Decks appeal: Martin Parr captures life on a cruise liner

The Guardian

a day ago

Glamour and elegance are two USPs of cruising and some cruise companies – Cunard in particular – invest heavily in the nostalgia and fantasy that are hallmarks of the industry. Cunard's Queen Victoria, for example, although launched in 2007, feels like a 1980s reimagining of the liners of the early 20th century; think Titanic, complete with bellhop boys standing to attention as you embark, afternoon tea and grandiose, wood veneered, art deco-themed decor throughout. In Cunard's publicity the term 'voyage' is often quietly substituted for 'cruise' with the implication that the latter has overtones of vulgarity that are best avoided.
That this is indeed a huge industry becomes apparent with one peek from the carpeted corridors through the service doors to the functional areas. No glamour here, just echoing metal staircases, laundries, kitchens and steel workstations populated by the hundreds of diligent, ever-smiling staff who keep the show on the road. It's reminiscent of a massive beehive: the 2,000 occupants of the ship are fed, watered, tidied, cleaned and cooled. If necessary, the dead are removed; this unhappy outcome is not unlikely given the advanced age of many passengers and the fact that we are experiencing a heatwave.
Bell boys attend to passengers
But cruising involves a series of such collisions between fantasy and reality. Getting on to the ship is the first problem: with formal attire de rigueur for the evenings and gala nights, suitcases are bulging and cumbersome; in addition cruisers – sorry voyagers – have to manage hanging bags containing their tuxedos and evening wear. In the days of freely available porterage this would not be a problem, but passengers manhandle all their luggage, heaving suitcases on to security belts, trundling them across the tarmac in the scorching heat. Many arrive in their staterooms bathed in sweat. The same applies on return to the ship after every day in port, even unencumbered with baggage. In temperatures above 30C, it is a slog getting from the terminal buildings to the gangway. There, overheated daytrippers are met by Cunard staff handing out glasses of iced water and cold towels. The captain's evening address from the bridge contains the words 'welcome home' a nod to the sense of relief one feels entering the cool.
The rooms on the Queen Victoria
The term 'stateroom' is amusing if, like us, you opt for the cheaper, inside option. No windows, functional decor, minuscule bathroom; the traditional-style bedside lights and blue and gold velvet cushions cannot distract from the cabin's undeniable pokiness. As one friend remarked on viewing a photo of our room: 'Are you staying in an institution for young offenders?' The advantage of this kind of room is that it is easy to get to sleep. You enter a womb: warm, dark, with the reassuring sound of the ship's engine throbbing like the maternal heartbeat.
Art gallery onboard the liner
Brief glimpses through open doors on the other side of the corridor reveal another life altogether: cabins with balconies, sofas, champagne in ice buckets, light and space. Slowly one realises that cruising reframes the entire class system. The voyage is no longer the domain of toffs and sophisticates – despite the marketing. It is nothing to do with breeding or extreme wealth and everything to do with brand loyalty. Some people clock up two or three cruises a year, happily claiming the associated upgrades, discounts on wifi and numerous other perks such as a drink with the captain. The highest echelon Princess or Queen Grill-status passengers enjoy superior facilities, exclusive eating places and other advantages that we can only dream of.
Sunbathing on deck
Some voyagers display traditional signs of their superiority: understated linen outfits, expensive sunglasses, authentic panama hats, leather holdalls and an aloof manner. But these are truly in the minority. Most cruisers hail from all walks of life and dress accordingly. In some parts of the ship, notably the pool areas and the pub, quizzes, karaoke, and round-the-clock sport on the big screen add to the package holiday atmosphere. We could be in a budget hotel on the Costas.
A couple at the Lido buffet
This floating Wetherspoon's – as one person termed it – has a dedicated eating place: the Lido, which houses a massive all-you-can-eat buffet throughout the day and into the night. Unlike the other eateries, the Lido welcomes casual attire, so those diners who don't want to dress up feel at home morning, noon and night. The advantage of dining at the Lido is that you can choose what you eat, and much of it is very good quality: exceptional salads, fruit, and seafood. One can eat very well here, but other less healthy options can be piled on plates and washed down with tolerable tea and bad coffee.
