WHY couldn't I get melon juice? There had been melon at breakfast, mountains
of it, in three different varieties.
There was every spirit, liqueur and cocktail on offer in the complimentary bar
and the deck boy was happy to mix, shake and stir anything I wanted. Except
melon juice. Was it time to throw a tantrum?
This wasn't really about melon juice - I didn't even want any of the sickly-
sweet stuff - it was about the ship's claim that it could, and would, rustle
up anything its passengers wanted.
“Everything is possible. I rarely come across something we can't do,” Joerg
Grossman, the hotel manager, told me, launching into a tale of how they had
packed off the bar manager with instructions not to come back to the ship
until he had found an artichoke liqueur that some German passengers had been
raving about. No melon juice, though. Or black pudding, though asking for it
when in Italy was perhaps a tad optimistic.
I wasn't on just any old cruise, you see, I was on a Seabourn ship, a company
at the crest of the luxury cruising wave, which says it's up there with the
best five-star hotels. I'd been sceptical, particularly as I'd rather
thought that cruises were for those unimaginative folk who actually liked
the idea of a floating hotel, and were too lazy to get off their backsides
to appreciate the joys of travel.
A cruise virgin, but well versed in five-star hotels, I'd teamed up with my
father, veteran of larger ships and sailor of small yachts, to put them to
the test as we traversed the Med.
I wasn't going to give them an easy ride. So when I entered our cabin - I'm
sorry, Seabourn, but you can't say it's all-suite accommodation just because
you tack on a sofa and some easy chairs - I was unimpressed by its size. The
bath was so small that I couldn't imagine why they touted the luxury of
having a steward draw one for you, and I was bemused to find that the
“balcony” was nothing more than a glass plank to stop us falling out of
floor-to-ceiling french windows. Hotel room one, Seabourn zero.
Until, that is, my father, who was making noises to signify how impressed he
was with the space compared with most cruise ships and the fact that there
was - heavens - a bath, opened both the complimentary champagne and the
windows, and we sat sipping on our sofa in the sunlight as we drew out of
Monaco's port.
“This is why I go sailing,” he said happily. “This feeling of being close to
the sea is what it's all about.” I have to admit, it was better than a
balcony any day. The joys of small-ship sailing really came home, though,
when we awoke the next morning at Cannes. At 135m (440ft) and carrying 208
passengers, the Seabourn Legend is the largest ship able to moor in the
millionaire's playground, and as we gazed at the mega gin palaces we truly
felt as if we were part of the glitterati. I could get used to this, I
thought. Nuzzling right up to the quay in Elba a few days later, we were
only a few steps away from the colourful buildings and cobbled staircases
leading to Napoleon's residence and fort. The sights had been delivered to
our porthole and there was no need to take a costly excursion.
Back on board, the entertainment wasn't quite as entertaining. In the evening,
showtime turned out to be a soloist blasting out the latest musical hits.
While I wasn't after the big-time shows my father raved about on the large
liners, I would have welcomed a lecture or two, or even an officer to whisk
me away for a waltz. So we lingered over the dining table, where an
open-seating policy - no set meal times or fixed tables here - together with
the open bar helped to create a relaxed, easy atmosphere. It seemed the most
natural thing in the world to swap views on Iraq with George Bush's head of
nuclear staff one night, and to discuss schools with a young family the
next.
The food, too, really was good, from a surf-and-turf buffet on deck to a
tasting menu, a kind of posh tapas on china, plus caviar and champagne. As
we slurped and sipped some of these tastes of luxury - the free champagne
flows to the tune of 500 bottles a week - my father and I ruminated how much
you'd have to eat and drink to justify the higher cost of a Seabourn cruise.
The answer is an awful lot, though that's not the point, because not having
to sign for everything increases your enjoyment. So does not having to tip
the crew, especially when you realise how plentiful they are.
That didn't always translate into a better service but who cares that the
breakfast steward always tried to give me coffee instead of tea?
What made me happy - and, yes, despite my nit-picking, I'd say I was a cruise
convert and a Seabourn one - was the views from sea to shore at Portofino,
its coloured houses cascading down the cliff, washing flapping in the breeze
as gin palaces bobbed in the harbour. My father, who once described Machu
Picchu as just a pile of rocks, said it was the prettiest harbour he had
ever seen. You can get better service, and possibly better food, at some
hotels. But what you can't get are views and an experience like this.
Need to know
Jane Knight took a Mediterranean cruise on Seabourn Legend (0845 070 0500, www.seabourn.com).
A seven-night Florence and Italian Yacht Havens cruise sailing on August 16
starts at £2,210pp, including an “Exclusively Seabourn Experience” shore
excursion on Elba, but not flights.
