Queen Elizabeth II (Day 76)

May 22, 2001 (Day 76): QE2 bound for Southampton, England – 8pm

Health: OK. Some food in my stomach makes the pitch and roll tolerable. The motion of the ship continues to make the cabin rather noisy, making it harder to sleep.

Morale:  Good, all things considered.

The seas were very rough today. The passengers on the Regal commented that the Atlantic was much rougher than the Pacific. But I think this qualifies as something else altogether. According to the officer on watch, we are in front of a squall. I guess it is better to have it behind us rather than in front of us. Winds are at Force 9 on the Beaufort scale with gusts up to Force 10, qualifying this as a proper gale. Sounds ominous, but I am not sure what it means.

As it is, they have stopped some of the concerts (it seems the instruments would not stay on stage, but isn’t jazz about improvisation?), drained the pools, canceled the class Anna was planning on attending, and closed most of the outside decks and some of the restaurants. We went to the Pavilion for lunch to find it closed. We then went to the Lido to see what they had, only to find that they had suspended food service also. I was able to find some tea and cookies – served on paper and plastic ware instead of china.

We were treated to a first-hand demonstration displaying the rationale for swapping out the dinnerware. While we were having a little tea in the near-abandoned dining room, I set my cup down on the table. Moments later it rocketed off the table and onto the floor. A subsequent wave sent tables and chairs tumbling with a sound like distant thunder. A casual glance out the windows to the starboard revealed that we were looking down into the seas instead of across them. And we were in a place towards the stern. I suspect the events in bars and restaurants in the bow were even more dramatic.

The effect of the storm on the sea is stunning to watch. Perhaps it is foolishness, but I do not feel frightened by the storm – but I am in no hurry to have a long walk outside (although I did have a little one). The stabilizers are probably helping lessen the motion far more than I realize. I am not seasick and have faith in the crew so that makes watching the event unfolding around me all the more exciting to watch. The waves churn, making them the color of frosted gunmetal. In the horizon, they form a phalanx. As they draw closer, they turn into deep hills and valleys. The thrashing battle between waves and wake is mesmerizing. Giant plumes shoot skyward as one irresistible force encounters the other. The aftermath of this conflict is ribbons of the most unusual blue.

Still, the ship plows through these angry drifts, at times shuddering, but always with a scraping sound like the brushing of low-hanging boughs against the hull. The paneling in the hallways pops like a fading echo of applause.

With our porthole bolted shut, we take every opportunity to escape the gloom of the cabin. The fixtures also creak loudly and incessantly with the swaying of the ship. At best, it beats like scattered pellets of rain falling on a windscreen. At its worst, it has the sound of an old vinyl reclining chair being endlessly opened and closed.

Passengers are being encouraged to move about only as necessary. While I am sure it is coincidental, I am noticing more people in neck braces. Even at 3pm this afternoon, a number of “Do Not Disturb” signs still hung on the doors. An equal number of “Please make up this room” signs hint that the support staff is moving a little slower due to the weather as well. Restaurants are nearly empty. On a rebroadcast of one of the morning lectures, the speaker hinted at the low attendance. At the sauna this morning, I was the only customer in the spa. The remaining water in the pool slapped viciously at its confines, providing the only indication of the intensity of the storm in this windowless portion of the vessel.

While this storm is certainly something to talk about, we do not have it so bad. The Maitre’d told the story about their transatlantic crossing last December. The seas were so rough that a crashing wave sent water over the bow and into the crew’s chambers. Not only did the water get everywhere and take an extra effort to get things dried, it was also in sufficient volume to affect their speed, causing them to be 10 hours late into New York.

Watching the storm, it amazes me to think that Fogg could realistically burn down his ship for fuel – in December – on seas like this. Then again, it was fiction.

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Excerpts from Anna’s journal included.