PRINCESS CRUISE TO ALASKA: EXPECTATIONS VS. REALITY

THE BOARDING

We stood in a line that snaked around for what seemed like miles to get onto the cruise ship. We were jostled and herded like cattle in a mass of humanity where we showed our passports multiple times, until finally we were bumped and prodded into more lines at the entrance of the ship.

Once on board, we entered a casino/bar-like environment, our senses assaulted by visual and auditory stimuli: bobbles and balls of light everywhere from the ceiling to the floor, music blaring from all corners, voices blasting through the ship’s intercom. “Okay, we’ll get through this soon,” I thought, “and find a quiet corner.”

Nope.

Not a tranquil spot to be found, except in our room. More about that later.

THE DINING

Once we followed the safety protocol, watched the safety video, and obeyed all the preliminary instructions, we made our way to the buffet, i.e., cafeteria, where we met the other 3,500 passengers elbowing their way to the serving stations. And where I asked a hundred times, “Excuse me, excuse me! Hello? Does this have dairy?”

The food lady turned around and, in her lovely African accent, said, “Dayree?”

“Yes. Dairy.”

Blank stare.

I tried again. “Butter. Milk. Does it have butter or milk?”

“Wait. I ask.”

I waited.

And waited.

To my right and my left, passengers piled food onto their plates. If I left my spot to peruse other options, would she find me? No. I stayed. She rewarded me with a smile and a nod. “Yes. It has dayree.” Then she pointed to three items in the opposite case. “But we have gruten-free.”

“Gru…?” I turned around. Ah.

How nice for the 6% of North Americans who have gluten sensitivities or celiac disease. The 35-40% of us who experience severe stomach cramps and diarrhea when we consume dairy products will content ourselves with the 10% of your menu that is available to us.

Even though I had called in advance and told the Royal Princess cruise line that I could not have dairy. Wondering why I went through the trouble.

Still—so much variety, and a huge quantity of food. Please, God, help me not to eat too much.

Oh.

A huge quantity of food, alright—of mediocre food. I guess when it sits for hours in a tray, the flavor quietly packs its bags and leaves. The vegetables were limp, the meat was dry, and 90% of the offerings contained dairy. An entire hall was dedicated to row upon row of tantalizing desserts—all of which had dairy. Those, according to my husband, were delicious. Sigh. I was informed that, if I gave them a day’s notice, the staff would prepare a sweet treat just for me. Which they did. I took a tentative bite, gagged, and left the gelatinous brown blob on the table uneaten.

Who needs dessert anyway? I plopped an unidentified protein and a few soggy vegetables onto my plate and went in search of my husband.

For thirty minutes. 

He was right here.

At this table.

Or was it that table? Or was it on the other side? Or was it in the dining hall close to the exit? All the rooms and tables looked the same.

Exactly the same.

I finally asked a waiter, whose English I managed to understand after three tries, to find my husband, and he escorted me to the correct table. This happened three times.

THE ELEVATORS

When it was time to go back to our room, we attempted to take one of the six elevators.

We waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Ding—Full. Ding—Full. Ding—Going up, not down. We eschewed the elevators from then on and ascended and descended 17 flights of stairs for the remainder of the cruise. Great exercise! Although I was discouraged to find that, after five flights, I was bent over, wheezing, and fighting for every breath as if someone had suddenly removed all the oxygen from the ship. So much for my delusion that I was in shape. My ego was severely bruised as I watched my younger sister sail up the stairs like a gazelle.

ALTERNATIVES TO THE BUFFET, AND THE MEDICAL UNIT

We spent the next two days exploring the ship’s various dining options in search of better food and a more refined atmosphere. Alas, we soon discovered that culinary excellence came at an additional cost. We were told our plan did not include the elegant restaurants. We were thus relegated to the tasteless, mass-produced fare.

As I was eating, I began scratching my neck. Then my eyes. Then my neck again. Scratch, scratch, scratch. Once in my room, I screamed as I saw my reflection in the mirror. My face and neck were covered with red hives and welts. The swollen skin around my eyes folded over in layers like a window covering. I stared at myself through slits. Oh dear. Time to go to the medical unit. On…um…which floor?

Mercifully, gravity aided our descent to the fourth floor. “Hello? Hello? We need to see someone about an allergic reaction. Hello?”

“Yes, yes. Hello. The medical room is not open. You can come back between 8:00 and 10:00 or between 4:00 and 6:00.”

So we did. “Hello. Yes. Can you give us some calamine lotion?”

“Calamine lotion? We do not have any.”

“Well, can I see a doctor?”

