Cruising
New Zealand and Australia
by Thomas Mizer
We’ll be like unicorns,” I teased
my partner Travis, as we stood before the MS Volendam,
a 780-foot cruise ship docked just outside Christchurch,
New Zealand. “We’ll be magical.”
We’d never been on a cruise before
and had heard the jokes about passengers being “newlywed
or nearly dead,” not to mention overwhelmingly
straight. As a young, gay couple, we were clearly none
of the above and the specter of standing out, or worse
yet, being shunned, hung over our decision to sail with
Holland America Line (www.hollandamerica.com)
on a “general-audience” itinerary between
New Zealand and Australia.
It didn’t help matters that we
were late to the party. This particular sailing had
begun six days earlier in Auckland, but thanks to scheduling
issues, we were joining the cruise already in progress.
There were no bands playing, no crowds lining up at
the gangway, no streamers flying from the decks above;
the dock at midday was eerily quiet with most passengers
away visiting the stunning Christchurch Botanic Gardens.
Slowly, we found our way to our home
for the week, a beautifully prepared and surprisingly
comfortable 197-square-foot standard stateroom with
a full bathroom and ample closet space. (I cannot overstate
one of the true joys of cruising: you visit multiple
destinations yet only unpack once!) I flipped on our
iPod and hit shuffle. Celine Dion began to sing “My
Heart Will Go On” the theme from Titanic.
Watch
our Video on New Zealand and Australia reporting on
the destinations, amenities and the romance of a Holland
America Lines cruise downunder.
Before we had time to go count lifeboats,
the ship rumbled. “Oh my God, we’re moving,”
Travis shouted, and we raced out onto the deck. We hung
over the railing as the Volendam glided out of port,
a perfectly protected bay surrounded by dusty peaks.
Thick green-flecked water flowed below us and a cloudless
cellophane-blue sky stretched above, the stark contrasts
inviting and soothing. The air was fresh, not salty,
with a hint of bracing pine. A single tiny sailboat
passed us, working its way home, and we were at sea…and
we were in heaven, any initial concerns melting away.
As we explored further, there was a
warmth to the ship that set us further at ease. Unlike
the Caribbean party behemoths, the Volendam is a mid-size
ship with unfussy details and the classic style of a
mid-century ocean-crossing vessel. Wooden deck chairs
await on the polished Promenade deck. The Explorer’s
Lounge, styled like a British study, lets passengers
watch scenery from luxurious armchairs, cocktail in
hand. In fact, though the ship was at full 1,432-passenger
capacity, the carefully carved public spaces made us
feel that we were two of only a handful of travelers
on board. Returning to our cabin later that evening,
we relished the ship’s final welcoming touch: its
gentle swaying (that lovely creaking sound in movies
is actually real) carried us off into a tranquil sleep.
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CRUISING NEW ZEALAND AND AUSTRALIA
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We woke on our second day to a new world,
20 degrees colder and shrouded in an alien blue mist.
Dunedin, our first port in Southeastern New Zealand,
looked like a storm-tossed outpost on the edge of civilization.
We had signed up for a ship-sponsored excursion so we
boarded one of several buses waiting at the dock. Truly
mixing with other passengers for the first time, we discovered
that we did stick out like sore thumbs amongst the rows
of middle-aged straight couples, and we warily awaited
their reactions.
Luckily, the discoveries of the day
kept us from worrying too much about our fellow travelers.
Out to the rugged nature preserves of the Otago Peninsula,
a winding road led us past sheep grazing in green, hilly
meadows that dropped into the bay below. The highlight
of the journey was easily the Royal Albatross Center,
the only mainland nesting place for these awe-inspiring
birds. Standing on a protected viewing deck, a guide
informed us that the day’s blustery weather, while
off-putting to people, was ideal for albatross, and
sure enough we were treated to the rare spectacle of
four teenage birds playing and soaring directly in front
us. They flashed by and spun like fighter jets, while
a nesting mother protected her baby on the cliffs below.
In general, pre-planned shore excursions
are definitely worth considering. As more independent
travelers, we often tugged at the leash a bit as we
were herded onto buses and urged to stay with the group,
but there were priceless trade-offs; you avoid time
consuming research, see things that would be off-limits
on your own, and relax knowing that the ship will not
leave without you, even if the excursion is delayed.
We decided to mix it up on our trip, choosing to go
alone in large cities and joining groups for more remote
locales.
Back aboard the Volendam, Travis and
I stopped by a cocktail reception for the Captain and
were bemused by the unusual introductions; fearful of
germs, crewmembers smile, nod and reach for ever-present
Purel dispensers—but never reach for your hand.
Soon, a couple from the day’s excursion approached,
and we prepared ourselves for awkward small talk. Instead,
they were overjoyed to see us again and engaged us in
thoughtful, inquisitive conversation. This pattern was
repeated throughout the trip; our “otherness”
was actually a conversation starter and made us popular,
sought after companions. In the end, the company, the
scenery, and perhaps that second cocktail, left us grinning,
our insecurities and workaday worries slipping away
at last.
They weren’t kidding when they
said that the third time is the charm; our third day
turned out to be almost indescribably magical. The sun
rose to find us off the western coast of New Zealand’s
southern island, speeding toward the 1.2-million-hectare
Fiordland National Park, a pristine landscape
of deep glacial fjords surrounded by vertiginous peaks.
Although we’d been told to expect rain—some
portions of the park average 320 inches of precipitation
a year—the heavy clouds were gone and the air had
a fresh linen scent.
At nine in the morning, the ship slid
into the first of the day’s fjords, the achingly
beautiful Dusky Sound. The ship skated across
a blue pane of glass, passing rounded islands that seemed
to be rising, newly formed, created from the water itself.
With most of the passengers staying indoors at windows,
we had much of the bow to ourselves and were rewarded
with stunning views and frolicking dolphins. Just when
the breeze started to chill us, crewmembers appeared
with bowls of warm Dutch pea soup; as always the service
was unobtrusive perfection.
With weather uncharacteristically clear
and the cruise ahead of schedule, the captain gave us
an unplanned side-trip into a second fjord. More rugged
than Dusky, Doubtful Sound proved to be just
as grand, with long solitary stretches revealing themselves
around each bend. The shocking, almost religious quiet
was broken only by our laughter, awed that our huge
cruise ship could fit through these inland passages,
and giddy with the pleasures of the morning.
By afternoon, we had sailed farther
up the coast toward the grand finale, the world-renowned
Milford Sound. The ship again turned from open
sea toward land, but this time there was no obvious
entrance. Ominous clouds pushed against the surrounding
mountains, the overwhelming scale giving the scene a
primordial quality right out of King Kong. Our eyes
widened as we headed toward a “dead end,”
but just when the ship seemed doomed to hit a sheer
cliff, a hidden passage was revealed and we entered
the sound. Yards from the deck, run-off crashed down
waterfalls from thousand-foot cliffs. Sunlight broke
between high peaks as if we were in the eye of a storm
of mountains. Surrounded on all sides, size and perspective
were rendered meaningless.
When the Volendam reached as far as
it could traverse, it spun in place (doing doughnuts
in a cruise ship!) and headed back toward the entrance.
“You’re leaving the show at intermission,”
Travis called to fellow travelers as they headed indoors.
They should have listened; the journey out was even
more amazing. Above turquoise water, the fading daylight
framed peaks in silhouette. With only a few hearty souls
still on deck, the eerie majesty of the hushed scene
was ours and ours alone.
Continued
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