perfectly formed
Hate cruises? I did too before stepping aboard this expedition ship, writes Sarah Pollok
If given the chance to visit the Galapagos Islands, most people would accept without hesitation. The remote Ecuadorian archipelago is one of the world’s most famous destinations that grace the wish lists of countless travellers. However, when the opportunity came my way, it came with a catch; the trip was with a cruise company.
That I had never actually set foot on a ship before didn’t stop me from forming a stubborn image of what cruises were like; a carbon copy of travel full of spoon-fed adventures and manufactured thrills. On the cruise of my uninformed imagination, travellers were herded from one sanitised experience to the next without the slightest chance of spontaneity or risk — things that make travel the rich, life-altering gift that it is.
But an expedition cruise to the Galapagos didn’t sound like most cruises.
Back in 1893, the Norwegian company Hurtigruten began as a steamship service to take freight and passengers between Svalbard and Hammerfest. More than a century later, it has evolved into a cruise company designed “for explorers by explorers”. Held on intimate expedition vessels crewed by experts in science and history, many of the voyages are dedicated to knowledge and exploration and visit remote spots big ships cannot access.
Interest piqued, I signed the dotted line, booked a gruelling series of flights to Ecuador, and hoped Hurtigruten’s Santa Cruz II could change my preconceptions.
To be clear, I thought I disliked cruise travel for two reasons; it seemed grossly extravagant and inauthentically easy. The only image I had of cruises were mega-ships; gigantic vessels that are more shopping mall than ship, with thousands of guests and a flashy devotion to indulgence and entertainment. Aboard these floating cities, with their food courts and movie theatres, water parks and packed on-board itineraries, the destination itself seemed somewhat irrelevant.
But as the Galapagos National Park has a 100-guest limit on cruise ships and Santa Cruz II itself only hosts 90, I knew this boat would be different. Measuring 72m long and 14m wide, the ship was large enough to include some luxuries but small enough to feel intimate and somewhat intrepid.
Alongside the dining room and bedrooms was a lounge with a collection of books, comfy sofas and a coffee machine. One deck held two selfservice washing machines and two 4-person Jacuzzis while another had a bar and lounge. Climb to the top level and you’ll find a small gym with two treadmills and exercise bikes. On a boat, these comforts are luxuries yet felt close enough to reasonable needs (reading, exercising, having a sunset beer) to avoid feeling excessive.
Its smaller size also meant you could have a meaningful conversation with every guest and most crew members if you wished. If mega-ships could be seen as a city of isolated suburbs, this was a tightly-knit village with a “school camp” kind of camaraderie.
My second reservation was tougher to reconcile because it hit against one of cruising’s major appeals; ease. I saw authenticity as the No 1 measure of value in travel and something that was often found on the other side of struggle or discomfort.
By this logic, I believed seamless experiences served up on a pain-free platter may have been easy and fun but couldn’t be as fulfilling or meaningful. So, no, I wasn’t interested in orchestrated experiences meticulously designed to elicit a bouquet of pleasant feelings, thank you very much.
Then, I travelled with Santa Cruz II and can now say, with total sincerity, that all of the above is absolute rubbish.
In fairness, nothing makes one more receptive to trading agency for blissful ignorance than attempting to travel from Aotearoa to Ecuador in the first half of 2022. By the time I touched down in Quito (some 54 hours after leaving Auckland), I was all too willing to follow two men holding a “Hurtigruten” sign outside arrivals into a van and through the 11pm darkness without a clue of what hotel we were going to.
The switch from independent world traveller to “teenager-on-a-family-holiday” was instant and the blissful ignorance that ensued was a class-A kind of pleasure. From airports to hotels, hiking trails to swimming spots, our group was shepherded like school kids, being handed airline tickets, scuba masks or instructions for the next part of the day the moment we needed them.
At lunch on day two, a fellow passenger sheepishly admitted how her brain had already switched off and the rest of our table murmured in agreement. Usually, we were type-As with demanding careers and busy lives, yet within hours of cruise comfort, we could no longer remember the simplest of things like whether lunch was before or after snorkelling. And on that note, what had we ordered for lunch? We know the guide told us last night but that was before the ship rocked us to sleep in a plush white bed that was made and remade by a stealthy cleaning crew. Things just happen on Santa Cruz II. Or, more specifically, the crew take care of the things that are the travel equivalent of unloading the dishwasher; the banal chores and tasks that are an annoying but necessary part of life. Not just the physical tasks but the mental ones too.
Wetsuits are rinsed and bathrooms cleaned but itineraries are also organised and meals planned.
But instead of having my distaste for this “easy” travel confirmed, I was surprised to realise how frictionless travel isn’t any less admirable or rich or real if it serves the “why” that brought you here.
Sometimes, in travel, the struggle is the point. For a 20-something interrailing around Europe or backpacking in Asia, there is a joy in washing underwear in a hostel sink, missing a connecting flight or getting lost in a rural village. It’s “character building”.
But when you have spent thousands of dollars and several days getting to the Galapagos, it’s not so you can fret about visitor visas and baggage tags, finding your snorkel or planning lunch. You do these things because you must.
Unless you’re on an expedition cruise, which frees up your time, energy and mental bandwidth to be spent on throwing yourself into what you came for; the long walks through otherworldly landscapes and once-in-a-lifetime encounters with bizarre creatures. The delightfully foreign cuisine and culture and people.
For me, Santa Cruz II was a perfect 180 from the cruise ships of my old assumptions, a ship that existed to help you be (albeit, lavishly) totally and unreservedly, exactly where you came to be.
Sounds a lot like authenticity to me.