The Pleasures of River (NOT Ocean) Cruising

I’ve never wanted to take an ocean cruise, though I know I’m in the minority.  Admittedly, one of my rather weak and silly reasons is that movies about ships on the open ocean rarely turn out well.  Not Titanic (icebergs), The Poseidon Adventure (tsunami), or The Perfect Storm (hurricane).  More substantially (for perhaps just me) is that cruise ships look like those massive container ships – stacks upon stacks of bedrooms perched on a floating piece of metal.  It’s no wonder the Poseidon tipped over so easily.  Still further, as an introvert, being with 5,000 people in a space whose population density is greater than that of New York City is, well, concerning.  At least in New York City I can escape to Central Park.

Then there’s the ocean itself.  The earth is 70 percent water, which means if anything goes wrong I’ve got only 3 chances in 10 of ending up on dry land.  I know that we’re also 70 percent water, but at least our evolutionary ancestors agreed with me: let’s keep that 70 percent inside us and get out of the ocean.

So, you may be surprised to hear that I’ve actually been on a ship on the ocean.  But I was tricked.  My brother, cousin, their wives and mine had my blessing one night to plan a European vacation.  I was tired and left them to figure it out, with my parting words: “make sure it’s on land.”

The next morning I learned we were going to Italy, whose history, rolling hillsides, olive groves, people and food I love.  Yet when I opened the tour package that arrived a week before our flight to Venice, I noticed that the tour included seeing historic sites on Sicily.  Sicily is an island!  Reading further, I found that we’d get to Sicily on a 45-minute, daytime ferry from the boot of Italy.  I felt I could handle that. Yet a few hours later, after I had assumed we’d take the same ferry back, I learned instead that we’d take an overnight ferry on the Mediterranean from Palermo – which is (for me) way across the ocean from Naples. 

The ferry left near sunset.  I was among the last to board (no surprise).  While everyone went to enjoy a picnic on deck, beautifully arranged by our guide, I went immediately to the other end of the ship where the emergency evacuation instructions were posted. After mentally rehearsing them, I stayed on deck until the last bit of Sicily faded from view.  I went promptly to bed, knowing that when I woke up, I’d be able to see land again - the skyline of Naples. That’s the best I could do. Rating the experience, I’d give the ferry cruise a ten and my courage a zero.

I am not against all water cruising.  We’ve just completed our third river cruise.  Reason one: it’s on a river.  I can see land from both sides of the ship.  I can even convince myself (wrongly at my age, I suspect) that I could swim to safety if absolutely necessary.  More importantly, I can count the lifeboats/rafts and assure myself there are enough for everyone.  And, obviously, there are no icebergs or tsunamis on a river (a hurricane, perhaps, but a river cruise is never more than about ten minutes from getting to shore).

Reason two: the onboard group is small, as is the staff.  I have a feeling of intimacy when there are no more than about 150 people altogether.  Check that out: Dunbar’s Number is the generally accepted theory of anthropologist Robin Dunbar that 150 people is the limit of a group where everyone can get to know and build a relationship with everyone else.  The designers of river cruising no doubt took Anthropology 101.

Reason three: I can get off the ship every day to take tours or walk around town. I’m never on the water more than about 10 hours.  If I wish, however, I can stay onboard and soak up the sun on the top deck – without having to hold my drink so it does not slide off the table as the ship rolls. And we’re docked!

Now, having said all this, I certainly understand why people love ocean cruises on large ships. There’s the open ocean, continuous food, gambling, multiple kinds of entertainment.  I could almost – but that’s almost – try to talk myself into it.  But, in the end, you can call me a stick in the mud or a coward; I’ve earned it.  Give me the Seine, the Hudson or the Mississippi over the open ocean anytime.  I’m happy to free up a room on a big ship on the Atlantic of Pacific for you so there’s room on a small one on the Rhine for me.

Photo Credit: Carol Donsky Newell