Best Cruise Itinerary for Culture Vultures by Elissa Richard:
Sailing between the European cultural capitals that line the Baltic Sea is certainly nothing new, but come May, doing so by a tall sailing ship (à la the Vikings), via Star Clippers’ new Baltic cruise itineraries, will be possible on the line’s 170-passenger Star Flyer. While numerous cruise itineraries are scheduled, we particularly like the three back-to-back 10- to 11-night Sweden, Russia, and Finland offerings, scheduled to sail round-trip from museum-packed Stockholm, taking in the UNESCO world heritage site of Tallinn, Estonia; culturally saturated St. Petersburg; and design-savvy Helsinki, Finland; as well as less-trodden stops in the medieval walled island city of Visby in Sweden or the ports of Hanko and Mariehamn in Finland.

Why They Will Love It: Experience a mix of the Baltic Sea’s most popular bordering cities, alongside smaller, less-visited ports bursting with their own cultural lures. Be immersed in the best of the Baltic lands of the Vikings and the Eastern Empire of the Tsars, thanks to the cruise line’s signature extended port stays, allowing visitors extra time for ogling the oeuvres at the museum or savoring local cuisine.

Check out the entire article HERE.

These two are Jan and Ineke from Belgium. She is a journalist, he’s an event organiser and they married in June at a big ceremony. But as Ineke is a champion Belgian rower, she really wanted a quiet, romantic wedding on the water … Royal Clipper provided that. It took place at 4 p.m. in the bay alongside the Italian island of Lipari in gorgeous sunshine and a deep blue sky.

*Please note that at this time it is not possible to legally get married on board most cruise ships due to international laws. Guests can hold ceremonies on the ship, but they are not legal marriages. Guests wishing to get married in port can do so with the assistance of Star Clippers.

The Azores, Sao Miguel island—Wednesday, 21 April 2010, all day

A view from the Crow's Nest.

After 11 days at sea, we are in the Azores, Sao Miguel Island, Ponta Delgada.

The Star Clipper line has arranged an island tour for two buses of passengers—one for those who speak English and one for those who speak German—to the village of Sete Cidades (Seven Cities). The nearby volcano-formed lake contains water that is blue on one side of a bridge and green on the other side. The reality has to do with the way sunlight hits the water, the tour guide says. But legend tells of two star-crossed lovers, a princess and a poor farmer, whose marriage is forbidden. With her blue eyes, she cries tears of blue to form one side of the lake, and from his green eyes comes the green water on the other side.

After the tour, I walk about two miles to find a massage therapist who the tour guide has recommended. Against the odds, I am able to book an appointment for later that afternoon.

Perfect. I find a barbershop, thanks to incomplete directions from a patron of a small eatery who speaks only a little bit of English. The barberia is on a small street near the center of town with no significant sign to mark its location. The barber speaks no English, but we both know the reason I’m there. The only real question is how much to cut off, and we communicate that through hand motions.

Then, I hustle back to Royal Clipper to climb the mast to the lower crow’s nest, about 10 meters above the deck. This endeavor challenges my fear of heights, but there is no time for trepidation—I’ve got a massage appointment to keep and no way to call the therapist—so I climb into the safety harness and clamber up the ratlines. Three others are there ahead of me: Robin from Liverpool, Doris from Germany who loves to travel by ship, and 93-year-young Joan. I enjoy the view and snap some photos while Paul, the young man from The Netherlands, joins us. Then Dave, manning the belay line below, says someone has to come down to make room for another, so I volunteer. On the deck that features the Tropical Bar, I grab a bite of food and water from the afternoon buffet then rush to the massage.

After another two-mile walk, I arrive at exactly the appointed minute. Patricia (pronounced Pah-treece-ee-ah) doesn’t speak English. But, as with the barber, we both know the purpose of this appointment. The massage is good, as I had expected, but the massage oil was exceptional: sweet and silky, it warmed under Patricia’s hands on my back and legs. Afterward, I asked Sophia, the receptionist, how I can buy a bottle. “We make it ourselves, and we don’t sell it,” she says. A pity? No, a temporary delight, worth sailing the ocean to attain.

That night, aboard Royal Clipper, we are entertained by Group Folclorico Ilha Verda, 25 musicians and dancers from Ponta Delgado, men and women who invite the ship’s passengers to get up and dance with them.

Dolphins — Monday, April 19, 2010, 0800

Three dolphins, two of them breaking the surface of the water, romp within two meters of the Royal Clipper’s hull.

Ximena is leading six of us on a fast-pace walk around all parts of the ship as part of our daily wake-up, work-out regimen. We are on the foredeck when a crewman says, “Dolphins.” Ximena leads us to the port bow, and that is the end of the walk.

The dolphins, perhaps a dozen of them, are romping in the surf of our bow wake, seemingly pushed by the thrust of water ahead of the ship, inches to no more than four feet in front of or beside the prow. At first glance, it appears the ship could run over them. One veers sharply to the left, falling aft 10 to 15 meters, then turns abruptly and races ahead of the ship. Others leap forward about five meters and, in unison, leap above the surface to gulp oxygen.

