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Sail up the Bosphorus Strait… with Europe on one side of the ship and Asia on the other! Choose sides as you follow in the footsteps of Byzantine emperors, Ottoman sultans, and modern fashionistas on your cruise to Istanbul. This is Turkey’s commercial capital, and its glittering palaces and mosaic-filled mosques line the shores, welcoming you with a cheery “merhaba” as you prepare to explore a city where carpet dealers still haggle at the 500-year-old Grand Bazaar, and rooftop bars serve creative cocktails to funky DJ beats. Check out the upside-down Medusa head sculptures at the Underground Cistern, duck into a Turkish tavern for a meal on Nevizade Street, or explore ornate mosques.

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Turkey Cruises

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Unforgettable Luxury Cruises to Turkey

Discover the unique contrasts of Turkey, a fascinating country where history and modernity collide. On luxury Turkey cruises, visit the alluring capital of Istanbul, a cosmopolitan city divided between Europe and Asia by the scenic Bosphorus Strait. Explore the Ancient Greek city of Ephesus, home to one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World.

Depending on the itinerary, our cruises to Turkey stop in ports in Spain, Italy, and the Greek Islands along the way, as well as include an overnight stay in Istanbul. You can also embark on an unforgettable journey that sails around the Mediterranean and Israel, which visits the charming port of Haifa and includes an overnight stay in the historic city of Jerusalem.

Turkey Cruise Highlights

Ancient ruins.

Make your way around the historic city of Ephesus, where you’ll find temples, theaters, and a library, all of which date back 2,000 years. Even though 80% of this ancient metropolis remains buried, you’ll still be able to marvel at a trove of archeological treasures. While in Istanbul, descend into the Basilica Cistern, a Byzantine structure built by Emperor Justinian in 532, which features over 300 ancient columns.

Religious Landmarks

Spend a day exploring Istanbul’s most famous landmarks, such as the Hagia Sophia, a spectacular 6th-century building that has served as a mosque, Eastern Orthodox church, and Catholic cathedral throughout its storied history. Or step inside the neighboring Blue Mosque, a grand domed structure built during the Ottoman Empire which still serves as a popular place of worship today. While in Ephesus, pay a visit to the House of the Virgin Mary, where the mother of Jesus is said to have lived during the last years of her life.

Incredible Cuisine

Savor the unique flavors of Turkish cuisine, where you’ll find a mix of Mediterranean dishes and Eastern ingredients. Meat lovers can try different iterations of the local specialty, lamb kebabs, while vegetarians will love plant-based foods such as red lentil soup, bulgur salads, and dolmas. Don’t leave without trying a plate of manti, small dough kebabs that come with a variety of fillings.

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Turkey cruise itineraries.

Our luxury Turkey cruises sail from May through October, allowing you to enjoy the shoulder and summer seasons in Europe. Itineraries range from 10 to 12 nights and visit between seven to ten different ports. Cruises depart from Rome, Athens, or Barcelona and spend two to four nights at sea, which gives you plenty of time to experience the highlights of this gorgeous region of the world.

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Why Cruise to Turkey With Celebrity Cruises

After being voted “Best Cruise Line in Europe'' for eleven consecutive years, we know how to make a cruise around Turkey and the Mediterranean a memorable one. Discover spectacular destinations while surrounded in the utmost luxury and comfort aboard our award-winning ships. Dine on world-class cuisine crafted by a Michelin-starred chef. Enjoy unlimited entertainment options, like Broadway-level shows in the Theatre and live music in the onboard bars and lounges. Sign up for thrilling shore excursions, where you’ll step inside ancient ruins and explore new cities under the guidance of knowledgeable tour guides.

On our sailings to Turkey, you’ll be able to experience one of our newest cruise ships, Celebrity Edge or Apex, two innovative vessels with avant-garde venues like nothing else at sea. Watch the sunset from the Magic Carpet, a cantilevered platform that can soar up to 13 stories above the water. Stay in one of the groundbreaking Infinite Veranda staterooms, where you can transform your living room into an ample veranda with the push of a button. Or plan an indulgent vacation with a stay at The Retreat, our luxury vacation experience that comes with expansive suite accommodations and exclusive access to a private sun deck, restaurant, and lounge.

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9 Night Cruise to the Eastern Mediterranean

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11 Night Cruise to the Mediterranean

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14 Night Cruise to the Mediterranean

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7 Night Cruise to the Mediterranean

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7 Night Cruise to the Eastern Mediterranean

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Crossroads of Cultures

Few cities represent as ravishing a meeting of substance and spectacle as Istanbul, a grand and sprawling capital that ranks among the world’s truly great cities. Here are grand mosques and churches, palaces and bazaars, museums and sites of unsurpassed natural beauty and of course the legendary Bosphorus, flowing from the Black Sea past the Golden Horn and the heart of the city to the Sea of Marmara. The European part of Turkey straddles the western banks of the narrow strait and Asia starts on the eastern shore, making Istanbul the world’s only city built on two continents: the very definition of exotic! In the sixth century BC, Byzantium was a colony of the ancient Greek city of Megara, and only much later did Constantine the Great move the seat of the Roman Empire here. For more than a millennium and a half this timeless metropolis was the capital of empires— with the advent of Sultan Mehmet the Conqueror in 1453 Constantinople became the seat of the Ottoman Empire, before taking the name of Istanbul with the establishment of the modern Turkish Republic in 1923. Today as in the days of empires past, the convergence of cultures and multi-religious coexistence here is truly extraordinary. In Istanbul traditions from not only Islamic but also Christian and Jewish faiths rub shoulders easily with the vibrant mosaic that is contemporary Turkey.

Bosphorus and the Golden Horn

Of this majestic imperial city, whose historical areas were listed as a UNESCO World Heritage site in 1985, the legendary British writer Jan Morris wrote that “In all European travel there is no spectacle more tremendous than the sight of Istanbul massed beside the sea – a solidification of history, jumbled houses and docks and palaces along the shore, mighty domes and soaring minarets, ships and ferries swarming everywhere, rumbling traffic over terrific bridges – a timeless metropolis, familiar to travelers for a thousand years.” The Golden Horn, an inlet of the Bosphorus, flows between the commercial center of Karaköy and Sarayburnu, or the Old Seraglio Point promontory that’s home to the Topkapi Palace, Sultanahmet Square and many important monuments. Opposite the Golden Horn and adjacent to Karaköy is the old district of Pera, settled by Genoese and Venetians in the 12th century and home of the iconic Galata Tower, built by the Genoese. The ornate Dolmabahçe Palace, formerly as sultan’s palace and now a museum, is on the European side of the Bosphorus, in a historic area of mansions and elegant yali , or waterfront wooden villas. A boat excursion along the Bosphorus is a great way to experience this visual pageantry. The Boğaziçi Bridge looms over the neo-Baroque style Ortaköy Mosque and spans more than 5,000 feet across the Bosphorus.

Topkapi Palace

Topkapi, on the strategic Seraglio point, is the definitive Ottoman Turkish palace. Its construction started in the 1460s by the order of Sultan Mehmed II, and it is where the sultans held court. The palace houses the Mgbaddes Emanetler Dairesi (Chamber of Holy Relics) where the Prophet Muhammed’s Hırka-i Saadet (Blessed Mantle) and Sancak-ı Şerif (Holy Banner) are kept in their golden chests. Other treasures include the jewels of the Sultans, ornate swords, chalices set with precious stones, the emerald encrusted Topkapi Dagger and a throne encrusted with 18,000 pearls. The palace also housed Janissary quarters for the elite Ottoman troops and some 400 rooms that were part of the famous Imperial Harem. Topkapi’s gardens afford panoramic views of the legendary waters of the Bosphorus and Sea of Marmara.

Hagia Sophia and Basilica Cistern

Constantine, the first Christian Emperor of Rome, ordered Saint Sophia to be built in 347AD as an imperial church, and with 50 tons of gold, multicolored marble and upwards of 170 pillars from other temples (including those in Athens and Ephesus) it opened 16 years later—only to be twice destroyed by fire before Justinian the Great rebuilt it in 552. For more than a thousand years it was the center of the Eastern Orthodox Christianity, before Mehmet the Conqueror had the huge structure with its signature colossal dome converted to a mosque in 1453. In 1935 the Hagia Sophia has converted yet again, this time to a museum, and many of the original Byzantine mosaics such as the one depicting the Virgin Mary with the baby Jesus and Constantine and Justinian standing on either side have been faithfully restored. The cathedral-sized Basilica Cistern is an elaborate underground network of cisterns built by some 7,000 slaves during the Early Roman period to supply water to the Great Palace (and later to Topkapi Palace). Its spectacular array of vaulted roofs and floodlit columns lie less than 500 feet southwest of the Hagia Sophia.

