A Land Animal at Sea

 A Land Animal at Sea

We are on an extended excursion.  Over its course, if all goes to plan, it will involve trains, planes, automobiles, buses, and at least two stints on boats of various sizes.  Our much-delayed winter vacation, like a good cheese has aged into a primavera (springtime) return to Italy.  We had been on hold — schedules had slipped, prices were not optimal, time was needed for tulips in Holland to bloom, COVID’s season of infection had to abate further, and finally, we waited for schools to release their charges for the summer.  

    It came together rather oddly for us to get from the States to Italy.  We booked a one-way cruise offered by the Holland America Line called a Repositioning Cruise.  It afforded us a relaxing means to travel from one continent to another in luxury versus 

An Early Rotterdam Ad 
Amsterdam to New York. 
Yes, it is Dutch.

the cramped seating standard in airliners.  In late fall, repositioning cruises sail from Europe to the US to ply the waters of southern climes with American snowbirds.  In the spring, after island hopping in the Caribbean all winter, like swallows returning from Argentina to San Juan Capistrano, European cruise ships ‘reposition’ to their customary sailing haunts.  We discovered this form of cruising to be a pleasurable way to slowly travel, all while indulging in true luxury.

Our ship, Holland America’s Rotterdam VII, was fresh from Venice’s construction yards.  Launched less than a year ago,  she was probably still under warranty.  Embarking from Fort Lauderdale, Florida, the ship stopped in New York, New York, a city so fabulous they named it twice, which allowed us to board for a slow ride across the Atlantic with all the amenities you’d expect while on a cruise.  

Thrusters allowed us to pull away from the dock without the aid of tugboats.  Minutes later, we came to a stop before majestic Lady Liberty.  This was something unique on the part of Holland America.  The ship then used its thrusters to rotate completely around so all aboard might see both the city, originally a Dutch colony named Nieuw Amsterdam, and this special lady, a symbol of welcome lauded the world over.  In her raised right hand, she held the Torch of Liberty, its flame symbolic of the eternal flame maintained by Roman Vestil Virgins over two thousand years earlier.  This Priestess of Liberty was clothed in a simple stole, the long, pleated robe worn by Vestal Virgins charged with keeping their sacred flame continually lit.  

It marked a grand beginning to our eight-day crossing.  After days at sea in total isolation, enforced by nothing but a blank horizon, we’d have the opportunity to visit Plymouth and Dover (England), Rotterdam (Netherlands), Oslo (Norway), and Copenhagen (Denmark), before finally docking in Amsterdam (Netherlands).  From there, we’d continue south to Italy and Calitri. 

On this, our first cross-Atlantic cruise, we were confident that our captain would find it hard to miss Europe.  Not being of naval heritage myself and absent a navy background, I had a hard time with simple basics like distinguishing a ship from a boat.  That was until another captain on an earlier cruise corrected me when I referred to his ‘ship’ as a ‘boat’ in conversation — “You see son [I was younger then], ships ply the seas and carry boats while boats are river craft.”  I bowed in obeisance and quietly withdrew backward from his presence.  Being more of a land animal, I went off to ponder ever more challenging nautical issues such as port, starboard, and knots.  He’d made a point.  After all, I’d seen those small, orange-topped lifeboats dangling like ornaments on either side of his ship.  I remained confused, however, for don’t submariners refer to their craft as a boat?  I’d seen enough WWII submarine movies to know that.  Then again, it may all have to do with their length, not the body of water they occupy.  But I wasn’t going to quibble, for I might soon find myself in the brig, if I have the term correct.  

From time immemorial, transatlantic travel had been by sea.  That ended with the “Jet Age,” epitomized by the Boeing 707 jetliner.  Like the tap of a technological wand, transatlantic travel

The Seventh Incarnation 
of the Rotterdam

transformed from days to mere hours.  As a result of this innovation, Holland America Line, like all passenger lines, faced financial ruin even more threatening than the troubled times of the Depression.  From a high point of 61 transatlantic crossings in 1964, the number had declined to a meager thirteen by 1969.  This technical achievement served as a death knoll warning to the industry which feared for its existence — something needed to be done immediately.  