In seconds, they let the ship catch up to them again, romping in the thrust inches below the bow wake’s foam. One rolls over, exposing its white underbelly but without diminishing its speed.

“They are so fast, and I can’t even see them move their fins,” I say to Mariano, the ship’s marine biologist. “That’s because they are highly efficient,” he responds.

We watch them for, perhaps, ten minutes. Then they are gone. This is a sign that we are getting closer to the Azores. “We’ll see them again,” says Mariano.

Mid-Atlantic Neptune ceremony — Wednesday, April 14, 2010, mid-afternoon

Robert receives a bath of egg, pasta, and flour for his crime of crossing the mid-Atlantic. Photo credit: Alan Thagaard

I and about 15 others are gathered on the aft deck, dressed in our swimsuits and tied with a faux knot around our wrists. We are led and prodded amidships by the Sports Team: Mariano, who has painted his face green and is dressed in robes with jangling wads of plastic flotsam tied around his waist; Dave, who is dressed in a black cape, black hat, and fake black beard; Marcus, whose bare face, torso, and legs are striped with red and who carries a crimson trident in his hands; and a young woman with cardboard wings that, due to the breeze, don’t want to remain affixed to her shoulders.

The ship is at 24.07.1 N and 49.32.2 W, approximately above the Mid-Atlantic Ridge, and turned so that a good wind strikes the sails broadsides. The sails are unfurled, and “1492: Conquest of Paradise,” the ship’s theme song, plays over loud speakers.

Our crime is crossing the ocean for the first time. Our punishment is to be determined by Neptune, fabled god of the sea, who sits on the starboard side, dressed in white robe and adorned with a white flowing beard and white hat. His elevated throne is, normally, a launching platform for a lifeboat. But on this day, it is a dais of justice.

Vlad, the captain is nearby, with microphone in hand, to call forth the names of us poor mortals who are now draped by and trapped in a net.

Ximena, the cruise director, calls the first name. Bill emerges from under the net and is prodded forward to meet his demise.

Neptune announces that his crime will be forgiven if he pays proper homage to the sea: to kiss the fish that Ximena holds before him, to allow her to pour champagne atop his head, and to stand quietly as the other captors cover him with a cracked egg, hollandaise-coated pasta, and flour. Naturally, Bill obeys. Then, he is commanded to jump into a pool of water to rinse the grime from his body and the crime from his soul.

One by one, the captain calls each of our names. Each makes the journey before Neptune and faces Ximena and the fish. We stand before Mariano, Dave, and Marcus with their large bowls of eggs, pasta, and flour. Then, we plunge into the saltwater pool.

We are laughing, of course, as are many passengers who have faced similar judgment on a previous crossing.

Royal Clipper: Thai massage — Wednesday, April 14, 2010, 17:00
“Rearranging the landscape,” is a term that a sports therapy masseuse used to describe treatment to increase range of motion and strength when I was recovering from a torn medial meniscus a decade ago. The term comes to mind now as Kird, whose full name is Waranyu Ratpakdee, tugs and contorts my legs and arms into positions that were once natural, when I was a child, but have become limited with years of sitting at a computer desk.

He pokes and prods with his fingers, thumbs, heel of hands, knees, and feet on all parts of my body. Unlike a Swedish massage where I would lie passively under the smooth, soothing strokes of the masseuse, I am rolled and raised—upside down and right side up—like a ship in a storm. Resistance seems natural but is, in reality, futile if not detrimental.

Why am I doing this? Well, before leaving home, Karen, a friend who is a massage therapist, suggested that I get a massage in every country I visit then write an article about that for a massage magazine. Great idea. Relaxation written off as a business expense.

On Friday, the day I departed Barbados, I received a typical Swedish massage in Holetown. Stepping aboard Royal Clipper, I promised myself a massage at the mid-point of the Atlantic. The on-ship spa offered the Thai variety, a new experience for me, and I booked one. It seemed like a great follow-up to the Neptune mid-Atlantic ceremony. Right now, with only my head and shoulders touching the mat as Kird raises my feet high over his head, I am not so sure. Yet, I endure.

After the massage, I lie on the mat while Kird leaves the room. He is grinning, and the word “masochist” comes to mind. But when I stand up, I see that I am standing taller. I feel lighter, rejuvenated. This is good.

Crew use electric winches to pull halyards and raise two of Royal Clipper's four jibs.

A mist is falling as I request permission to board Royal Clipper. After check-in in the main lounge, a steward shows me to my cabin. My first question is in regard to Internet service, and I learn that, in contrast to previous promises, it is not working aboard the ship. So, I quickly stow my gear, grab my laptop, and return to the terminal where I had seen a Wi-Fi sign. The mist has added heft and become rain.