Sultanahmet Square and Blue Mosque

The square is the heart of Istanbul’s most historic peninsula and some of the finest examples of Byzantine and Ottoman architecture are located here, including the famous Sultan Ahmet Mosque or Blue Mosque. Completed in 1616 and the world’s only mosque with six minarets, it has no fewer than 138 windows and takes its name from the beautiful blue-colored tiles that line its interior. It also houses the tomb of its founder, Sultan Ahmed. In close proximity to the Blue Mosque, you can see the Obelisk of Theodosius and ancient bronze Serpentine Column which is on the site of the Hippodrome, which was the ancient “circus” or sporting center of Constantinople. The Arasta Çarşısı, or Arasta Bazaar, is located just behind the mosque and a great stop for some unique handicrafts shopping.

Süleymaniye Mosque

Imperial Ottoman architect Mimar Sinan put his stamp on the Istanbul cityscape by building more than 300 structures during the reign of three sultans, including Suleiman the Magnificent who commissioned the Süleymaniye Mosque in 1550. Sinan completed it seven years later, and the mosque’s main dome, several smaller domes, four soaring minarets and graceful interior make it one of the most impressive of Istanbul’s religious sites. The mosque is located on the Third Hill of Istanbul, west of Sultanahmet Square but still within the city’s ancient walls.

Grand Bazaar and Spice Bazaar

Istanbul’s Grand Bazaar, the Kapalı Çarşı, dates back to 1461 and along with the Spice Bazaar is one of the most exciting stops you’ll make in the city. Originally, Sultan Mehmet the Conqueror set up the covered bazaar as a way to generate income for the upkeep of the Hagia Sophia and it was an important place for trade in Ottoman times. Today you will find everything from antiques to jewelry, gold to affordable souvenirs and unique mementos in more than 3,000 individual shops. Similarly, the Spice Bazaar (also called Mısır Çarşısı or Egyptian Bazaar) was built in 1660 and was meant to support the New Mosque. There are nearly 100 shops selling not only spices and dried fruits and nuts but also jewelry, souvenirs and of course the famous Turkish delight and other traditional sweets. The bazaars are sensory feasts and one of the most essential and authentic of Istanbul experiences.

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Whirling Dervishes & dinner

Turkish baklava making, gents anatolian well-being (berber and hammam), painting on water: turkish ebru art, turkish baths, ottoman empire and byzantine legacy tour, discover the hidden secrets of sultan ahmet square, bosphorus cruise and the spice market, a taste of istanbul: street food tour.

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Istanbul, Turkey

Arriving in Istanbul, Turkey on board a ship is an unforgettable experience. The Bosphorus, dividing Europe and Asia, welcomes passengers with ocean breezes, soaring seagulls and—if you’re lucky—playful dolphins that frolic en route to the port. On deck is where the views of Istanbul’s best attractions await. The shores of Asia to the east, the first Bosphorus Bridge to the north, and the “old Istanbul” peninsula in the south—home to Topkapı Palace and Hagia Sophia—give a glimpse of what’s to come on your visit. But once you step ashore in Istanbul, you’ll find the most interesting parts of the city—neighborhoods with personalities of their own. Explore the sights of bohemian Beyoğlu: a contemporary district brimming with galleries and street art, back street bars, cafés and fashion outlets that line the busy shopping avenue—Istiklal Caddesi. Meanwhile, across the Golden Horn, Zeyrek’s ancient timber houses made it a designated UNESCO World Heritage Site where people live a traditional way of life. Sultanahmet is where travelers of the world sightsee and explore palaces, temples and mosques that once defined the power of the Roman, Byzantine and Ottoman empires. But, as these empire builders learned, it’s difficult to conquer Istanbul in one trip. You’ll want come back for more.

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TRAVEL TO THE Istanbul CRUISE TERMINAL

From the European side: Exit the O-3/E-80 at the junction for the E-5, then turn off at the junction for Besiktas, which leads to Barbaros Boulevard. Keeping to the right at the end of the Boulevard, drive straight on for approximately 10 minutes. When you reach Meclis-i Mebusan Street you will see the port on your left. From the Asian side: Take the E-5 across the bridge and take the first exit after the bridge, signposted Besiktas, which leads to Barbaros Boulevard. Keeping to the right at the end of the Boulevard, drive straight on for approximately 10 minutes. When you reach Meclis-i Mebusan Street you will see the port on your left.

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Atatürk Airport is approximately 24 km (15 miles) from Salıpazarı Port.  There is a 24-hour tram / underground service linking Atatürk Airport and Salıpazarı Port. Findikli station is the closest to the port, being just a 3-minute walk away. There is also a taxi rank immediately outside the airport building. Sabiha Gökçen Airport is approximately 45 km (28 miles) from Salıpazarı Port. You can take a taxi from outside the airport building.

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Itinerary: Piraeus, Mykonos, Istanbul, Limassol, Alanya, Rhodes, Kusadasi, Piraeus

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Straddling both Europe and Asia, Istanbul is bisected by the Bosphorus Strait that separates the Black Sea and the Sea of Marmara. Istanbul was once Constantinople, and it was actually Byzantium even before that. Throughout its history Istanbul has been an important place, serving as the capital of the Byzantine Empire, and at one point it was the richest city in Europe. In 1453 the city was captured and made the new capital of the Ottoman Empire. It was during this period that this largely Christian city was transformed into an Islamic center. Contact our cruise experts for help planning a cruise to Istanbul, Turkey. Featured below are a few of our favorite experiences for the cruise port of Istanbul, Turkey:

• Visit the Grand Bazaar, a giant commercial shopping center with 4,000 shops, restaurants and teahouses, along with mosques and inns. Here you can find jewelry, rugs and locally-produced yarns.  
• See the expansive porcelain collection, along with the throne room and clothing worn by the former Ottoman empires, when you visit Topkapi Palace. This palace built in the 15 th century is brimming with riches.  
• Attend a Dance of Colours Performance where you’ll be treated to 10 dances from different regions in Turkey, including the whirling dervishes and Sufi music.  
• Explore the Haghia Sofia, once considered to be the greatest Christian church, which was built in 537. When the Ottomans took over, the church was converted to a mosque and now this famous landmark is a museum. Inside you’ll find intricate mosaics.  
• Relax at a hamam, or Turkish bath, where you can choose to just enjoy the sauna or indulge in a massage. There are several hamam all over the city.

Top 10 Cruises to Istanbul, Turkey

• Silver Spirit 7 NIGHT Mediterranean CRUISE Departing From Istanbul, Turkey (Apr 2024)
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• Star Legend Istanbul Icons & Aegean Artifacts via the Corinth Canal Cruise Tour PIR-IST (Apr 24 2024) Departing From Piraeus (Athens), Greece (Apr 2024)
• Crystal Symphony 14 Night Athens to Rome (Civitavecchia) Departing From Piraeus (Athens), Greece (Apr 2024)

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Crying Myself to Sleep on the Biggest Cruise Ship Ever

Seven agonizing nights aboard the Icon of the Seas

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MY FIRST GLIMPSE of Royal Caribbean’s Icon of the Seas, from the window of an approaching Miami cab, brings on a feeling of vertigo, nausea, amazement, and distress. I shut my eyes in defense, as my brain tells my optical nerve to try again.

The ship makes no sense, vertically or horizontally. It makes no sense on sea, or on land, or in outer space. It looks like a hodgepodge of domes and minarets, tubes and canopies, like Istanbul had it been designed by idiots. Vibrant, oversignifying colors are stacked upon other such colors, decks perched over still more decks; the only comfort is a row of lifeboats ringing its perimeter. There is no imposed order, no cogent thought, and, for those who do not harbor a totalitarian sense of gigantomania, no visual mercy. This is the biggest cruise ship ever built, and I have been tasked with witnessing its inaugural voyage.

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“Author embarks on their first cruise-ship voyage” has been a staple of American essay writing for almost three decades, beginning with David Foster Wallace’s “A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again,” which was first published in 1996 under the title “Shipping Out.” Since then, many admirable writers have widened and diversified the genre. Usually the essayist commissioned to take to the sea is in their first or second flush of youth and is ready to sharpen their wit against the hull of the offending vessel. I am 51, old and tired, having seen much of the world as a former travel journalist, and mostly what I do in both life and prose is shrug while muttering to my imaginary dachshund, “This too shall pass.” But the Icon of the Seas will not countenance a shrug. The Icon of the Seas is the Linda Loman of cruise ships, exclaiming that attention must be paid. And here I am in late January with my one piece of luggage and useless gray winter jacket and passport, zipping through the Port of Miami en route to the gangway that will separate me from the bulk of North America for more than seven days, ready to pay it in full.

The aforementioned gangway opens up directly onto a thriving mall (I will soon learn it is imperiously called the “Royal Promenade”), presently filled with yapping passengers beneath a ceiling studded with balloons ready to drop. Crew members from every part of the global South, as well as a few Balkans, are shepherding us along while pressing flutes of champagne into our hands. By a humming Starbucks, I drink as many of these as I can and prepare to find my cabin. I show my blue Suite Sky SeaPass Card (more on this later, much more) to a smiling woman from the Philippines, and she tells me to go “aft.” Which is where, now? As someone who has rarely sailed on a vessel grander than the Staten Island Ferry, I am confused. It turns out that the aft is the stern of the ship, or, for those of us who don’t know what a stern or an aft are, its ass. The nose of the ship, responsible for separating the waves before it, is also called a bow, and is marked for passengers as the FWD , or forward. The part of the contemporary sailing vessel where the malls are clustered is called the midship. I trust that you have enjoyed this nautical lesson.