In the wake of difficult decision making, Holland America Line ceased all North Atlantic passenger service in 1971.  It chose to abandon transportation in favor of what would become known as ‘vacation cruising.’  It is hardly a wonder then that Pan American Airlines’ first transatlantic jet flight was given the iconic name "Clipper Mayflower".  This monicker was reminiscent of the speedy ‘clipper ships’ of old, accompanied by an illusion to that historic first passage by sea made by the intrepid Mayflower 351 years prior.  There was much I didn’t know about travelling by sea.  Thankfully, without relying on me, earlier explorers, adventurers, and outright courageous souls had been trailblazers, but not without excessive costs. 

In the distant past, a term like ‘cruising’ was undoubtedly an inappropriate description of the hardships of life at sea.  The word has an air of ease, decadence, and indulgence.  It extends to the point of extravagance, evoking images of perfumed

Cleopatra Imagined on Her Barge

Cleopatra on her barge bathed in the sound of flutes and the breeze from the slow-motion flutter of ostrich feather studded fans.  For much of history transatlantic voyages were hazardous and fraught with the unexpected from piracy to malnutrition.  

In the distant past, a term like ‘cruising’ was undoubtedly an inappropriate description of the hardships of life at sea.  The word has an air of ease, decadence, and indulgence.  It extends to the point of extravagance, evoking images of perfumed Cleopatra on her barge bathed in the sound of flutes and the breeze from the slow-motion flutter of ostrich feather studded fans.  For much of history transatlantic voyages were hazardous and fraught with the unexpected from piracy to malnutrition.  

There was no chance of undernourishment, and you can forget about scurvy on our crossing of the Atlantic.  While 2,600 ‘cruisers’ like us were being pampered by the 1,050 crewmembers aboard the seventh incarnation of the Rotterdam, Rotterdam VII, with all the comforts modern society can put afloat, our cruise would take a measly eight days without even pushing above 18 knots.  If only she’d been prescient enough to known what was coming, Cleopatra might have eaten her heart out in envy.  It was a completely different story for earlier travelers crossing these same Atlantic waters, whichever their direction. 

Between 1492 and 1504, during the heyday of The Age of Exploration, that resolute Italian explorer from Genoa, Christopher Columbus, led four transatlantic maritime expeditions.  Unlike ours, if I have my grade schooling correct, his all-expense-paid ‘anything but a luxury cruise’ was courtesy of

Routes of Columbus' Four Voyages

the Spanish monarchs Ferdinand of Aragon and Isabella of Castile.  Columbus was driven by his desire to find a direct water route from Europe to the Far East by heading west instead of sailing south along the West African coast and rounding the Cape of Good Hope as Portuguese explorers did.  With three ships and a crew totaling 86-89 men, he set out to prove what Greek philosophers, as far back as the 5th century BC in arguing that the Earth was round, had inferred: that a person could reach Asia by sailing west from Europe.  On his first trip in 1492,  Columbus arrived at what is believed to have been San Salvador, followed by Cuba, and Hispaniola in 61 days traveling at only 4-6 knots.  With time, you’d think progress would see transit times decrease as technology facilitated increased speeds, but this was certainly not the case for the Pilgrims, who depended on favorable winds.

Centuries later, on November 11, 1620, a group of Puritans and merchants aboard the cargo ship Mayflower, following a 2,800 nautical mile trek that began in Plymouth, England (one of our cruise destinations), finally arrived at present-day Cape Cod, Massachusetts.  After an earlier false start, they’d departed on a historic journey lasting 66 days, seeking a new world and a new life.  The 102 passengers included 51 men, 18 women, 33 children, 19

The Pilgrim's Hope - The Cargo Ship Mayflower

families, and two dogs.  Living conditions were deplorable.  There was no internet, no water made from seawater, no afternoon tea with petit fours, and little in the way of medical support.  Each passenger occupied a space approximately 6 ft long by 3 ft wide by 5 ft high.  Three women were pregnant when the voyage began.  Elizabeth Hopkins gave birth to a baby boy during the journey and fittingly named him Oceanus.  Susanna White gave birth following arrival while the Pilgrims were finding where to settle and named him Peregrine, meaning traveler.

