Incredible views, gourmet food, endless entertainment: yes, it takes seven days, but the only way to cross the ocean is by ship, says Rachel Johnson
It is day four of my crossing. I am perambulating the teak promenade deck of the world’s last great ocean liner, built to slice serenely across the Atlantic. (Note to readers: this is not a cruise. A cruise travels A, B, C, D; a crossing only goes from A to B.)
It’s not cold, but very blowy. The ‘high winds’ signs have been hung across companionways and the upper decks are closed. I feel as if a sudden tremendous gust could pick me up like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz but at the same time I feel completely safe. I am aboard the Queen Mary 2.
I am mid-daily constitutional, hoping to spot a whale, but, like the sailor who joined the navy to see the world, all I see is the sea streaming past. And let me tell you – it’s better than Netflix.
Walking towards me is a woman and we nod and smile. It is Bernardine Evaristo, the Booker Prize-winning novelist. She is swathed in layers too. Our faces are glowing with glee that our horizon, for the duration, is this flat blue line ‒ whichever way we turn ‒ and not the blank page.
Incredible views, gourmet food, endless entertainment: yes, it takes seven days, but the only way to cross the ocean is by ship, says Rachel Johnson
Her presence is par for the course on this voyage of the majestic French-built vessel, the 1,132ft-long flagship of Cunard with its 18 decks, smart navy hull and measuring 236ft high from keel to top of bright red funnel.
Other passengers include the writers Ian Rankin, Charles Cumming, Mick Herron (Slow Horses; if you haven’t seen the Apple TV+ series, you must), plus Ed Balls and Mary Beard. At one point inside The Golden Lion pub, over pints, waiting for the football to start, the BBC’s Paddy O’Connell asks fellow broadcaster Matt Chorley what would the tabloid headline be if the ship went down.
‘Bake Off Judge Hits Soggy Bottom!’ I say.
‘Yes, I think Prue Leith is probably the biggest name on board,’ nods Chorley.
Explanation? This was the annual Cheltenham Literature Festival at sea. I did the first one in 2019. Then came the pandemic, in case you missed it, and when the event went ahead again in December 2022 I’d enjoyed it so much the first time I wanted to do it all over again. Both times I booked the return leg, New York to Southampton, which I favour for these reasons. One, you fly to NYC and sail back. Every day or so, the captain moves the ship’s clock forward an hour.
You leave Brooklyn, the Statue of Liberty on your starboard side, picture-postcard lower Manhattan silhouetted as you stand on the stern, champagne in hand, at the ‘sailaway’ party. The twinkling skyline of the city that never sleeps takes the breath away. For me, any glimpse of the copper statue, the symbol of freedom, democracy and immigration, brings to mind my Jewish great-grandfather, Elias Lowe, who fled the Russian pogroms in the 1890s to make landfall in the US.
Minutes later, the majestic liner is almost scraping under the Verrazzano-Narrows Bridge (with a clearance of only around ten feet, it feels), then the tugs peel off, they drop the pilot and the shimmering skyline of Noo Yawk recedes into the inky night. It’s magical.
Fast forward a week and thanks to the simple equation of distance, speed and time, when you glimpse the awe-inspiring skyline ‒ I mean grimy port of Southampton ‒ you are on GMT! No jet lag! This is one of the reasons I’m so happy to spend seven days crossing the Atlantic, even though I do stagger around like a drunken sailor for a few days back on dry land. Here are some others.
I feel as if a sudden tremendous gust could pick me up like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz but at the same time I feel completely safe. I am aboard the Queen Mary 2, says Rachel Johnson
The sea air and constant motion mean you are always starving hungry and sleep like a top. Cunard knows this. There are, therefore, four meals a day on board ‒ breakfast, lunch, tea and dinner ‒ for which you are expected to put on your glad rags.One night the dress code is black tie, another it’s 1920s, and every other evening is smart.
All the guests tog up to dine and then twirl in the ballroom. (Although I couldn’t be kept off the dancefloor at the disco, which has a terrific band and a karaoke night. I performed ‘Don’t Go Breaking my Heart’ with Ed Balls. The proof is on TikTok.)
My favourite meal is afternoon tea. Even though it takes place an hour or so after lunch, queues start forming, anxiously, in corridors at 3.30pm. The doors are flung open and it’s like the Harrods sale as fools rush in to be seated for the procession of white-gloved waiters bearing teapots and platters of melt-in-the-mouth finger sandwiches, warm freshly baked scones, cream and jam, and finally ‒ cake.
Frankly there is no reason for panic. On the service decks there is fresh food for seven days and enough sugar for eight million scones.
As for sleep, most passengers slumber so well that Sealy does a roaring trade in selling the mattresses in your cabins (not the used ones, obvs). Cabins are called ‘state rooms’. I loved mine: desk, sofa, double bed, shower room and – best of all – balcony from which to watch the briny, sunset and stars, like some ever-changing natural calmness app.
I am mid-daily constitutional, hoping to spot a whale, but, like the sailor who joined the navy to see the world, all I see is the sea streaming past
In terms of activity, you can do as much or as little as you like. The daily programme is packed. Talks, events, music, film, plus dancing and wellness classes. There are five pools, a gym, spa, library. I fondly recall a girly sesh in the hot tub on the stern with Mariella Frostrup, actress Gina Bellman and a bottle of champagne.
Sebastian Faulks attended a ‘How to Do The Times Crossword’ class every day. Others learned how to ballroom dance. I managed a ‘Secrets to a Flatter Stomach’ seminar, which I definitely needed after seven days of The Tea and sneaky visits to the canteen.
Obviously, if you don’t book the lit-fest crossing, there will be a different crowd on board, but I guarantee you will find like-minded travellers on every voyage.
On our last night my husband turned 70. He made me swear not to tell anyone so, naturally, I asked Jo James, the festival organiser, if it would be all right to toast him at the farewell party. And, of course, I asked the Poet Laureate Simon Armitage if he wouldn’t mind reading a poem.
And so, on 9 December 2022, Armitage read for Ivo Dylan Thomas’s Poem in October. It was another highlight of a trip that had only peaks and no troughs. There really is something for everyone aboard the Queen Mary 2. If that doesn’t convince you to spend seven days crossing the Atlantic rather than seven hours, I don’t know what will.
The seven-night transatlantic crossing for the Literature Festival at Sea 2023, departing from Southampton on 19 November, costs from £849 per person. To book visit cunard.com