I ascend via elevator to my suite on Deck 11. This is where I encounter my first terrible surprise. My suite windows and balcony do not face the ocean. Instead, they look out onto another shopping mall. This mall is the one that’s called Central Park, perhaps in homage to the Olmsted-designed bit of greenery in the middle of my hometown. Although on land I would be delighted to own a suite with Central Park views, here I am deeply depressed. To sail on a ship and not wake up to a vast blue carpet of ocean? Unthinkable.

Allow me a brief preamble here. The story you are reading was commissioned at a moment when most staterooms on the Icon were sold out. In fact, so enthralled by the prospect of this voyage were hard-core mariners that the ship’s entire inventory of guest rooms (the Icon can accommodate up to 7,600 passengers, but its inaugural journey was reduced to 5,000 or so for a less crowded experience) was almost immediately sold out. Hence, this publication was faced with the shocking prospect of paying nearly $19,000 to procure for this solitary passenger an entire suite—not including drinking expenses—all for the privilege of bringing you this article. But the suite in question doesn’t even have a view of the ocean! I sit down hard on my soft bed. Nineteen thousand dollars for this .

The viewless suite does have its pluses. In addition to all the Malin+Goetz products in my dual bathrooms, I am granted use of a dedicated Suite Deck lounge; access to Coastal Kitchen, a superior restaurant for Suites passengers; complimentary VOOM SM Surf & Stream (“the fastest Internet at Sea”) “for one device per person for the whole cruise duration”; a pair of bathrobes (one of which comes prestained with what looks like a large expectoration by the greenest lizard on Earth); and use of the Grove Suite Sun, an area on Decks 18 and 19 with food and deck chairs reserved exclusively for Suite passengers. I also get reserved seating for a performance of The Wizard of Oz , an ice-skating tribute to the periodic table, and similar provocations. The very color of my Suite Sky SeaPass Card, an oceanic blue as opposed to the cloying royal purple of the standard non-Suite passenger, will soon provoke envy and admiration. But as high as my status may be, there are those on board who have much higher status still, and I will soon learn to bow before them.

In preparation for sailing, I have “priced in,” as they say on Wall Street, the possibility that I may come from a somewhat different monde than many of the other cruisers. Without falling into stereotypes or preconceptions, I prepare myself for a friendly outspokenness on the part of my fellow seafarers that may not comply with modern DEI standards. I believe in meeting people halfway, and so the day before flying down to Miami, I visited what remains of Little Italy to purchase a popular T-shirt that reads DADDY’S LITTLE MEATBALL across the breast in the colors of the Italian flag. My wife recommended that I bring one of my many T-shirts featuring Snoopy and the Peanuts gang, as all Americans love the beagle and his friends. But I naively thought that my meatball T-shirt would be more suitable for conversation-starting. “Oh, and who is your ‘daddy’?” some might ask upon seeing it. “And how long have you been his ‘little meatball’?” And so on.

I put on my meatball T-shirt and head for one of the dining rooms to get a late lunch. In the elevator, I stick out my chest for all to read the funny legend upon it, but soon I realize that despite its burnished tricolor letters, no one takes note. More to the point, no one takes note of me. Despite my attempts at bridge building, the very sight of me (small, ethnic, without a cap bearing the name of a football team) elicits no reaction from other passengers. Most often, they will small-talk over me as if I don’t exist. This brings to mind the travails of David Foster Wallace , who felt so ostracized by his fellow passengers that he retreated to his cabin for much of his voyage. And Wallace was raised primarily in the Midwest and was a much larger, more American-looking meatball than I am. If he couldn’t talk to these people, how will I? What if I leave this ship without making any friends at all, despite my T-shirt? I am a social creature, and the prospect of seven days alone and apart is saddening. Wallace’s stateroom, at least, had a view of the ocean, a kind of cheap eternity.

Worse awaits me in the dining room. This is a large, multichandeliered room where I attended my safety training (I was shown how to put on a flotation vest; it is a very simple procedure). But the maître d’ politely refuses me entry in an English that seems to verge on another language. “I’m sorry, this is only for pendejos ,” he seems to be saying. I push back politely and he repeats himself. Pendejos ? Piranhas? There’s some kind of P-word to which I am not attuned. Meanwhile elderly passengers stream right past, powered by their limbs, walkers, and electric wheelchairs. “It is only pendejo dining today, sir.” “But I have a suite!” I say, already starting to catch on to the ship’s class system. He examines my card again. “But you are not a pendejo ,” he confirms. I am wearing a DADDY’S LITTLE MEATBALL T-shirt, I want to say to him. I am the essence of pendejo .

Eventually, I give up and head to the plebeian buffet on Deck 15, which has an aquatic-styled name I have now forgotten. Before gaining entry to this endless cornucopia of reheated food, one passes a washing station of many sinks and soap dispensers, and perhaps the most intriguing character on the entire ship. He is Mr. Washy Washy—or, according to his name tag, Nielbert of the Philippines—and he is dressed as a taco (on other occasions, I’ll see him dressed as a burger). Mr. Washy Washy performs an eponymous song in spirited, indeed flamboyant English: “Washy, washy, wash your hands, WASHY WASHY!” The dangers of norovirus and COVID on a cruise ship this size (a giant fellow ship was stricken with the former right after my voyage) makes Mr. Washy Washy an essential member of the crew. The problem lies with the food at the end of Washy’s rainbow. The buffet is groaning with what sounds like sophisticated dishes—marinated octopus, boiled egg with anchovy, chorizo, lobster claws—but every animal tastes tragically the same, as if there was only one creature available at the market, a “cruisipus” bred specifically for Royal Caribbean dining. The “vegetables” are no better. I pick up a tomato slice and look right through it. It tastes like cellophane. I sit alone, apart from the couples and parents with gaggles of children, as “We Are Family” echoes across the buffet space.

I may have failed to mention that all this time, the Icon of the Seas has not left port. As the fiery mango of the subtropical setting sun makes Miami’s condo skyline even more apocalyptic, the ship shoves off beneath a perfunctory display of fireworks. After the sun sets, in the far, dark distance, another circus-lit cruise ship ruptures the waves before us. We glance at it with pity, because it is by definition a smaller ship than our own. I am on Deck 15, outside the buffet and overlooking a bunch of pools (the Icon has seven of them), drinking a frilly drink that I got from one of the bars (the Icon has 15 of them), still too shy to speak to anyone, despite Sister Sledge’s assertion that all on the ship are somehow related.

Kim Brooks: On failing the family vacation

The ship’s passage away from Ron DeSantis’s Florida provides no frisson, no sense of developing “sea legs,” as the ship is too large to register the presence of waves unless a mighty wind adds significant chop. It is time for me to register the presence of the 5,000 passengers around me, even if they refuse to register mine. My fellow travelers have prepared for this trip with personally decorated T-shirts celebrating the importance of this voyage. The simplest ones say ICON INAUGURAL ’24 on the back and the family name on the front. Others attest to an over-the-top love of cruise ships: WARNING! MAY START TALKING ABOUT CRUISING . Still others are artisanally designed and celebrate lifetimes spent married while cruising (on ships, of course). A couple possibly in their 90s are wearing shirts whose backs feature a drawing of a cruise liner, two flamingos with ostensibly male and female characteristics, and the legend “ HUSBAND AND WIFE Cruising Partners FOR LIFE WE MAY NOT HAVE IT All Together BUT TOGETHER WE HAVE IT ALL .” (The words not in all caps have been written in cursive.) A real journalist or a more intrepid conversationalist would have gone up to the couple and asked them to explain the longevity of their marriage vis-à-vis their love of cruising. But instead I head to my mall suite, take off my meatball T-shirt, and allow the first tears of the cruise to roll down my cheeks slowly enough that I briefly fall asleep amid the moisture and salt.

I WAKE UP with a hangover. Oh God. Right. I cannot believe all of that happened last night. A name floats into my cobwebbed, nauseated brain: “Ayn Rand.” Jesus Christ.

I breakfast alone at the Coastal Kitchen. The coffee tastes fine and the eggs came out of a bird. The ship rolls slightly this morning; I can feel it in my thighs and my schlong, the parts of me that are most receptive to danger.

I had a dangerous conversation last night. After the sun set and we were at least 50 miles from shore (most modern cruise ships sail at about 23 miles an hour), I lay in bed softly hiccupping, my arms stretched out exactly like Jesus on the cross, the sound of the distant waves missing from my mall-facing suite, replaced by the hum of air-conditioning and children shouting in Spanish through the vents of my two bathrooms. I decided this passivity was unacceptable. As an immigrant, I feel duty-bound to complete the tasks I am paid for, which means reaching out and trying to understand my fellow cruisers. So I put on a normal James Perse T-shirt and headed for one of the bars on the Royal Promenade—the Schooner Bar, it was called, if memory serves correctly.

