What a wonderful whirlwind jumble of experiences on this magnificent vessel. Truly like stepping back to a more genteel time. Elegance, quiet, calm, and the ever-present gentle gliding movement of the ship marked our days.

The first few days of confusion gave way to seeking out favorite nooks and gradually falling into a somewhat fluid routine. Each of the four of us had our own rhythm, but we intersected throughout the day and always came together for dinner and our varied evening experiences.

Santo and I chose the dining room for our first breakfast. We were supposed to go to a safety training session at 10 am and were at the dining room by 9:10. At 9:55, none of Santo’s food had come and I only had a bowl Muesli (instead of the hot oatmeal I had ordered). I think the waiter was new, as he seemed somewhat muddled taking our order. But we later found out the Alison and Maurice had a similar experience. A few minutes before 10 am, I left to go to the training; I would explain to them why Santo was delayed. Still very confused about the ship’s configuration and where everything was, I seemed to meander forever, asking directions at every turn, until I came to the spot where the training was to be. It was in one of the elite dining areas. I did not see any meeting. I asked a waiter where the meeting was. “The safety meeting?” he asked.

“Yes,” I answered.

“It’s at 10 o’clock.”

“I know,” I said. “Where is it?”

“It’s at 10 o’clock.” I wasn’t getting anywhere.

“So did I miss it? Is it over already?”

“No, it’s at 10 o’clock.” I felt I was stuck in a “Who’s on First?” loop. I must have had a very confused look on my face. Finally, he said, “It’s 9 o’clock. The meeting is at 10 o’clock.”

Ahhh! The light dawned. We were to have turned our clock back last night. Oops! It turns out, we turn the clock back almost every night so that by the time we get to New York we are on Eastern time. No jet lag here!

I went back to the dining room and Santo was still at the table. His food had finally come but my fruit never did show up. We decided to try other breakfast options the next day.

We discovered the King’s Court for breakfast the second morning. What an array of breakfast choices: muesli, oatmeal, cereals, cheeses, meats, eggs, hash browns, bacon, fruit, breads, muffins, yogurt, and more. And lots of lovely seating, including some glass-enclosed nooks where you were practically hanging out over the ocean as you ate. Coffee was brought to you and refilled often. Santo was in heaven. We returned every morning, except the one morning we opted for breakfast in our room. It arrived right on time, hot and tasty.

I think my favorite spot was the Corinthia room on the 7^th Deck. It is all soft shades of cream, beige, gold, and muted blue. Light and airy but with a cozy feel.

And I could get Wi-Fi there! The Wi-Fi on the ship was spotty, and I could rarely get it in the cabin. The central common areas were the best chances of a consistent connection. I would check emails, read, write, gaze off at the ocean (or in most cases the fog), sometimes close my eyes and lose myself in the subtle drift of the vessel. It was heaven.

With only one Wi-Fi account, Santo and I could not both be connected at the same time, so sometimes we lost each other on the ship for hours at a time. We would both run into Alison and Maurice but rarely each other. Most lunches were on our own, often King’s Court. I tried the dining room once and was seated at a table with seven other people for a delightful conversation.

We attended a lecture with slide show about the great ocean liners and their history. We are part of a long and storied tradition. We visited the planetarium for a show about the origins of the universe. Alison and I spent several hours one afternoon at the indoor pool at the back of the ship on our deck (Deck 12). The loveliest indoor pool I’ve seen. It is enclosed all in glass and you feel you are actually outside. The air is not steamy and does not smell of chlorine. There are cushioned lounge chairs, a hot tub, and a bar for drinks. The four of us even squeezed in a game of cards (Three-Fourteen). Maurice nearly sunk us all in the last round, but I managed to hold on for the win.

Most days included a stroll around the deck on Deck 7. One lap takes about 12 minutes. I don’t know why I found it surprising that the deck felt so solid. Looking out over the rail, which looks like the rail on every ocean liner that has ever sailed, I felt I was part of some great time continuum, my footsteps superimposed on those that had gone before. It is the same sea they gazed out at, the same fog that embraced them, the same feeling of being so small in a vast world.