“There is no doctor on board.”

“Um. Okay. Thank you.”

“But you can call a doctor for a consult.”

“Okay.”

“Three hundred and fifty dollars.”

As I write this, the swelling has abated a little, and the redness and itching have disappeared. We suspect the motion-sickness patch I needlessly wore the first two days of the trip caused the reaction.

IN OUR CABIN

After the fruitless trip to the medical center, we returned to our room to shower. I grabbed the hand-held wand and aimed it at my chest. The water didn’t reach me. It dribbled straight out of the nozzle and onto the shower floor like the last trickle from a garden hose after you turn off the faucet. I had to hold the nozzle almost against my skin before the water would touch me, and even then, it didn’t make it to the orifices.

We later learned that our shower wasn’t typical. My sister’s worked just fine, so if yours behaves as ours did, mention it to your steward, and it should be resolved quickly.

Clean enough. Time for some television entertainment.

We snuggled under the sheets in anticipation of a quiet evening of passive viewing, wanting to take advantage of the large-screen T.V. on the opposite wall. My husband clicked away on the remote. Our options were pre-World War II movies and a handful of current ones. We chose a flick and began watching, the sound fluctuating between inaudible and barely audible. We gave up, turned out the lights, and fell asleep.

An explosion of light shocked us awake. What was that? Oh. The motion sensors by the bathroom had caused the hallway light and the lights on both sides of the bed to illuminate. Note to self: Close the bathroom door so it doesn’t move when the ship does, and stuff towels in front of the floor lights.

EXCURSIONS: YAY OR NAY?

The next day, we covered ourselves from head to toe in rain gear and poured off the ship, excited to see the whales. Most passengers would have been thrilled to set foot on terra firma after two days at sea. Instead, we boarded a smaller, bumpier, noisier boat packed tightly with fellow travelers.

I stood peering over the head of the person in front of me, my feet sliding back and forth on the slippery deck, exhaust assaulting my nostrils. Then—oh look! —the back of a whale. Was it a whale?

We did see several orcas arching out of the water, but they were so far away, we could barely make them out.

Thankfully, at the end of the jostled boat ride, we received a bag of snacks, none of which I could eat. Oh well, we contributed to the Juneau economy. There went $400.

Fumes in our lungs, water on our faces, we returned to the ship, where I called the room service desk. Like they told me to. I needed hot water for my daily nasal rinse.

I let it ring. And ring. No answer. After several attempts to reach them, I gave up. As it turned out, the humidity rendered this routine unnecessary anyway.  Apparently, room service only answers the phone between certain hours. Like the medical staff.

The next morning, a loud noise pierced our ears. We jolted upright in the bed. It was the captain speaking in his delightful, albeit semi-incomprehensible Italian accent.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Dis is-a da captain ah-speaking.”

He was alerting us to the arrival of a medical helicopter that was to transport an injured passenger. (She probably fainted waiting for the medical unit to open.) The first time we heard the intercom announcements, we jumped out of our skin. Later, when they sounded only in the hallway, we were indignant, thinking we might miss some vital information.

THE ALASKAN CRUISE PORTS OF CALL

One of the arguments my husband gave for not cruising was that we would spend most of our time on the ship and very little on land, and that we would not have control over how much time we spent at each location. His prediction proved accurate. We spent only a few hours in Juneau, most of the day in Skagway (totally worth it), and another four hours in Ketchikan (not worth it). However, these are not destinations I would want to spend more than a day in, and they can only be reached by boat or plane. So, it didn’t matter that we spent most of our time on the ship. Except that there wasn’t much to DO on the ship.

ENTERTAINMENT         

Entertainment was limited, and it felt like the events were sales pitches in disguise.

To our surprise, there were no Broadway-style productions or theatrical shows. Evening entertainment consisted primarily of comedians, passenger-participation games, live music in the lounges, and frequent opportunities to purchase something.

The live music was excellent, but so loud we had to yell to be heard. The comedians were very funny—and clean, which I appreciated.

If we wanted to watch a movie, we had to brave the rain and the cold on the outside deck. Of course, we didn’t. Neither did anyone else. An indoor movie theater would have been grand.

As the week went on, it became increasingly obvious that there is a symbiotic relationship between the cruise line and the merchants on the ship. Vendors try to separate you from your money. Then the ship deposits you in the ports so you can spend more money in the tourist shops filled with junk no one needs.

MAIN DINING VS SPECIALTY DINING

What’s the difference? I wish we had known. I wish someone had told us there were regular and premier dining options, and the dining experience would be vastly different in each.

