the Manhattan skyline rose into the sky on the horizon. To our left, Lady Liberty slowly passed by, shrouded in a white-gray haze, from which first only the torch, then the ring of stars and finally the imposing whole emerged. "O beautiful for spacious skies, for amber waves of grain ..." - somewhere a single soft voice rose, soon followed by others: "For purple mountain majesties, above the fruited plant!". And finally the whole deck sang or hummed: "America! America! God shed His Grace on thee, And crown thy good with brotherhood, from sea to shining sea". This must have been how all the immigrants must have felt when they finally reached their new home after weeks on the Atlantic. It was probably just a last whiff of the Atlantic low that brought tears to my eyes at that moment ...

2. With the dream ship to Papua New Guinea.
Admittedly, I've forgotten the name of the port. But I remember exactly that we were traveling from New Caledonia to Manila on the TV dream ship, the "MS Deutschland", and that it was to be our first landing on the infinitely long east coast of Papua New Guinea. "Not a single foreign passenger ship has docked here before us. So be prepared for the locals to meet you with skepticism, shyness or aggression. Begging children are best ignored, or you can give them a sweet or a pencil. They will then let you go. For safety reasons, we recommend taking part in our excursions on Papua New Guinea." I found the note in the on-board program unbelievably inhumane and also incredibly stupid - but it fitted in well with this kitschy, stuffy luxury cutter, on which the bar was called "Zum Alten Fritz" and every corner looked like a piece of operetta scenery. Let them go on their well-guarded bus trips, well shielded from real life. I wanted to go off on my own - without sweets and pencils, but with respect and curiosity.
It wasn't long before a group of children actually circled me on my solitary walk along the beach - at first at a reasonable distance and soon after so close that we started kicking an empty Coke can back and forth. Two teams were quickly formed, driftwood was converted into goals and rules were set up, which nobody stuck to anyway. This went on for half an hour, then I said goodbye and moved on alone. To be honest, there wasn't much to see on site, so I soon returned to the ship. And who was already waiting for me there, with celebratory faces and a trophy made from leftover tires and pieces of shell? My crew, who had come by once again to say goodbye! I felt incredibly honored at that moment - and at the same time, I was incredibly ashamed of the reference in the on-board program. Fortunately, these proud and lovely children never found out about it. And hopefully they never stopped believing in the good in every traveler. Incidentally, I still have their trophy, which is one of my most treasured travel memories.

3. With the Columbus 2 to the North Cape.
As a professional traveler, I usually travel alone on cruises. After all, it's not a vacation, it's work - even if hardly anyone believes it. But when I do take a companion with me, it's something very special. Especially when this "companion" is my own father, with whom I last traveled together when I was at school. To be honest, I was unsure beforehand - and also a little nervous: would we manage to share a cabin for two weeks? Would we have enough to talk about? And could we really put up with each other's little quirks and idiosyncrasies after all these years?
The answers: yes, yes, yes! It was an unforgettable trip for both of us. During the day, we mostly went on long hikes ashore, far away from all the "old people from the ship", as my then 78-year-old father put it. And at night, we often sat together on deck and watched the midsummer night's sun sink into our glasses of red wine. Oh yes, and then there was the moment that my father really wanted to toast with a glass of champagne: just beyond the Lofoten Islands, he had finally succeeded in teaching his son to play chess - after more than four decades and countless attempts, all of which were unsuccessful on land.

Cruises in your head (I)

Jörg Bertram

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