I sat at the bar for a martini and two Negronis. An old man with thick, hairy forearms drank next to me, very silent and Hemingwaylike, while a dreadlocked piano player tinkled out a series of excellent Elton John covers. To my right, a young white couple—he in floral shorts, she in a light, summery miniskirt with a fearsome diamond ring, neither of them in football regalia—chatted with an elderly couple. Do it , I commanded myself. Open your mouth. Speak! Speak without being spoken to. Initiate. A sentence fragment caught my ear from the young woman, “Cherry Hill.” This is a suburb of Philadelphia in New Jersey, and I had once been there for a reading at a synagogue. “Excuse me,” I said gently to her. “Did you just mention Cherry Hill? It’s a lovely place.”

As it turned out, the couple now lived in Fort Lauderdale (the number of Floridians on the cruise surprised me, given that Southern Florida is itself a kind of cruise ship, albeit one slowly sinking), but soon they were talking with me exclusively—the man potbellied, with a chin like a hard-boiled egg; the woman as svelte as if she were one of the many Ukrainian members of the crew—the elderly couple next to them forgotten. This felt as groundbreaking as the first time I dared to address an American in his native tongue, as a child on a bus in Queens (“On my foot you are standing, Mister”).

“I don’t want to talk politics,” the man said. “But they’re going to eighty-six Biden and put Michelle in.”

I considered the contradictions of his opening conversational gambit, but decided to play along. “People like Michelle,” I said, testing the waters. The husband sneered, but the wife charitably put forward that the former first lady was “more personable” than Joe Biden. “They’re gonna eighty-six Biden,” the husband repeated. “He can’t put a sentence together.”

After I mentioned that I was a writer—though I presented myself as a writer of teleplays instead of novels and articles such as this one—the husband told me his favorite writer was Ayn Rand. “Ayn Rand, she came here with nothing,” the husband said. “I work with a lot of Cubans, so …” I wondered if I should mention what I usually do to ingratiate myself with Republicans or libertarians: the fact that my finances improved after pass-through corporations were taxed differently under Donald Trump. Instead, I ordered another drink and the couple did the same, and I told him that Rand and I were born in the same city, St. Petersburg/Leningrad, and that my family also came here with nothing. Now the bonding and drinking began in earnest, and several more rounds appeared. Until it all fell apart.

Read: Gary Shteyngart on watching Russian television for five days straight

My new friend, whom I will refer to as Ayn, called out to a buddy of his across the bar, and suddenly a young couple, both covered in tattoos, appeared next to us. “He fucking punked me,” Ayn’s frat-boy-like friend called out as he put his arm around Ayn, while his sizable partner sizzled up to Mrs. Rand. Both of them had a look I have never seen on land—their eyes projecting absence and enmity in equal measure. In the ’90s, I drank with Russian soldiers fresh from Chechnya and wandered the streets of wartime Zagreb, but I have never seen such undisguised hostility toward both me and perhaps the universe at large. I was briefly introduced to this psychopathic pair, but neither of them wanted to have anything to do with me, and the tattooed woman would not even reveal her Christian name to me (she pretended to have the same first name as Mrs. Rand). To impress his tattooed friends, Ayn made fun of the fact that as a television writer, I’d worked on the series Succession (which, it would turn out, practically nobody on the ship had watched), instead of the far more palatable, in his eyes, zombie drama of last year. And then my new friends drifted away from me into an angry private conversation—“He punked me!”—as I ordered another drink for myself, scared of the dead-eyed arrivals whose gaze never registered in the dim wattage of the Schooner Bar, whose terrifying voices and hollow laughs grated like unoiled gears against the crooning of “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road.”

But today is a new day for me and my hangover. After breakfast, I explore the ship’s so-called neighborhoods . There’s the AquaDome, where one can find a food hall and an acrobatic sound-and-light aquatic show. Central Park has a premium steak house, a sushi joint, and a used Rolex that can be bought for $8,000 on land here proudly offered at $17,000. There’s the aforementioned Royal Promenade, where I had drunk with the Rands, and where a pair of dueling pianos duel well into the night. There’s Surfside, a kids’ neighborhood full of sugary garbage, which looks out onto the frothy trail that the behemoth leaves behind itself. Thrill Island refers to the collection of tubes that clutter the ass of the ship and offer passengers six waterslides and a surfing simulation. There’s the Hideaway, an adult zone that plays music from a vomit-slathered, Brit-filled Alicante nightclub circa 1996 and proves a big favorite with groups of young Latin American customers. And, most hurtfully, there’s the Suite Neighborhood.

I say hurtfully because as a Suite passenger I should be here, though my particular suite is far from the others. Whereas I am stuck amid the riffraff of Deck 11, this section is on the highborn Decks 16 and 17, and in passing, I peek into the spacious, tall-ceilinged staterooms from the hallway, dazzled by the glint of the waves and sun. For $75,000, one multifloor suite even comes with its own slide between floors, so that a family may enjoy this particular terror in private. There is a quiet splendor to the Suite Neighborhood. I see fewer stickers and signs and drawings than in my own neighborhood—for example, MIKE AND DIANA PROUDLY SERVED U.S. MARINE CORPS RETIRED . No one here needs to announce their branch of service or rank; they are simply Suites, and this is where they belong. Once again, despite my hard work and perseverance, I have been disallowed from the true American elite. Once again, I am “Not our class, dear.” I am reminded of watching The Love Boat on my grandmother’s Zenith, which either was given to her or we found in the trash (I get our many malfunctioning Zeniths confused) and whose tube got so hot, I would put little chunks of government cheese on a thin tissue atop it to give our welfare treat a pleasant, Reagan-era gooeyness. I could not understand English well enough then to catch the nuances of that seafaring program, but I knew that there were differences in the status of the passengers, and that sometimes those differences made them sad. Still, this ship, this plenty—every few steps, there are complimentary nachos or milkshakes or gyros on offer—was the fatty fuel of my childhood dreams. If only I had remained a child.

I walk around the outdoor decks looking for company. There is a middle-aged African American couple who always seem to be asleep in each other’s arms, probably exhausted from the late capitalism they regularly encounter on land. There is far more diversity on this ship than I expected. Many couples are a testament to Loving v. Virginia , and there is a large group of folks whose T-shirts read MELANIN AT SEA / IT’S THE MELANIN FOR ME . I smile when I see them, but then some young kids from the group makes Mr. Washy Washy do a cruel, caricatured “Burger Dance” (today he is in his burger getup), and I think, Well, so much for intersectionality .

At the infinity pool on Deck 17, I spot some elderly women who could be ethnic and from my part of the world, and so I jump in. I am proved correct! Many of them seem to be originally from Queens (“Corona was still great when it was all Italian”), though they are now spread across the tristate area. We bond over the way “Ron-kon-koma” sounds when announced in Penn Station.

“Everyone is here for a different reason,” one of them tells me. She and her ex-husband last sailed together four years ago to prove to themselves that their marriage was truly over. Her 15-year-old son lost his virginity to “an Irish young lady” while their ship was moored in Ravenna, Italy. The gaggle of old-timers competes to tell me their favorite cruising stories and tips. “A guy proposed in Central Park a couple of years ago”—many Royal Caribbean ships apparently have this ridiculous communal area—“and she ran away screaming!” “If you’re diamond-class, you get four drinks for free.” “A different kind of passenger sails out of Bayonne.” (This, perhaps, is racially coded.) “Sometimes, if you tip the bartender $5, your next drink will be free.”

“Everyone’s here for a different reason,” the woman whose marriage ended on a cruise tells me again. “Some people are here for bad reasons—the drinkers and the gamblers. Some people are here for medical reasons.” I have seen more than a few oxygen tanks and at least one woman clearly undergoing very serious chemo. Some T-shirts celebrate good news about a cancer diagnosis. This might be someone’s last cruise or week on Earth. For these women, who have spent months, if not years, at sea, cruising is a ritual as well as a life cycle: first love, last love, marriage, divorce, death.

Read: The last place on Earth any tourist should go

I have talked with these women for so long, tonight I promise myself that after a sad solitary dinner I will not try to seek out company at the bars in the mall or the adult-themed Hideaway. I have enough material to fulfill my duties to this publication. As I approach my orphaned suite, I run into the aggro young people who stole Mr. and Mrs. Rand away from me the night before. The tattooed apparitions pass me without a glance. She is singing something violent about “Stuttering Stanley” (a character in a popular horror movie, as I discover with my complimentary VOOM SM Surf & Stream Internet at Sea) and he’s loudly shouting about “all the money I’ve lost,” presumably at the casino in the bowels of the ship.

So these bent psychos out of a Cormac McCarthy novel are angrily inhabiting my deck. As I mewl myself to sleep, I envision a limited series for HBO or some other streamer, a kind of low-rent White Lotus , where several aggressive couples conspire to throw a shy intellectual interloper overboard. I type the scenario into my phone. As I fall asleep, I think of what the woman who recently divorced her husband and whose son became a man through the good offices of the Irish Republic told me while I was hoisting myself out of the infinity pool. “I’m here because I’m an explorer. I’m here because I’m trying something new.” What if I allowed myself to believe in her fantasy?

