I chose a mystery cruise with no idea where it would go. Here's what happened

Times

26-04-2025

When I announced that I wanted to go on a two-week mystery cruise departing from Southampton, my mother and my partner almost came to blows over who would accompany me as my plus-one. I told them to calm down a level, explaining that the last time Fred Olsen did such a cruise the first stop was Great Yarmouth.
They ended up settling it using rock, paper, scissors, with Mum coming out on top. 'I've never been on a boat — unless a pedalo counts,' she said as she hurried upstairs to commence her preparations, only to reappear a moment later with a worried look on her face. 'Hang on a minute. How do I know what to pack?'
Mum wasn't the only one asking such questions — which is fair enough. I mean, when you haven't got a clue whether your destination is Bermuda or Bergen, how do you decide between Speedos and long johns? One of the first people we met while embarking at Southampton was a lady named Alice, who said that she had taken 17 cases with her the last time she went on a mystery sailing, which Fred Olsen hosts once or twice a year. 'I thought I'd cracked it,' she said. 'But then I couldn't fit half my stuff in the cabin.'
As Captain Victor Stoica eased Borealis out towards who knows where, the characters came thick and fast. If you prefer your entertainment served up on a platter then I recommend sitting at the back of Deck 8 with a friendly look on your face. One of the first people I chatted with was a veteran of a dozen mystery cruises, which tend to be a bit cheaper than the conventional type, if only because they take place at quieter times of the year. 'I just love being ignorant,' Nigel said, by way of explaining his mysterious inclination.
There was also Maggie from Bradford, who was an absolute news junkie — one of only a handful of passengers who had opted to pay the £10 daily charge to access the wi-fi, she would perform a public service by going around and filling everyone in. 'The Archbishop of Canterbury has resigned,' she'd say as we considered the salad bar. 'Gary Lineker's cut ties with Match of the Day,' she informed us as we waited for pudding. I bumped into her one morning, in the sauna of all places, and the first thing she said to me was that a cat called Beans had been discovered in Coventry, weeks after going missing in Scotland.
Aside from Maggie there was Helen from Widnes, who considered all fruit a disaster. There was Richard from Bristol, who fixed Mum's electric toothbrush three times. And there was Geoff and Sue, a pair in their eighties who are massive on TikTok, with more than 420,000 followers. I was certainly one of the youngest passengers on board, but that didn't bother me a jot — having less in common simply means more ground to cover; more differences to ponder and chew on. About 50 passengers were travelling solo and I joined them at a boozy get-together one afternoon, coming away with two addresses, one phone number and a new mate called Alan.
For me travel is largely about people, but for others it's the places that count, so what about those mysterious ports of call? While I was happy to wait and see where we docked, others were differently inclined — one guy was up on deck with a compass before we'd even left Southampton. As some hunkered down in the buffet with their fingers in their ears to avoid gossip, others charged around the ship, tipping Cork and Bordeaux as potential destinations. At one point, during the captain's cocktail reception, I had to tell Brian from Chichester to politely put a sock in it as he wouldn't let up.
Some people just couldn't resist playing the amateur detective. You could see them coming from a nautical mile off — heading down a portside corridor with an obvious spring in their step, the next port of call all but visible on the tip of their tongue.
'Hello young man! Hope you like paella because we're approaching …'
'I said button it, Brian!'
As it happened, the city of Gijon in northern Spain seemed to take everyone by surprise — even the most determined of sleuths. Over the next ten days we dropped in on five other places and not one of them disappointed, not least because it is easier to be pleased when you've no expectations.
Ferrol — which was just around the corner, in Galicia, and is the birthplace of Franco — provided a gateway to the venerable city of Santiago de Compostela. Porto yielded the Francesinha, a ridiculous sandwich of layered meats, cheese and a beer sauce (which contains enough kilojoules to kickstart a tractor) and an altercation with my mother after we nearly missed the ship. Malaga, which lies east of the Strait of Gibraltar and is Picasso's home town, gave us a castle, a bull ring and a cathedral to die for (imagine Notre Dame but done in Cotswold stone).
Cadiz, one of the oldest cities in Europe and whence Columbus set sail, issued some Iberico ham that seemed to cuddle the tongue and a beach on which Halle Berry sauntered towards Bond in Tomorrow Never Dies. In Lisbon we learnt that in Alfama, the oldest quarter of the city, 52 per cent of the apartments are now Airbnbs — granted we weren't exactly helping things by pitching up quayside, though in our defence we didn't know we were coming.
Although Mum enjoyed the ports — and the fleeting experiences that each of them offered — it was the ship that she enjoyed most. She loved being at sea, unmoored, adrift; she found it freeing, exciting and rejuvenating. She loved the people, the diversions and the cocktail of the day. 'It's been lovely,' she said as we sailed out of Lisbon and made a beeline for home. 'A proper adventure — no cooking, no washing, unlimited wine. It's been magical, really.'
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Mum used to be a nurse, and that experience, I fancy, came in handy on board Borealis. She seemed to take everyone in her stride. She had a smile and a word for everyone, and an ear for everyone too. I saw a different side to her — one that isn't readily available when I nip back to Portsmouth and it's just the two of us chatting in the kitchen. I felt proud, if I'm honest (though, in the interests of balance, I must say that I felt a little bit less proud when she phoned me in the middle of the night to say that she'd just got a text welcoming her to Morocco). On reflection, it's a pretty special dividend for a holiday to issue — that you end up loving your mum a bit more.
Hand on heart, I enjoyed just about every element of our mystery cruise. I enjoyed getting teary during a version of Les Mis by the entertainment team. I enjoyed an onboard restaurant called Vasco, which had a Goan theme and served six types of bread and cracking prawns (£15pp supplement). And I enjoyed a concert pianist named Veronica Yen, who seemed absolutely determined to play every inch of her instrument, including plucking the strings. I would have paid decent money to see such a concert; as it was, I simply chanced upon the event while going from bingo to tea.
One thing I didn't enjoy was a five-hour period towards the end of the cruise when things got a bit bumpy. Dinner that evening was certainly a handful — not least for the waiters, who had to catch tables, chairs, starters and glasses as we sailed through a storm in the Bay of Biscay. Mum didn't know whether to laugh or cry in the face of her salad.
'I never thought I'd be so pleased to see Portsmouth,' she said as we slipped by the Spinnaker Tower and caught a glimpse of HMS Victory.
'That's what it's all about, Mum. Fresh perspective. You go away, you come back, and everything looks a bit different,' I replied.
Mum gave this some thought. 'Will my husband look different, I wonder?' she said.
'Let's hope so, eh?' was my answer. Ben Aitken was a guest of Fred Olsen Cruises, which has a full-board, seven-night mystery cruise from £949pp on Bolette, departing from Liverpool on December 15 (fredolsencruises.com). Ben Aitken's book Sh*tty Breaks: A Celebration of Unsung Cities is out on 8 May (Icon Books, £18.99). To order a copy go to timesbookshop.co.uk or call 020 3176 2935. Free UK standard P&P on online orders over £25. Special discount available for Times+ members
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