Homeward Bound
Coming home aboard Queen Mary 2
THE BOOM OF QUEEN MARY 2’ S WHISTLE WAS meant as celebratory, heralding the start of a new voyage. To us, it was a mournful farewell to familiar shores. As we sailed away under grey skies from Southampton — and, more broadly, Europe — the drizzle settling on our cheeks certainly masked a tear or two. For my wife, Kathryn, and me, there were conflicting emotions as we set sail for New York.
A LOOK BACK _ For two adventurous, eye-opening years, we had lived in Istanbul, where we enjoyed hikes in Oman and ski weekends in Italy. From our apartment, we gazed across the Bosphorus, and the Hagia Sophia and Topkapi Palace defined our skyline. In New York, the only skyline from our apartment was a neighbor’s brick wall; returning home was not the joyful affair we had anticipated.
To help transition ourselves from the Old World to the New, we decided to go over land and sea. Packing our bags and dashing off to the airport, only to land 11 hours later at JFK airport, couldn’t capture the enormity of our move. Instead, we traveled by train across Europe in three days, took an overnight ferry to the U.K., and then boarded Cunard Line’s Queen Mary 2. At least, we reasoned, we could look forward to being on the ship.
I was returning home in two fashions. From QM2’ s launch in 2003 until 2008, I spent eight months a year on board as a deck officer, eventually leaving as the liner’s chief officer. Except for a brief one-month contract in 2010, I had not sailed on the ship since. Still, I maintained friendships with many crewmembers and was eager to experience the ship for the first time as a guest.
NEW YORK HAD A
MAGNETIC PULL, AND WE BECAME MORE FOCUSED ON WHAT LAY BEYOND THE BOW RATHER THAN OVER THE STERN.
ONCE UNDERWAY, THERE CAME TO BE A CERTAIN comfort of inevitably. We knew, sailing down the Solent into the English Channel, that our departure from Europe was set. Kathryn and I couldn’t decide midway that we wanted to stay in Turkey and extend our contract by six months, as we had already done once. The possibility to turn around was no longer in our hands.
Every hour of the crossing brought us farther away from Europe and closer to Manhattan. For the first few days, our minds inevitably leapt to Istanbul and what we were leaving behind. We shared messages with our friends there, who, in return, dutifully sent us images of the city we still clung to.
FULL STEAM AHEAD _ The distance traveled steadily increased at 20 nautical miles per hour. After we passed the midpoint of the crossing, and Newfoundland seemed almost on the horizon, a mental switch was thrown. Suddenly, New York seemed not only plausible, but imminent. Instead of being wistful, we became practical. When could we schedule the furniture delivery? Were we free for dinner with Carissa and Silvan on Thursday? New York had a magnetic pull, and we became more focused on what lay beyond the bow rather than over the stern.
I was equally caught up with a sense of familiarity by being back aboard QM2. It helped that, so many years later, there were still many familiar faces, whether in the Britannia Restaurant or on deck. On the bridge, two good friends of mine remained; one, a cadet when I first met him during QM2’ s christening, was now standing for promotion to deputy captain. It brought home that while time marches slowly in the present, when viewed from the context of six years, it vanishes — just as our two years in Turkey were now slipping away.
The traditions of the Atlantic crossing, with which I was so familiar, also erased any of the gap in time that I might have felt. The Atlantic, after all, wasn’t one for reflection or change. Every day, QM2’ s hull cut through one swell after another, the comforting tumble of the bow wave and an almost imperceptible vibration revealing our relentless motion.
I partook in activities I rarely did as an officer — whether swimming in the pool every night or enjoying the ritual of afternoon tea — and slotted back into the routine of cocktail parties and formal attire. I may have been a guest, but, surrounded by so much that was comforting, I still felt very much at home.
Finally, after seven nights on the dark Atlantic, we spotted the lights of New York. The harbor pilot boarded at Ambrose Light, the glassy skyline rose from the sea, and a beautiful summer morning beckoned. Guests crowded on deck, taking in the sun shining over Lower Manhattan, and there was a loud cheer as the funnel barely cleared under the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge, signaling our New York arrival.
Suddenly, we realized that we, too, were as excited as our fellow cruise guests. We had returned to New York, and the drizzle of Southampton was gone, washed away in the 3,000 miles of the North Atlantic that lay astern.