In 2023 we fell asleep each night in a climate controlled stateroom to the soothing shimmy and yaw as the ship’s stabilizers shed the sea’s forces on our hull.  In contrast, the Pilgrims retired with storms and headwinds battered them, praying they might awaken.  One of those aboard the Mayflower was Richard Warren, a merchant.  He survived the crossing, that first horrendous winter, and was present at the first Thanksgiving in 1621 and undoubtedly many afterward.  His DNA passed to seven children, and today this single Mayflower passenger accounts for over 14 million descendants.  One of those is my Maria Elena.  In addition to Maria, a sampling of his more notable progeny includes former US Presidents Ulysses S. Grant and Franklin D Roosevelt, astronaut Alan Shepard, Ernest Hemmingway, and pop star Taylor Swift of recent concert ticket fiasco fame.

But their crossing took its toll.  The Mayflower’s passengers were not used to the rough weather and suffered greatly from sea sickness.  Additionally, much of the food set aside for the journey had been eaten during the long delays in England.  There were hardly any fresh vegetables or meat onboard.  With such a poor diet and cramped living conditions, sicknesses such as scurvy and consumption were common.  One of the crew died on the voyage and a servant named William Button died three days before land was sighted.  Wrapped in sailcloth both were buried at sea. 

In the 1880s, a period of massive emigration, Holland America Line became a major carrier of immigrants from Europe to the New World.  Much like the Pilgrims who escaped religious persecution, they fled oppression, tyranny, and war in search of opportunity and a better life.  About two million people made their way to Rotterdam Harbor (another of our destinations) during the peak years from 1880 to 1920 to embark on voyages that often ended at Ellis Island, NY.  One sailing related myth, to no avail, advised immigrants to eat onions beginning months before departing to avoid seasickness.  Another misconception concerned ship smokestacks.  More stacks implied greater speed.  Reasoning that speed meant a quicker voyage, immigrants favored ships with a greater number of stacks, just in case the onion therapy failed.  Capitalizing on this preference, cruise lines responded by installing fake smokestacks to insure continued full capacity.  As a case in point, the Titanic’s fourth funnel was a dummy smokestack.  Living conditions, however, had significantly improved over the austere situation the Pilgrims experienced.  

Thousands of immigrants occupied the lower “Minus 2 Deck” aboard Holland America transport ships. Even at a seemingly scant $10 passage fee by today’s standards, transporting immigrants was a

Transatlantic Immigrants on Deck

highly profitable part of the shipping business.  The class got the moniker of ‘steerage’ from the fact that these passengers were allowed spaces in the machinery areas of the ship. A class structure definitely existed to the extent that when survivors of the Titanic reached the safety of shore they disembarked with first-class survivors leading the way. 

I will admit that a primary activity aboard ship is eating, not shuffleboard.  With so many days at sea, there was honestly little else to do between entertainment venues, reading, lectures, walks along the promenade deck, and writing this blog but eat.  The time required to cross the Atlantic by ship gave us, for the first time, an appreciation of just how vast the Atlantic is.  Each day, what was on the menu served as a draw, as effective as a lamp attracts moths.  Chefs sporting billowing puffy hats did their utmost to keep our forks occupied while specialty restaurants, for an additional cost, as Emeril Lagasse would say, would “kick it up a notch”.  I’d swear there was a method in their eagerness to fatten, forgive me, over nourish us.  

In Italy, there’s nothing more important than coming together to celebrate the joy of great food.  Aboard ship, they had created a close second.  This was undoubtedly the inspiration for our onboard Italian restaurant, The Canaletto, which served as a romantic alternative to the main dining room.  There we enjoyed astounding Italian classics like braised chicken cacciatore al forno, branzino shrimp ravioli, or saffron risotto topped with ossobuco … and for dessert why, not cannoli alla Siciliana, affogato, or lemon ricotta baked cheesecake along with an obligatory aperitivo like Frangelico.  There was certainly time.  It was Buon Appetito day after day as we gradually made our way eastward, and the weight of the ship’s stores gradually transferred to the weight of its passengers.

The Canaletto Ristorante was named for the celebrated 18th-century Venetian artist, Giovanni Antonio Canal, born in Venice in 1697.  His father was a painter of theatrical scenery and was called a pittor di vedute (painter of views).  In Canaletto’s early career, he assisted his father as a theater designer.  While in Rome in 1719-1720, Giovanni abandoned the theatre and began to draw and paint architectural views.  He would adopt the

Bacino Scene of Venice by Canaletto

shorthand name “Canaletto,” meaning the ‘little Canal’, presumably to distinguish his work from his father's.