“YOU REALLY STARTED AT THE TOP,” they tell me. I’m at the Coastal Kitchen for my eggs and corned-beef hash, and the maître d’ has slotted me in between two couples. Fueled by coffee or perhaps intrigued by my relative youth, they strike up a conversation with me. As always, people are shocked that this is my first cruise. They contrast the Icon favorably with all the preceding liners in the Royal Caribbean fleet, usually commenting on the efficiency of the elevators that hurl us from deck to deck (as in many large corporate buildings, the elevators ask you to choose a floor and then direct you to one of many lifts). The couple to my right, from Palo Alto—he refers to his “porn mustache” and calls his wife “my cougar” because she is two years older—tell me they are “Pandemic Pinnacles.”

This is the day that my eyes will be opened. Pinnacles , it is explained to me over translucent cantaloupe, have sailed with Royal Caribbean for 700 ungodly nights. Pandemic Pinnacles took advantage of the two-for-one accrual rate of Pinnacle points during the pandemic, when sailing on a cruise ship was even more ill-advised, to catapult themselves into Pinnacle status.

Because of the importance of the inaugural voyage of the world’s largest cruise liner, more than 200 Pinnacles are on this ship, a startling number, it seems. Mrs. Palo Alto takes out a golden badge that I have seen affixed over many a breast, which reads CROWN AND ANCHOR SOCIETY along with her name. This is the coveted badge of the Pinnacle. “You should hear all the whining in Guest Services,” her husband tells me. Apparently, the Pinnacles who are not also Suites like us are all trying to use their status to get into Coastal Kitchen, our elite restaurant. Even a Pinnacle needs to be a Suite to access this level of corned-beef hash.

“We’re just baby Pinnacles,” Mrs. Palo Alto tells me, describing a kind of internal class struggle among the Pinnacle elite for ever higher status.

And now I understand what the maître d’ was saying to me on the first day of my cruise. He wasn’t saying “ pendejo .” He was saying “Pinnacle.” The dining room was for Pinnacles only, all those older people rolling in like the tide on their motorized scooters.

And now I understand something else: This whole thing is a cult. And like most cults, it can’t help but mirror the endless American fight for status. Like Keith Raniere’s NXIVM, where different-colored sashes were given out to connote rank among Raniere’s branded acolytes, this is an endless competition among Pinnacles, Suites, Diamond-Plusers, and facing-the-mall, no-balcony purple SeaPass Card peasants, not to mention the many distinctions within each category. The more you cruise, the higher your status. No wonder a section of the Royal Promenade is devoted to getting passengers to book their next cruise during the one they should be enjoying now. No wonder desperate Royal Caribbean offers (“FINAL HOURS”) crowded my email account weeks before I set sail. No wonder the ship’s jewelry store, the Royal Bling, is selling a $100,000 golden chalice that will entitle its owner to drink free on Royal Caribbean cruises for life. (One passenger was already gaming out whether her 28-year-old son was young enough to “just about earn out” on the chalice or if that ship had sailed.) No wonder this ship was sold out months before departure , and we had to pay $19,000 for a horrid suite away from the Suite Neighborhood. No wonder the most mythical hero of Royal Caribbean lore is someone named Super Mario, who has cruised so often, he now has his own working desk on many ships. This whole experience is part cult, part nautical pyramid scheme.

From the June 2014 issue: Ship of wonks

“The toilets are amazing,” the Palo Altos are telling me. “One flush and you’re done.” “They don’t understand how energy-efficient these ships are,” the husband of the other couple is telling me. “They got the LNG”—liquefied natural gas, which is supposed to make the Icon a boon to the environment (a concept widely disputed and sometimes ridiculed by environmentalists).

But I’m thinking along a different line of attack as I spear my last pallid slice of melon. For my streaming limited series, a Pinnacle would have to get killed by either an outright peasant or a Suite without an ocean view. I tell my breakfast companions my idea.

“Oh, for sure a Pinnacle would have to be killed,” Mr. Palo Alto, the Pandemic Pinnacle, says, touching his porn mustache thoughtfully as his wife nods.

“THAT’S RIGHT, IT’S your time, buddy!” Hubert, my fun-loving Panamanian cabin attendant, shouts as I step out of my suite in a robe. “Take it easy, buddy!”

I have come up with a new dressing strategy. Instead of trying to impress with my choice of T-shirts, I have decided to start wearing a robe, as one does at a resort property on land, with a proper spa and hammam. The response among my fellow cruisers has been ecstatic. “Look at you in the robe!” Mr. Rand cries out as we pass each other by the Thrill Island aqua park. “You’re living the cruise life! You know, you really drank me under the table that night.” I laugh as we part ways, but my soul cries out, Please spend more time with me, Mr. and Mrs. Rand; I so need the company .

In my white robe, I am a stately presence, a refugee from a better limited series, a one-man crossover episode. (Only Suites are granted these robes to begin with.) Today, I will try many of the activities these ships have on offer to provide their clientele with a sense of never-ceasing motion. Because I am already at Thrill Island, I decide to climb the staircase to what looks like a mast on an old-fashioned ship (terrified, because I am afraid of heights) to try a ride called “Storm Chasers,” which is part of the “Category 6” water park, named in honor of one of the storms that may someday do away with the Port of Miami entirely. Storm Chasers consists of falling from the “mast” down a long, twisting neon tube filled with water, like being the camera inside your own colonoscopy, as you hold on to the handles of a mat, hoping not to die. The tube then flops you down headfirst into a trough of water, a Royal Caribbean baptism. It both knocks my breath out and makes me sad.

In keeping with the aquatic theme, I attend a show at the AquaDome. To the sound of “Live and Let Die,” a man in a harness gyrates to and fro in the sultry air. I saw something very similar in the back rooms of the famed Berghain club in early-aughts Berlin. Soon another harnessed man is gyrating next to the first. Ja , I think to myself, I know how this ends. Now will come the fisting , natürlich . But the show soon devolves into the usual Marvel-film-grade nonsense, with too much light and sound signifying nichts . If any fisting is happening, it is probably in the Suite Neighborhood, inside a cabin marked with an upside-down pineapple, which I understand means a couple are ready to swing, and I will see none of it.

I go to the ice show, which is a kind of homage—if that’s possible—to the periodic table, done with the style and pomp and masterful precision that would please the likes of Kim Jong Un, if only he could afford Royal Caribbean talent. At one point, the dancers skate to the theme song of Succession . “See that!” I want to say to my fellow Suites—at “cultural” events, we have a special section reserved for us away from the commoners—“ Succession ! It’s even better than the zombie show! Open your minds!”

Finally, I visit a comedy revue in an enormous and too brightly lit version of an “intimate,” per Royal Caribbean literature, “Manhattan comedy club.” Many of the jokes are about the cruising life. “I’ve lived on ships for 20 years,” one of the middle-aged comedians says. “I can only see so many Filipino homosexuals dressed as a taco.” He pauses while the audience laughs. “I am so fired tonight,” he says. He segues into a Trump impression and then Biden falling asleep at the microphone, which gets the most laughs. “Anyone here from Fort Leonard Wood?” another comedian asks. Half the crowd seems to cheer. As I fall asleep that night, I realize another connection I have failed to make, and one that may explain some of the diversity on this vessel—many of its passengers have served in the military.

As a coddled passenger with a suite, I feel like I am starting to understand what it means to have a rank and be constantly reminded of it. There are many espresso makers , I think as I look across the expanse of my officer-grade quarters before closing my eyes, but this one is mine .

A shocking sight greets me beyond the pools of Deck 17 as I saunter over to the Coastal Kitchen for my morning intake of slightly sour Americanos. A tiny city beneath a series of perfectly pressed green mountains. Land! We have docked for a brief respite in Basseterre, the capital of St. Kitts and Nevis. I wolf down my egg scramble to be one of the first passengers off the ship. Once past the gangway, I barely refrain from kissing the ground. I rush into the sights and sounds of this scruffy island city, sampling incredible conch curry and buckets of non-Starbucks coffee. How wonderful it is to be where God intended humans to be: on land. After all, I am neither a fish nor a mall rat. This is my natural environment. Basseterre may not be Havana, but there are signs of human ingenuity and desire everywhere you look. The Black Table Grill Has been Relocated to Soho Village, Market Street, Directly Behind of, Gary’s Fruits and Flower Shop. Signed. THE PORK MAN reads a sign stuck to a wall. Now, that is how you write a sign. A real sign, not the come-ons for overpriced Rolexes that blink across the screens of the Royal Promenade.

“Hey, tie your shoestring!” a pair of laughing ladies shout to me across the street.

“Thank you!” I shout back. Shoestring! “Thank you very much.”

A man in Independence Square Park comes by and asks if I want to play with his monkey. I haven’t heard that pickup line since the Penn Station of the 1980s. But then he pulls a real monkey out of a bag. The monkey is wearing a diaper and looks insane. Wonderful , I think, just wonderful! There is so much life here. I email my editor asking if I can remain on St. Kitts and allow the Icon to sail off into the horizon without me. I have even priced a flight home at less than $300, and I have enough material from the first four days on the cruise to write the entire story. “It would be funny …” my editor replies. “Now get on the boat.”

