Pamela Goodman on the unique challenges — and opportunities — of spending seven days afloat while crossing the Atlantic on the Queen Mary 2. We were staying with friends a couple of weekends ago and spent the Saturday afternoon at their local village fête. This turned out to be more of a craft fair-cum-car-boot sale than the traditional tombola and cake-stall affair, with endless bric-a-brac and multiple artisans selling anything from homespun jewellery and corn dollies to knitted baby bonnets and lavender bags.
Among them was a lady busily carving elaborate flowers and vegetables out of blocks of soap. I was intrigued — not, I hasten to add, because I had a particular penchant for a piece of soap that looked like an artichoke, but because it took me back to my own inglorious attempts at vegetable carving. This was never a skill I had imagined adding to my limited portfolio of accomplishments, but, when an interesting opportunity presents itself, why would I turn it down? After all, who’s to say that carving a carrot into a flower might not one day come in handy? We were on board RMS Queen Mary 2 on a transatlantic crossing from New York City to Southampton — a seven-night trip very specifically referred to as a ‘voyage’, not a ‘cruise’, on the basis there are no stopping-off points.
I don’t need to tell you what a mighty ship she is, how elegant her contours or how slick the inner workings of her engines. More relevant here is life on board and how near.