The Britannia restaurant
It is a quite different experience eating in the Britannia restaurant, where smart attire is compulsory, waiters unfurl napkins with a flourish before placing them on your lap, sommeliers proffer the wine list and the menu is Frenchified a la carte. The mixed quality of the cooking – understandable given the scale of operations – makes this another place on the ship where expectation sometimes collides with reality.
The Commodore Lounge
While there is place onboard for traditional British pub culture, Cunard goes all-out to foster the sense of sophistication elsewhere. There are several areas on the ship that feel exclusive yet are open to all, even the occupants of inside staterooms. The Commodore Lounge with its marvellous views, deeply cushioned seating and cool background jazz, is a retreat for voyagers who prefer their murmured conversation without the accompaniment of blaring pop music. In the comfortable, spacious Chart Room, cocktails are prepared and served by immaculate, charming waiters. The well-stocked library, with its deep armchairs and reading lights, is a haven for those who want to browse diverse material – from gardening to nautical history – in peace and quiet.
Waiting for an excursion
But the ultimate Cunard experience must be afternoon tea, served in the Queen's Room between 3 and 4 every afternoon accompanied by a medley of light classics played on the grand piano. Crustless sandwiches, savoury nibbles, fancy cakes and most importantly scones, jam and cream, are served by white gloved waiters. Freshly brewed tea is poured from china teapots, a far cry from the push button operation in the Lido.
Afternoon tea – the ultimate Cunard experience
The fact that the waiters – and indeed the majority of staff – are predominantly Filipino, West Indian or South African gives the whole afternoon tea scenario a faintly post-colonial feel reminiscent of postwar expat clubs in the tropics. But it is this kind of service that makes Cunard – as one traveller put it – the Waitrose of cruise lines.
At afternoon tea, you can if you choose to mingle with other passengers and learn a lot about cruise life. I heard complaints from American, Dutch, German and Spanish passengers that they can't participate in the quizzes because they are so geared to British popular culture and therefore incomprehensible. I also talked to people who never leave the ship to visit the ports because they have been there before on previous trips or because it is much more comfortable staying onboard where your every need is met and it is blessedly cool. For these voyagers, the journey itself – rather than the destinations – is what matters. They are happily immersed in ship culture and reluctant to run the gauntlet of taxi drivers and trip organisers waiting for passengers to emerge blinking into the light. Not for them the challenges of grappling with a foreign town or city.
Thai chi class
Thai chi and chair yoga
The upmarket theme continues in some of the numerous activities timetabled for the days at sea and the evenings on the ship. One can refine one's golf strokes, play deck quoits, learn how to paint watercolours, acquire basic salsa moves or listen to a lecture on popular psychology (why do disasters happen?) in the mindboggling full-size theatre – complete with stalls, circle and boxes. Cunard caters for all tastes; if so inclined you can also join line and ballroom dancing sessions, learn how to flatten your stomach, watch Wimbledon or fit pieces into the enormous communal jigsaws.
Silent disco, and dancing in the Queen's Room
The logistics of this enterprise are astounding. How many yards, or possibly miles of cucumber must be peeled and sliced ready for sandwiches for two thousand people daily? How many people labour in the laundry that deals with all the bed linen, towels, and every day turns the chefs and the crew (or 'ship's company' as the captain calls it) out in starched, pristine whites? When and where do the kitchen porters, technicians and cleaners sleep and eat? Who organises work rotas, trains and monitors 900 people? Waitrose or Wetherspoon's, the sheer scale of the operation is bound to impress. And it all feels effortless and dream-like until on the morning of disembarkation you nervously open your bill for the drinks you have bought with numerous carefree swipes of your room key, swallow hard, then head to the airport to catch your easyJet flight home.
Getting ready to leave