As I slink back to the ship after my brief jailbreak, the locals stand under umbrellas to gaze at and photograph the boat that towers over their small capital city. The limousines of the prime minister and his lackeys are parked beside the gangway. St. Kitts, I’ve been told, is one of the few islands that would allow a ship of this size to dock.

“We hear about all the waterslides,” a sweet young server in one of the cafés told me. “We wish we could go on the ship, but we have to work.”

“I want to stay on your island,” I replied. “I love it here.”

But she didn’t understand how I could possibly mean that.

“WASHY, WASHY, so you don’t get stinky, stinky!” kids are singing outside the AquaDome, while their adult minders look on in disapproval, perhaps worried that Mr. Washy Washy is grooming them into a life of gayness. I heard a southern couple skip the buffet entirely out of fear of Mr. Washy Washy.

Meanwhile, I have found a new watering hole for myself, the Swim & Tonic, the biggest swim-up bar on any cruise ship in the world. Drinking next to full-size, nearly naked Americans takes away one’s own self-consciousness. The men have curvaceous mom bodies. The women are equally un-shy about their sprawling physiques.

Today I’ve befriended a bald man with many children who tells me that all of the little trinkets that Royal Caribbean has left us in our staterooms and suites are worth a fortune on eBay. “Eighty dollars for the water bottle, 60 for the lanyard,” the man says. “This is a cult.”

“Tell me about it,” I say. There is, however, a clientele for whom this cruise makes perfect sense. For a large middle-class family (he works in “supply chains”), seven days in a lower-tier cabin—which starts at $1,800 a person—allow the parents to drop off their children in Surfside, where I imagine many young Filipina crew members will take care of them, while the parents are free to get drunk at a swim-up bar and maybe even get intimate in their cabin. Cruise ships have become, for a certain kind of hardworking family, a form of subsidized child care.

There is another man I would like to befriend at the Swim & Tonic, a tall, bald fellow who is perpetually inebriated and who wears a necklace studded with little rubber duckies in sunglasses, which, I am told, is a sort of secret handshake for cruise aficionados. Tomorrow, I will spend more time with him, but first the ship docks at St. Thomas, in the U.S. Virgin Islands. Charlotte Amalie, the capital, is more charming in name than in presence, but I still all but jump off the ship to score a juicy oxtail and plantains at the well-known Petite Pump Room, overlooking the harbor. From one of the highest points in the small city, the Icon of the Seas appears bigger than the surrounding hills.

I usually tan very evenly, but something about the discombobulation of life at sea makes me forget the regular application of sunscreen. As I walk down the streets of Charlotte Amalie in my fluorescent Icon of the Seas cap, an old Rastafarian stares me down. “Redneck,” he hisses.

“No,” I want to tell him, as I bring a hand up to my red neck, “that’s not who I am at all. On my island, Mannahatta, as Whitman would have it, I am an interesting person living within an engaging artistic milieu. I do not wish to use the Caribbean as a dumping ground for the cruise-ship industry. I love the work of Derek Walcott. You don’t understand. I am not a redneck. And if I am, they did this to me.” They meaning Royal Caribbean? Its passengers? The Rands?

“They did this to me!”

Back on the Icon, some older matrons are muttering about a run-in with passengers from the Celebrity cruise ship docked next to us, the Celebrity Apex. Although Celebrity Cruises is also owned by Royal Caribbean, I am made to understand that there is a deep fratricidal beef between passengers of the two lines. “We met a woman from the Apex,” one matron says, “and she says it was a small ship and there was nothing to do. Her face was as tight as a 19-year-old’s, she had so much surgery.” With those words, and beneath a cloudy sky, humidity shrouding our weathered faces and red necks, we set sail once again, hopefully in the direction of home.

THERE ARE BARELY 48 HOURS LEFT to the cruise, and the Icon of the Seas’ passengers are salty. They know how to work the elevators. They know the Washy Washy song by heart. They understand that the chicken gyro at “Feta Mediterranean,” in the AquaDome Market, is the least problematic form of chicken on the ship.

The passengers have shed their INAUGURAL CRUISE T-shirts and are now starting to evince political opinions. There are caps pledging to make America great again and T-shirts that celebrate words sometimes attributed to Patrick Henry: “The Constitution is not an instrument for the government to restrain the people; it is an instrument for the people to restrain the government.” With their preponderance of FAMILY FLAG FAITH FRIENDS FIREARMS T-shirts, the tables by the crepe station sometimes resemble the Capitol Rotunda on January 6. The Real Anthony Fauci , by Robert F. Kennedy Jr., appears to be a popular form of literature, especially among young men with very complicated versions of the American flag on their T-shirts. Other opinions blend the personal and the political. “Someone needs to kill Washy guy, right?” a well-dressed man in the elevator tells me, his gray eyes radiating nothing. “Just beat him to death. Am I right?” I overhear the male member of a young couple whisper, “There goes that freak” as I saunter by in my white spa robe, and I decide to retire it for the rest of the cruise.

I visit the Royal Bling to see up close the $100,000 golden chalice that entitles you to free drinks on Royal Caribbean forever. The pleasant Serbian saleslady explains that the chalice is actually gold-plated and covered in white zirconia instead of diamonds, as it would otherwise cost $1 million. “If you already have everything,” she explains, “this is one more thing you can get.”

I believe that anyone who works for Royal Caribbean should be entitled to immediate American citizenship. They already speak English better than most of the passengers and, per the Serbian lady’s sales pitch above, better understand what America is as well. Crew members like my Panamanian cabin attendant seem to work 24 hours a day. A waiter from New Delhi tells me that his contract is six months and three weeks long. After a cruise ends, he says, “in a few hours, we start again for the next cruise.” At the end of the half a year at sea, he is allowed a two-to-three-month stay at home with his family. As of 2019, the median income for crew members was somewhere in the vicinity of $20,000, according to a major business publication. Royal Caribbean would not share the current median salary for its crew members, but I am certain that it amounts to a fraction of the cost of a Royal Bling gold-plated, zirconia-studded chalice.

And because most of the Icon’s hyper-sanitized spaces are just a frittata away from being a Delta lounge, one forgets that there are actual sailors on this ship, charged with the herculean task of docking it in port. “Having driven 100,000-ton aircraft carriers throughout my career,” retired Admiral James G. Stavridis, the former NATO Supreme Allied Commander Europe, writes to me, “I’m not sure I would even know where to begin with trying to control a sea monster like this one nearly three times the size.” (I first met Stavridis while touring Army bases in Germany more than a decade ago.)

Today, I decide to head to the hot tub near Swim & Tonic, where some of the ship’s drunkest reprobates seem to gather (the other tubs are filled with families and couples). The talk here, like everywhere else on the ship, concerns football, a sport about which I know nothing. It is apparent that four teams have recently competed in some kind of finals for the year, and that two of them will now face off in the championship. Often when people on the Icon speak, I will try to repeat the last thing they said with a laugh or a nod of disbelief. “Yes, 20-yard line! Ha!” “Oh my God, of course, scrimmage.”

Soon we are joined in the hot tub by the late-middle-age drunk guy with the duck necklace. He is wearing a bucket hat with the legend HAWKEYES , which, I soon gather, is yet another football team. “All right, who turned me in?” Duck Necklace says as he plops into the tub beside us. “I get a call in the morning,” he says. “It’s security. Can you come down to the dining room by 10 a.m.? You need to stay away from the members of this religious family.” Apparently, the gregarious Duck Necklace had photobombed the wrong people. There are several families who present as evangelical Christians or practicing Muslims on the ship. One man, evidently, was not happy that Duck Necklace had made contact with his relatives. “It’s because of religious stuff; he was offended. I put my arm around 20 people a day.”

Everyone laughs. “They asked me three times if I needed medication,” he says of the security people who apparently interrogated him in full view of others having breakfast.

Another hot-tub denizen suggests that he should have asked for fentanyl. After a few more drinks, Duck Necklace begins to muse about what it would be like to fall off the ship. “I’m 62 and I’m ready to go,” he says. “I just don’t want a shark to eat me. I’m a huge God guy. I’m a Bible guy. There’s some Mayan theory squaring science stuff with religion. There is so much more to life on Earth.” We all nod into our Red Stripes.

“I never get off the ship when we dock,” he says. He tells us he lost $6,000 in the casino the other day. Later, I look him up, and it appears that on land, he’s a financial adviser in a crisp gray suit, probably a pillar of his North Chicago community.

THE OCEAN IS TEEMING with fascinating life, but on the surface it has little to teach us. The waves come and go. The horizon remains ever far away.

I am constantly told by my fellow passengers that “everybody here has a story.” Yes, I want to reply, but everybody everywhere has a story. You, the reader of this essay, have a story, and yet you’re not inclined to jump on a cruise ship and, like Duck Necklace, tell your story to others at great pitch and volume. Maybe what they’re saying is that everybody on this ship wants to have a bigger, more coherent, more interesting story than the one they’ve been given. Maybe that’s why there’s so much signage on the doors around me attesting to marriages spent on the sea. Maybe that’s why the Royal Caribbean newsletter slipped under my door tells me that “this isn’t a vacation day spent—it’s bragging rights earned.” Maybe that’s why I’m so lonely.