MAIN DINING ROOM

To escape the lines and the bland food, we made reservations at a main dining restaurant, where smartly dressed waiters hovered over us, ready to meet our every need. The room was well-appointed and offered a more subdued atmosphere—a welcome escape from the crowds. The table was elegantly set, with forks for every course. (Um…which one do we use?)

While I ordered (a grueling process—think When Harry Met Sally—only worse), the waiters fawned over me and promised to make a meal especially for me. Which they did. A meal devoid of all offending ingredients— and all flavor. Dry and tasteless. The waiter said, “We want to make sure you’re safe.” I was definitely safe. And punished for having dietary restrictions.

SPECIALTY RESTAURANT

The last night of our cruise, we discovered The Crown Grill, a specialty restaurant. The chef came out and talked to me, then went into the kitchen where he made a special sauce for my sea bass, and a customized mushroom dish sans buerre. To die for. Then the waiter brought out vegan chocolate ice cream and dairy-free apple pie. Oh my! Why hadn’t we gone there every night?

THE POSITIVES

• Beautiful Views: forested, lush, majestic mountains.
• Glaciers—Wow!
• An ocean that stretches for miles
• Balcony views
• Delightful, helpful staff
• The Crown Grill
• The comedians
• Visits to places you wouldn’t be able to see by land
• A comfortable bed and an insulated quiet room. I’ve never slept so well!
• Dark-out curtains (The sun goes down later in Alaska.)
• An abundance and variety of food at every turn
• The Medallion: Worn around the neck, it communicates to the staff and provides access to all places. Very efficient. Also, a little like Big Brother who follows you around. Whenever we passed through the elevator rooms on our way to the stairs, our photographs appeared on the electronic screen on the wall. (Another effort to get you to buy more stuff, in this case, photos you didn’t ask them to take. This really annoyed me, as we had already spent beaucoup bucks on the cruise itself.)
• The well-equipped gym. I went every day to work off the calories. Didn’t gain a pound.
• No packing and unpacking at every destination. Once we put our clothes away, we were set for the week. The closet and drawers were surprisingly spacious, and the room made remarkably efficient use of every inch of space.
• Time spent with my sister and brother-in-law.

MY RECOMMENDATIONS

• If you prefer a quieter, less crowded cruising experience, choose the Royal Caribbean or Celebrity Cruises. Several experienced cruisers recommended both to us after hearing about our experience.
• If you have dietary restrictions, choose Royal Caribbean or Celebrity Cruises, or plan to dine exclusively in the specialty restaurants on the Royal Princess.
• If you’d like high-quality entertainment such as Broadway musicals, ice skating shows, Aqua theater diving, and acrobatic shows, choose Royal Caribbean’s Oasis- or Icon-class ships or Disney.
  
  On the Princess: Spend the first few days familiarizing yourself with all the restaurants and dining options. Once you find a restaurant that works for you, keep going back.
  
  If dining at the buffet or one of the main dining rooms, let the staff know about your dietary needs the night before, so they have time to prepare a special meal for you. Eat at the Crown Grill every night. Pay extra for the Premier package. (Wish we had.)
  
  
• If you don’t mind crowds and enjoy a party atmosphere, Royal Princess is a good choice.
• Reserve a balcony room or a Mini suite. The view from the balcony was worth the price of the cruise. A Mini suite would have given us room to move about and share with others.
• Take the stairs if you can.
• Take advantage of the well-equipped gym. (It doesn’t have a squat bar, or any bar, for that matter, but that would be a bit dangerous when the ocean swells.)
• See the comedians. Totally worth it.
• Don’t spend time and money on the excursions, except the train ride in Skagway. (We were told it was worth the money. Wish we had seen the glorious waterfalls.)
• Buy rain gear with a hoodie and hiking boots. Best purchase ever! My windbreaker and rain pants shielded me, so I was able to enjoy the beauty without seeking warmth indoors. It didn’t rain every day, as the weather app had predicted, but it was overcast for most of the trip.
• If you can, reserve a cabin on a lower deck as close to midship as possible to minimize motion—and possibly the need for medical assistance.
  
  

OUR FINAL CONCLUSION

When we arrived home, we spent some time evaluating our experience. What did the cruise offer us that other vacation options didn’t? Our final conclusion? If I could use the patch or take Dramamine, we’d sail again, but with a different cruise line. Since I can’t, we’ll enjoy longer stays at the places we wish to explore. Caribbean, here I come!

And now… Back to adulting: grocery shopping, cooking, working. And a week-long conference.

Take me back to the ship!!

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