The deck chairs beckoned, but most days it was too cold to lounge. We had one of the foggiest crossings ever, according to other passengers who have done the crossing many times. It was only on our last full day that we saw the sun shining on blue ocean and I was able to sit out on deck. It was also the first and last sunset of the crossing.

But somehow, I hadn’t really minded the fog that accompanied us for most of the trip. Perhaps it enhanced the feeling of existing somewhere in the “mist of time.”

Santo found the Deck 8 library early on and took out several gardening books. I got there mid-week and chose a novel by Anne Tyler. It was also later in the week that I discovered the Commodore Club on Deck 9, at the very front of the ship. It follows the curve of the bow, windows all around, white leather chairs and simple adornments. The sea is this room’s décor. It seems to be a favorite spot for reading with all the light streaming in all those windows.

There are three lounges near the dining room on Decks 2 and 3. Each has its own character: the Chart Room has a nautical feel with maps, a combination of deep and muted blues, and lots of wood. Across the way is Sir Samuel, which serves specialty coffees. It is very simple, with a coffee house feel. The third lounge is the Golden Lion, a typical British pub with plaids in deep reds and greens, high back chairs, and TV’s to watch sporting events. The men’s final at Wimbledon took place during the cruise and the room was packed. Over the course of the week, the four of us would meet at one or the other of these lounges for a pre-dinner drink, or a late evening nightcap.

Everywhere we went, smartly dressed waiters, and a few waitresses, offered drinks and served us at our tables. Each lounge had a slightly different drink menu, and I got to sample some very interesting mocktails, as well as every flavor of Pellegrino: lemon, lemon & mint, orange, and my favorite, orange pomegranate.

Dinner was in the main dining room, Britannia. We had the same waiter, Norman, and sommelier, Daniel, every night. The beauty of this room never got old. Dinners were four courses plus dessert, though we usually only ordered three, and once in a while a dessert to share. We would each talk about our days and the varied ways we had spent them. Then we’d discuss our plans for the evening: the show in the theater, music here there and everywhere, or the evening’s gala.

There were two galas on our crossing: the Black-and-White Gala and the Masquerade Gala. The Black-and-White was the second night, and we were not much in the mood for it. I was feeling my lingering bronchitis worsening and Alison had been seasick most of the day. I just not feel like getting dressed up, so chose my black dress pants, white linen top, and the new black-and-white shawl I had bought in Rothenburg rather than the evening wear I had packed.

None of us thought it was much of a gala. The room was wonderful: a tiered cocktail lounged with a large dance floor and a stage for the orchestra. Shaded lamps glowed on every table, and the curved brass rails separating the tiers gave a wonderful curving sweep to the space. Many of the tables were taken, but we found one on an upper tier facing the side of the stage. We had expected people to be standing and mingling and generally a more festive atmosphere. It seemed very sedate, everyone just sat in their own small groups, and the music was contemporary music by a band rather than an orchestra. We didn’t stay very long, but were glad we had at least made it there.

The true gala was the Masquerade Gala! There was a wonderful orchestra that played music of the 20s, 30s, and 50s. There was a troupe of dancers that apparently accompanied the orchestra. They were all dressed in wonderful period clothes and the dancing was spectacular. We had gotten there early and had seats up front so we could enjoy every moment. The troupe members had worn vintage clothing throughout the cruise. I had seen them here and there throughout the journey and was fascinated by the authenticity of their attire.

Now I finally knew who they were and why they were dressed that way! Even though their dancing was quite intimidating, we did get up for a few dances. Even Alison and Maurice got up to dance to “A Kiss is Just a Kiss.” Everyone was dressed to the nines, and most had masks. As I looked around the room, at the tuxedoed orchestra, and the dance floor swirling with elegant dancers from another era, I knew that I would never see something like this again. I breathed in the experience, one that would not soon leave me.