Today is a big day for Icon passengers. Today the ship docks at Royal Caribbean’s own Bahamian island, the Perfect Day at CocoCay. (This appears to be the actual name of the island.) A comedian at the nightclub opined on what his perfect day at CocoCay would look like—receiving oral sex while learning that his ex-wife had been killed in a car crash (big laughter). But the reality of the island is far less humorous than that.

One of the ethnic tristate ladies in the infinity pool told me that she loved CocoCay because it had exactly the same things that could be found on the ship itself. This proves to be correct. It is like the Icon, but with sand. The same tired burgers, the same colorful tubes conveying children and water from Point A to B. The same swim-up bar at its Hideaway ($140 for admittance, no children allowed; Royal Caribbean must be printing money off its clientele). “There was almost a fight at The Wizard of Oz ,” I overhear an elderly woman tell her companion on a chaise lounge. Apparently one of the passengers began recording Royal Caribbean’s intellectual property and “three guys came after him.”

I walk down a pathway to the center of the island, where a sign reads DO NOT ENTER: YOU HAVE REACHED THE BOUNDARY OF ADVENTURE . I hear an animal scampering in the bushes. A Royal Caribbean worker in an enormous golf cart soon chases me down and takes me back to the Hideaway, where I run into Mrs. Rand in a bikini. She becomes livid telling me about an altercation she had the other day with a woman over a towel and a deck chair. We Suites have special towel privileges; we do not have to hand over our SeaPass Card to score a towel. But the Rands are not Suites. “People are so entitled here,” Mrs. Rand says. “It’s like the airport with all its classes.” “You see,” I want to say, “this is where your husband’s love of Ayn Rand runs into the cruelties and arbitrary indignities of unbridled capitalism.” Instead we make plans to meet for a final drink in the Schooner Bar tonight (the Rands will stand me up).

Back on the ship, I try to do laps, but the pool (the largest on any cruise ship, naturally) is fully trashed with the detritus of American life: candy wrappers, a slowly dissolving tortilla chip, napkins. I take an extra-long shower in my suite, then walk around the perimeter of the ship on a kind of exercise track, past all the alluring lifeboats in their yellow-and-white livery. Maybe there is a dystopian angle to the HBO series that I will surely end up pitching, one with shades of WALL-E or Snowpiercer . In a collapsed world, a Royal Caribbean–like cruise liner sails from port to port, collecting new shipmates and supplies in exchange for the precious energy it has on board. (The actual Icon features a new technology that converts passengers’ poop into enough energy to power the waterslides . In the series, this shitty technology would be greatly expanded.) A very young woman (18? 19?), smart and lonely, who has only known life on the ship, walks along the same track as I do now, contemplating jumping off into the surf left by its wake. I picture reusing Duck Necklace’s words in the opening shot of the pilot. The girl is walking around the track, her eyes on the horizon; maybe she’s highborn—a Suite—and we hear the voice-over: “I’m 19 and I’m ready to go. I just don’t want a shark to eat me.”

Before the cruise is finished, I talk to Mr. Washy Washy, or Nielbert of the Philippines. He is a sweet, gentle man, and I thank him for the earworm of a song he has given me and for keeping us safe from the dreaded norovirus. “This is very important to me, getting people to wash their hands,” he tells me in his burger getup. He has dreams, as an artist and a performer, but they are limited in scope. One day he wants to dress up as a piece of bacon for the morning shift.

THE MAIDEN VOYAGE OF THE TITANIC (the Icon of the Seas is five times as large as that doomed vessel) at least offered its passengers an exciting ending to their cruise, but when I wake up on the eighth day, all I see are the gray ghosts that populate Miami’s condo skyline. Throughout my voyage, my writer friends wrote in to commiserate with me. Sloane Crosley, who once covered a three-day spa mini-cruise for Vogue , tells me she felt “so very alone … I found it very untethering.” Gideon Lewis-Kraus writes in an Instagram comment: “When Gary is done I think it’s time this genre was taken out back and shot.” And he is right. To badly paraphrase Adorno: After this, no more cruise stories. It is unfair to put a thinking person on a cruise ship. Writers typically have difficult childhoods, and it is cruel to remind them of the inherent loneliness that drove them to writing in the first place. It is also unseemly to write about the kind of people who go on cruises. Our country does not provide the education and upbringing that allow its citizens an interior life. For the creative class to point fingers at the large, breasty gentlemen adrift in tortilla-chip-laden pools of water is to gather a sour harvest of low-hanging fruit.

A day or two before I got off the ship, I decided to make use of my balcony, which I had avoided because I thought the view would only depress me further. What I found shocked me. My suite did not look out on Central Park after all. This entire time, I had been living in the ship’s Disneyland, Surfside, the neighborhood full of screaming toddlers consuming milkshakes and candy. And as I leaned out over my balcony, I beheld a slight vista of the sea and surf that I thought I had been missing. It had been there all along. The sea was frothy and infinite and blue-green beneath the span of a seagull’s wing. And though it had been trod hard by the world’s largest cruise ship, it remained.

This article appears in the May 2024 print edition with the headline “A Meatball at Sea.” When you buy a book using a link on this page, we receive a commission. Thank you for supporting The Atlantic.

• The Colosseum

May 9th - July 10th

Ultimate Africa & Southern Europe Cruise

Ancient Civilizations, Fresh Adventures

Departing from Dubai, where dynamic high-rises meet gold souks and desert sands, make for new horizons on this extraordinary 63-night vacation, which takes in 44 astounding destinations. Cutting through the heart of the Middle East, unwind on Oman’s wild beaches, be wowed by rose-hued Petra before taking in Egypt’s ancient treasures. Explore the sacred city of Jerusalem and the Eastern Med, visiting Cypriot castles and Turkey’s Temple of Artemis. At the shores of the Black Sea, admire Bulgaria’s Byzantine architecture, Romania’s vineyards, Odessa’s museums and Istanbul’s cosmopolitan culture. Travel to Bodrum’s honey-colored sands and the rugged Greek Islands, ringed by the ultramarine Aegean Sea. Finally, discover the best of the Eastern Mediterranean including Venice’s waterways, the walled city of Dubrovnik, the Colosseum in Italy, before soaking up the glamor of the French Riviera, and Gaudi’s surreal architecture in Barcelona, where this segment ends.

Amenities Included in your adventure

Wash & fold service

Deluxe beverage package

Voom Surf & stream

The Western Mediterranean and the Adriatic

Cradles of Creativity

Packed with spectacular age-old landmarks and grand architecture, history comes thick and fast in the Western Med and the Adriatic. Journeying through Italy, wonder at the Colosseum and Pantheon - ancient reminders of Rome’s time as world’s largest empire - and wander Pompeii’s ruins, frozen-in-time after Mount Vesuvius’ eruption in 79AD. Against the bold blues and powder-white sands of the Adriatic, admire Slovenia’s Venetian-influenced buildings, the 4th-century pizazz of Split’s Diocletian's Palace, Dubrovnik’s dramatic Old Town, and Montenegro’s mighty forts. Whether genning up on the Knights of Malta in Valletta, discovering Napoleon’s childhood in Corsica, cruising along the French Riviera to Mallorca - where Arab and Balearic influences meet - or reveling in Gaudi’s masterpieces in Barcelona, you’ll be enthralled by history at every stop on this story-filled vacation.

The legacy of the Renaissance - a cultural movement borne in 14th-century Italy, which spread throughout Europe shaping intellectual life, art, architecture and the arts can be seen in abundance as you travel through the region’s most extraordinary cities. Discover the mind-blowing art of the Renaissance masters at Scuola Grande di San Rocco in Venice and Rome’s Galleria Borghese, a 17th-century villa which houses art, sculptures and antiquities. See first-hand why Michelangelo’s dreamy ceiling frescoes at the Sistine Chapel, and the famed corridors of Florentine mega-museum The Uffizzi deserve a spot on every art-lover’s bucket list. Just as compelling are Kotor’s Maritime Museum, which reveals the area’s fascinating seafaring history, and Malta’s National Museum of Archeology, which houses masses of prehistoric art and Neolithic pottery. Altogether more contemporary, is Cannes, renowned for its glamorous film festival.

A warm climate, fertile landscapes and teeming waters make for a rather delicious roll call as you sail through the Adriatic and the Western Mediterranean. Live La Dolce Vita - or sweet life - in Italy, where cafe culture reigns, and staples include fresh pasta, pizza, gelato , and lashings of olive oil and wine. Try pillowy-soft burrata cheese in Puglia, Sicilian eggplant and ricotta signature pasta alla norma , and classic Neopolitan-style Margherita pizza in its birthplace, Naples. Seafood’s a real Adriatic superstar; don’t miss Slovenian seafood rizota (risotto) - with a glass of local white rebula wine - and Dalmatian pašticada (beef stew) and rožata custard pudding in Croatia. Corsica’s signature civet de sanglier offers heartiness aplenty, while socca (chickpea pancakes) are a French Rivieran favorite, Marseille’s seafood bouillabaisse packs a liquorice-y kick thanks to fennel and  pastis , while Barcelona excels at seafood paella and crema catalana , a Catalan take on creme brûlée.