His Venice cityscapes captured the daily life of its people.  “His art retains many vestiges of his beginning as a scene painter for the theater with his characters in and out of the light in the foreground of architectural marvels.”^[2]  Like the old masters, his paintings approach photographs of familiar Venetian sights in their clarity and detail, something I prefer over abstract depictions.  

 Aboard the Rotterdam, there was little to offer in terms of a view beyond the line of demarcation where sea and sky met at a horizon that fully encircled our ship.  Yet I’m sure Canaletto, in a daring impulse, could have created a fine rendering to include an illusion of motion: waves topped with rolling swells, tumbling frothy whitecaps, and plunging sea troughs moving across this massive canvas we call an ocean.  As our view through insulated glass was absent sound, so would his imaginings, leaving it to us to invoke sound to this endless vastness.  Beyond the nuances of wind, weather, and light, his creativity could have even included the seagull we occasionally saw flying alongside our ship mid-Atlantic.  This Jonathon Livingston Seagull, apparently roosting in the superstructure, appeared to be a hitchhiking immigrant, catching a ride to England.  If Canaletto had been at sea during the most productive and skilled period of his career, such a creation would have only added to his fame.  In those years, that almost all of the paintings of seabound Venice (Rt click, Open Link) were completed, elevating his reputation as one of the greatest topographical painters of all time.^[1]

One day in the late afternoon, in a touching tribute to all who perished at sea aboard the Titanic in 1912, the Rotterdam came to a stop above the

Memorial Over The Titanic 

final resting place of this once great ship.  We hesitated before the saddened gloom of an empty sea in the pale light of a foul day.  The undulating silver waves only hinted at the writhing energy beneath us.  While its color was blue gray, its motion produced silvery-white patches here and there as though someone had scratched the surface to reveal its true color. 

I was familiar with the Titanic from an early age when my father introduced me to a man from Wales.  At the time, I’d no idea where that was.  I learned that he’d been a crewmember aboard the Titanic on that fateful voyage and survived because he was one of the lifeboat operators.  We paused just days before the 111^th anniversary of this catastrophic accident which took the lives of 1534 and spared 706.  At the stern of the Rotterdam, the Captain along with some of his staff and surprisingly a large contingent of passengers filling the deck, gathered for a ceremony of remembrance.  In the solemnity of the moment, all was silent but for a bracing 40-degree wind.  Following some brief words, a moment of silence, and a blast of the ship’s horn, a wreath honoring those who had died joined those who had perished in these ocean depths.  This act of respect commemorating this tragic loss had been special — a solemn moment at a historic location.  

Early travelers like Columbus, the Pilgrims, and millions of immigrants who followed made this danger-filled journey.  They include my mother’s bloodline that departed Normandy for Quebec in 1644.  In addition to Richard Warren, Maria Elena’s Irish ancestors on her mother’s side likewise transited these same waters as my Italian grandparents had.  Thankfully, all survived.  But for them, Maria Elena and I would not have been on this crossing.  Would we have existed?  It was what my inner monolog was processing as I stood on the fantail that day, mid-Atlantic, close to nothing and far from everywhere.  Sometimes in the sweep of history, life’s details fall short of historic but are nevertheless equally worthy of veneration to those who gambled and won. 

From That Rogue Tourist,
Paolo

P.S.  Columbus’ heroic 61-day voyage and the Mayflower’s historic 66-day transit can’t compete with today’s long-duration cruises.  Take for example, a 274-day world cruise circumnavigating the globe.  If that is not sufficient, today’s ships offer the ability to reside continuously at sea.  Mrs. Clara MacBeth, an American heiress, already holds the world record, which may just be impossible to beat.  She achieved this distinction by making her home living aboard Cunard’s RMS Coronia for 15 years at a cost of $20M.  In doing so, she holds the undisputed record as the world’s longest cruiser. 

[1] National Gallery of Art, https://www.nga.gov/collection/artist-info.1080.html

[2] Canaletto, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Canaletto

Note:  Information about the Pilgrims was obtained from the Mayflower Museum, Dover, England during our visit.  The history of Holland America Cruise Line and immigrants was drawn from lectures aboard the Rotterdam given by “Mr. Ocean Liner,” Mr. William H. Miller,  Maritime Historian Cruise Ship Lecturer.

Video: Canaletto and the Vedute Room: A Conservation Project
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fjRk3hgWWjc