Throughout the crossing, there was a wonderful camaraderie among the passengers. If we were staying in a hotel with 2000 other people, I don’t think I would feel connected to the other guests. But here, everyone feels they we are all part of something special, that we are in this together. People chat easily on elevators, at tables near one another, in lounges and restaurants, wherever our paths cross. We have met so many people from so many places: many Brits, Germans, Americans, some Australians and French. Everyone has a story about where they come from, where they live, and how they are here now on this grand ship. During my many hours in the Corinthia Lounge, I loved listening to the cacophony of accents around me. It was a music I knew I would not hear anywhere else. There is an openness and a spirit of adventure and exploration among those who choose a transatlantic crossing in this modern age. We are not only connected to one another, but to the past. We are so blessed to be able to partake of this long tradition.

The four of us decided to enjoy our last light in the Commodore Club on Deck 9. It has a wonderfully elegant vibe at night, with sweeps of blue lighting along the ceiling reflecting in the white leather chairs. A pianist was at the grand piano, playing with ease and emotion, creating a perfect soundtrack to our last night.  

The highlight of the crossing? Being with Alison and Maurice. We melded so easily together, all four of us. They are so easy to be with, so like us in so many uncanny ways, such salt-of-the-earth people. It is hard to believe we have not seen each other every week for decades. That, in fact, over four-plus decades, Alison and I have only seen each other four times, and the four of us had only been together once before this. How is it that God plucks people from another continent, another culture, to fill a place in our hearts no others can?

We talk a lot about seeing each other again soon. Maybe they will make it to Auburn. Maybe we will have a holiday with them in Ireland. We said the same when I left Belfast after my visit six years ago. I pray it is not another six years until the next reunion. We are getting too old for such long intervals! And yet, when I am with Alison, we are the nineteen- and twenty-year-old students still figuring out who we are and who we want to be, still feeling drawn to one another, still laughing at the same things (except now it is how similar our husbands are), still dreaming dreams (though some of them now are for our children), still excited about what is yet to come. What a blessing the serendipity of this reunion vacation has been!

Santo and I have also enjoyed many happy hours in our stateroom. It is such a comfortable, relaxing place, with as good a view of the ocean (or the fog) as anywhere on the ship.

On our second day onboard, I was feeling worse and contacted the ship’s doctor. They sent someone to our cabin to do a COVID test before they would see me. I knew if I was positive, it would mean I would be confined to the cabin for the rest of the trip. While this would be difficult, I felt it wouldn’t really be that bad: I could eat the same food delivered to the room while every inch of the stateroom let me know I was on board the Queen Mary in the middle of the Atlantic. Luckily, my test was negative and the doctor was able to see me. She prescribed cough medicine with codeine and a medication for the “yicky” feeling in my mouth. She thought the dry air on the ship had exacerbated my lingering cough, but since I was not wheezing and my lungs were clear, she did not think there was still active infection, just the after-effects. I hoped she was right.

Early on our last morning—by early I mean 4:45 am—we got up to watch the ship come into New York Harbor, under the Verrazano Bridge and approach the Statue of Liberty. We went down one deck to the Observation Deck where people were already gathered. Dawn was brightening the eastern sky as we glided northward, the tallest funnel barely clearing the bridge.

Soon a bright light in the distance signaled Lady Liberty. The white light from her crown was the brightest, but the golden beam from her torch stood high above, atop her raised arm, beckoning.

I remember Oma, my grandmother, telling me about the moment she saw the Statue of Liberty when she sailed to America in 1925 with two children in tow. She had not wanted to make the journey, to leave everything she knew behind in Germany, but she had to follow her husband who had come two years earlier. When she saw Lady Liberty, she was filled with a new hope. Perhaps there would be something for her in this country. Perhaps this new life would be a good one. Almost 100 years later, I am taking in the same view, in a style she could never have imagined. Her dreams came true in me. Her hardships paved the way for the blessings of my life. I am grateful to Lady Liberty for giving that frightened young woman the courage to persevere in her new life in America. As we pass the grand Lady, I close my eyes and nod in silent prayer, thanking them both.

We were home.