HISTORIC
GAY CROSSING OF THE QM2
By David M. Orchard
You can cross the Atlantic in six hours
or six days. The difference between a jetliner and an
ocean liner is much more than a matter of time. A transatlantic
voyage from New York to Southampton, England is actually
known as a “crossing” not a cruise since there
are no ports of call, and that's the key point—you
are deliberately choosing to take almost a week to make
a journey you could do in just a few hours. Understand
that, and you'll have the right mindset for this unique
experience.
I had never been interested in taking
a cruise, mainly because I like to travel independently
and the thought of being off-loaded daily into tourist
attractions for a few frantic hours before making the
last tender back is not my cup of tea. When I heard
the Cunard flagship, the Queen Mary 2, was to make an
“historic gay crossing,” I was fascinated.
Well-known for its gay cruises, RSVP Vacations had chartered
her majesty for Cunard's first foray into the LGBT market.
Who knew what might happen with 2,500 gay men, lesbians,
and gay-friendly straights in the middle of the Atlantic
on a magnificent ocean liner for a week? Well, I'm here
to tell you…
As an ex-patriot Brit living in New
York City since 1990, and as someone whose frequent
airline journeys means that flying holds little excitement
anymore, I was truly looking forward to going home in
style. The anticipation I built up was palpable, and
when the tickets arrived in the glossy Cunard-crested
folder containing special luggage tags, I was beyond
excited. In late May, my traveling companion and I put
on our best navy blue blazers, dress pants, and crisp,
white shirts, determined to enjoy every moment of the
embarkation process. As our taxi sped toward the new
Brooklyn Cruise Terminal, we caught our first glimpse
of the liner and my heart leapt. Our bags were immediately
whisked away by porters to a beautifully organized departure
lounge. Since each deck boards in designated time-slots
there was no waiting in line—we were issued our
ID cards and walking up the enclosed gang-plank in a
matter of minutes—very impressive. As we entered
the spectacular three-story lobby complete with harpist,
I was actually choked with emotion. Sadly the moment
was spoiled as an RSVP host guy wearing a tiara screamed,
“Welcome aboard ladies!” Even for a gay cruise,
this was a bit much.
Fortunately, moments later we were in
our port-side stateroom on deck five. Ours was a good-sized
room with a large balcony featuring two chairs and a
table. On this level, the balconies are actually cut
into the hull of the ship and have a large rectangular
opening rather than a glass railing. Some people don't
like these, but I found it very private and more spacious
than those on higher decks. As we were exploring the
room: the compact bathroom with Canyon Ranch toiletries,
checking out the on-TV email and live bridge camera,
and trying on our Cunard bathrobes and slippers, there
was a knock at the door. It was our friendly cabin-boy,
Dong. Yes, his name was Dong and he was the perfect
steward. Always smiling, always super-polite, he was
able to turn down the bed with the pillows in a different
configuration every night, just for fun. Speaking of
the bed: in our welcome aboard letter there was a strict
rule telling guests not to flush condoms down the toilet.
Not only would it block the entire deck's system, but
they also had a way of knowing which cabin it came from
so the shame would be upon he who flushed. Whether passengers
on all Cunard voyages get this warning I don't know,
but this was not a regular trip. As a charter, the entertainment
was to be different from the usual offering, but just
about everything else was to be the same. I'm told,
however, that on all Cunard voyages, a “Friends
of Dorothy” group gathers each night in the piano
bar. There are also “Friends of Bill” meetings
for those in recovery.
After settling in, we set off to discover
the rest of the ship before the mandatory lifeboat drill.
With miles of decks to walk, a 20,000 square-foot spa,
the world's largest floating library, five swimming
pools, and a planetarium, there's a lot of ship to explore.
Even the hallways are worth exploring as they feature
hundreds of images from Cunard's glory days with photographs
of royalty and movie stars aboard. Our designated muster
point for the lifeboats was in the first class dining
room, aka the “Queen's Grill.” This gave me
a chance to check out the splendor of the intimate room
as we listened to the instructions on how and when to
abandon ship. (Two days later during his daily broadcast,
the Captain informed us we would be sailing over the
wreck of the Titanic later that day).
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I was determined to find a way to eat
in the Queen's Grill, even if our cabin class entitled
us to the Britannia dining room. One peek inside the Britannia,
however, showed that we were in for a treat. It is one
of the most incredible rooms I've ever been in—three
decks high, stretching the full breadth of the ship with
huge windows just feet above sea-level and an enormous
art-deco mural in the center.
At 5 P.M. sharp, everyone gathered on
deck as we departed New York. It was a warm evening
with clear-blue skies, disco music blaring, and champagne
corks popping. Suddenly, with a blast from the liner's
horn, we were off! As the Manhattan skyline receded,
we passed (barely) underneath the Verrazano Narrows
Bridge and onto the open seas.
Dinner the first night was deemed casual
and open seating, rather than the usual early and late
seatings (formal attire is worn during the middle three
nights of the crossing, and then it's back to casual
for the last night). While the travel documents had
insisted that casual meant jacket, no tie, and that
formal meant business attire or tuxedo, it was clear
that quite a few travelers had their own interpretation.
Jeans, polo shirts, and the occasional pair of shorts,
however, seemed out of place in such a spectacular setting.
That evening, we managed to snag a fantastic
table right in the center of the room and were soon
joined by a young couple from the north of England.
They were both in the medical profession and on their
way home from a week in New York. In their late twenties,
they were among the youngest passengers on the crossing—the
average age being late 30s to 50s, and the oldest in
their 80s.
Continued
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