Alongside a serious hit of history and culture, awaken your senses exploring the region’s sun-soaked beaches, crystal-clear bays and breathtaking volcanic, forested landscapes. Take invigorating dips in Bari’s bays or sun yourself on Torre Sant’Andrea whilst admiring its dramatic sea stacks. Dubrovnik’s an adventure junkie’s dream; try cliff diving, kayaking, or scuba dive to see the Taranto wreck, and its quirky submerged tractors. Get your heart rate going hiking in Portofino Regional Park’s lush network of trails, and wonder at Mount Etna’s volcanic vineyards and lava pits in Sicily. For more natural thrills, travel to Corsica’s Scandola Nature Reserve to spot eagles soaring over stunning rock formations, or discover the Cuevas del Drach - Mallorca’s dragon caves - an underground lair full of limestone stalactites and stalagmites.

A rip-roaring journey packed with exhilarating through-the-ages adventures, the Ultimate Middle East & Med segment is a vacation that cannot fail to set your imagination on fire. Whizz up Dubai’s Burj Khalifa, the tallest building in the world for unrivalled city views, be moved as the history of age-old civilizations - of the Nabateans, the Pharaohs and Ancient Greeks and Romans - comes to life before your very eyes in pink-hued Petra, the wild Egyptian desert, dominated by the Pyramids of Giza, and Rome’s Colosseum and Athens’ Acropolis. Along the way you’ll connect with religious heartlands and sacred shrines, revel in Renaissance art and regal architecture and enjoy relaxing at a multitude of sun-kissed beaches, taking blissful dips in transformative turquoise waters.

Barcelona, Spain

Segment 3 World Wonder

Tales of armored gladiators, intense battles and frenzied spectators fuel the history of The Colosseum. Constructed in 80 A.D., this 80,000-seat amphitheater perfectly represents the power and spectacle of ancient Rome — and remains in impressively good shape. Just know that photos truly can’t compare to the emotion of exploring this World Wonder for yourself.

Explore Highlights

A rip-roaring journey packed with exhilirating through-the-ages adventures, the Middle East Treasures & Marvels of the Med Expedition cannot fail to set your imagination on fire. Whizz up Dubai’s Burj Khalifa, the tallest building in the world for unrivalled city views, be moved as the history of age-old civilisations - of the Nabateans, the Pharaohs and Ancient Greeks and Romans - comes to life before your very eyes in pink-hued Petra, the wild Egyptian desert, dominated by the Pyramids of Giza, and Rome’s Colosseum and Athens’ Acropolis.

Along the way you’ll connect with religious heartlands and sacred shrines, revel in Renaissance art and regal architecture and enjoy relaxing at a multitude of sun-kissed beaches, taking blissful dips in transformative turquoise waters.

Insider tips Good to know in every situation

When visiting religious sites such as churches, mosques or synagogues, dress modestly, particularly in the Middle East. Opt for long sleeves, and keep your shoulders, back and legs covered. A lightweight scarf or sarong can come in handy as a makeshift headscarf or coverup, which can be easily thrown on at the last minute if it’s unexpectedly required.

Sprawling ancient marvels and Europe’s cobblestone-lined, often narrow city streets are best explored on foot. To ensure you make the most of things, pack a well-worn-in pair of comfortable shoes, and some trusty blister plasters, just in case.

Temperatures in the Middle East and the Med can really soar, plus there’s plenty of time spent on beaches and in the desert on this segment, so invest in a decent wide-brimmed hat, eco-friendly sunscreen, and keep a refillable bottle of water with you as you explore.

Frequently asked questions

What is an Ultimate World Cruise segment?

The Ultimate World Cruise can be taken as a whole, or you can choose from the four available Ultimate Cruise segments to take a portion of the voyage instead. The names and dates of the four Ultimate Cruise segments that make up the Ultimate World Cruise are as follows:

Ultimate Americas Cruise: December 10, 2023 – February 11, 2024, 64 Nights, 36 destinations

Ultimate Asia Pacific Cruise: February 11, 2024 – May 9, 2024, 87 Nights, 40 destinations

Ultimate Africa & Southern Europe: May 9, 2024 – July 10, 2024, 63 Nights, 39 destinations

Ultimate Europe & Beyond Cruise: July 10, 2024 – September 10, 2024, 63 Nights, 40 destinations

What is the starting price for the Ultimate World Cruise segments?

Considering all that’s included in your Ultimate Cruise segment fare, you’ll enjoy an incredible value. No matter which stateroom you choose, your fare includes Ultimate Cruise segment complimentary amenities like Deluxe Beverage Package, gratuities, VOOM internet package, and wash and fold laundry service.

Ultimate Americas Cruise

Ultimate Asia Pacific Cruise

Ultimate Middle East & Med Cruise

Ultimate Europe & Beyond Cruise

*Taxes, fees, and port expenses are additional and are subject to change at any time. All starting prices listed are per person, in USD, cruise only, based on double occupancy and are subject to change at any time.

What benefits are included when booking the Ultimate World Cruise or one of the four segments?

Guests who join us for the entire Ultimate World Cruise will receive the following inclusions:

Embarkation Amenities

Round-trip business class airfare

Pre-cruise hotel and gala

Premium transfers between airport, hotel and ship

Onboard Amenities

Deluxe Beverage Package for entire voyage

VOOM Wi-Fi internet for entire voyage

Gratuities for entire voyage

Wash and fold laundry service

Our Crown & Anchor Society guests who hold Platinum status and above will also receive the exclusive benefit of included excursions to the New World Wonders.

Guests who join us for one of the four segments will receive the following inclusions:

Deluxe Beverage Package for entire segment

VOOM Wi-Fi for entire segment

Gratuities for entire segment

Wash and fold laundry service for entire segment

Ready for an adventure?

Segment 4 Ultimate Europe & Beyond Cruise

World News | Fire at an Istanbul nightclub during…

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World News | Fire at an Istanbul nightclub during renovations kills at least 29 people

ISTANBUL — A fire at an Istanbul nightclub during renovations on Tuesday killed at least 29 people, officials and reports said. Several people, including managers of the club, were detained for questioning.

At least one person was being treated at a hospital, the Istanbul governor’s office said in a statement.

The Masquerade nightclub , which was closed for renovations, was on the ground and basement floors of a 16-story residential building in the Besiktas district on the European side of the city bisected by the Bosphorus. The fire was extinguished.

Gov. Davut Gul told reporters at the scene that the cause of the fire was under investigation and the victims were believed to be involved in the renovation work.

PHOTOS: Nightclub fire kills dozens in Turkey

Some of the victims died in hospitals where they were rushed in ambulances, private NTV television reported.

Authorities detained six people for questioning, including managers of the club and one person in charge of the renovations, Gul’s office said.

The nightclub was closed for the holy Muslim month of Ramadan and its owners were trying to complete the renovation work in time for next week’s Eid holiday, which follows the month of fasting, NTV reported.

Police sealed off the area while power and natural gas to the neighborhood was cut off as a safety precaution.

Mayor Ekrem Imamoglu said authorities were inspecting the entire building to assess its safety.

Several firefighting and medical teams were dispatched to the scene, he said.

The nightclub had not obtained the necessary permit to undertake construction and renovations, the mayor said.

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Fire at Istanbul nightclub that was being…

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Fire at Istanbul nightclub that was being renovated kills 29 people

ISTANBUL (AP) — A fire engulfed an Istanbul nightclub Tuesday during renovations, trapping workers and employees inside and killing at least 29 people, officials and reports said. Several people, including managers of the club, were detained for questioning.

One person was being treated at a hospital with serious injuries, the Istanbul governor’s office said in a statement.

The Masquerade nightclub, which was closed for renovations, was located on the ground and basement floors of a 16-story residential building in the Besiktas district on the European side of the city bisected by the Bosphorus Strait.

The fire reached the third floor of the building before it was extinguished, video footage of the blaze showed.

Gov. Davut Gul told reporters at the scene that the cause of the fire was under investigation and that the victims were believed to be people involved in the renovation work. The private DHA news agency identified one of the victims as a nightclub employee.

Video from the scene showed flames billowing from the side of the building, firefighters dousing an entrance to the club and others carrying a victim on a stretcher toward an ambulance. Several firefighting trucks were called to the scene.

Private NTV said some of the victims died in hospital after being pulled out of the blaze.

Authorities detained eight people for questioning, including managers of the club and one person in charge of the renovations, Gul’s office said. A club official could not be reached for comment.

The government appointed three prosecutors and several investigators to probe the case.

The nightclub — which had a capacity to host up 4,000 guests, according to its website — was closed for the holy Muslim month of Ramadan. Its owners were trying to complete the renovation work in time for next week’s Eid holiday, which follows the month of fasting.

“See you on April 10,” the club said in message posted on its website.

Police sealed off the area while power and natural gas to the neighborhood was cut off as a safety precaution. Residents were safely evacuated from the building.

Mayor Ekrem Imamoglu, who was reelected in local elections on Sunday, said authorities were inspecting the entire building to assess its safety.

The nightclub had not obtained the necessary permit to undertake construction and renovations, the mayor said.

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