Mariano, the ship’s marine biologist and lecturer, greets me by name even though we had met only once briefly. He directs me to a self-help kiosk where I can buy a Wi-Fi card for $5.00 Barbadian, and I am glad that I still have a bill of that denomination left in my wallet. For this amount, I can connect to the Internet via my computer for one hour or via a seaport computer for 30 minutes. I choose mine, wanting to attach a document, a manuscript that I had been editing, to one email to a client. But my computer can’t locate the signal.

Mariano then directs me to the seaport computer. Fortunately, I had made a list of all who I wanted or needed to contact—friends and clients—before departing. However, rather than being able to do so comfortably from my cabin over the next several hours, my location and time was limited to the here and now—fast. I made a note of the time on the Windows operating system screen and quickly attended to my task. After 28 minutes, I had sent all that I wanted to send, and at 30 minutes, promptly, the computer screen went black. Time ashore is up. Time to go aboard.

By now, the rain has gained even more heft and transformed into a downpour. I bundle my laptop under my anorak and start toward the ship. Fortunately, in the Caribbean, heavy drops of rain do not necessarily equate to a drop in temperature. So, even though soaked, I am warm.

Supper is served at 7:00, and I dine with Jim and Jennie from the UK, Ronald and Marianne from Switzerland, and Bill from Canada. The conversation is international, political, and familial.

At 10:00, passengers gather around the bridge and crew work the decks. Most are dressed in raingear as mist continues to descend. “1492: Conquest of Paradise,” the theme written by Vangelis for a movie by the same name about Christopher Columbus, plays over loud speakers. Bow thrusters push us away from the dock, and a tugboat helps turn the bow toward the harbor entrance.

The winds are favorable, so the crew hoists the sails. Hearts and spirits rise in unison — at least mine are. We are under way with the dark Atlantic ahead and diminishing Barbadian city lights fading off the stern.

We run northwest, parallel to the island coast until we are well clear of the northern end — and probably unseen coral reefs or shoals. Then, we turn northeast, into the wind, and the crew furls the sails. A few remaining passengers remain topsides to watch while the majority descend to the piano bar for entertainment by Lazlo, the ship’s musician.

Later that night, visiting the bridge, I learn, with some disappointment, that we will be motoring for the next several days until we reach the 30th Parallel where trade winds are expected to be more favorable for actual sailing. So, for the next several days, I experience motor cruising aboard a five-masted tall ship. Oh, well. At least we are at sea.

Royal Clipper: My first talk at sea.

I have a microphone in hand and a newly developed PowerPoint presentation at my fingertips and am giving a presentation to about 24 fellow passengers. The topic is “Stories: We All Have One. Here’s Mine. What’s Yours?”

This came about because of an announcement on the daily printed schedule two days ago in which Ximena, the cruise director, extended an invitation for passengers to tell stories, show slides, or otherwise entertain others.

I am reading a poem about my dad and a story about my mom from Cobble Creek, telling about John McConnell’s vision of peace, justice, care of Earth, and describing my brain tumor experience. The audience is attentive; some look enthralled.

I make the offer to sit and talk with anyone who wants to tell me their story or wants free coaching on how to write their story.

Afterward, I receive compliments and further conversation. Two couples who were not in attendance say, “Oh, are you the writer? I wanted to hear you talk but didn’t make it there.” And so I review highlights with them.

One man confides an emotional event of the previous day, a situation involving his deceased wife of 47 years. He says, “I hadn’t planned on telling anyone but when I heard you speak, I decided I wanted to tell you.” I listened and thanked him.

Storytelling. It’s cathartic, essential, primal.

I am reminded of a conversation over dinner the night before. I said to the people around the table: “If we had a societal meltdown due to man-made or natural disaster that wiped out our communications systems, our highways, our physical and technical infrastructure, who would we turn to first?” Answer: Our local constabulary, medical triage personnel, ministers, mechanics; these are key people who would help us hold ourselves, our emotions, and our gadgets together. We would turn to our local farmers and growers for sustenance. And we would rely on teaches, storytellers, artists, and poets to keep our folklore alive. In other words, we would turn to those who, according to current standards of financial compensation, we value the least — and yet are so vital to the full, true human experience.

Stay tuned for more posts about Robert’s Royal Clipper journey.

Here is Part 2 of Larry Haugh’s interview with Vacation Agent magazine.

Who’s your typical client?
We’ve found that 50 percent of our passengers have been involved in boating at some point in their life. Anybody who owns boats…[or belongs to] any type of sailing club or yacht club, whether they’re power or sail boats, are potential clients. Our passenger is an average age of 55 with a household income of $120,000 who takes about three weeks vacation a year.

We offer a four-star product and we [use] actual sailing ships—our ships are designated SPV, for sail passenger vessel. We have engines, but we go primarily by sails as much and as frequently as possible. Over 80 percent of our American guests have been on previous cruises, and then they come to us because they want to do something different. We’re truly experiential when it comes to travel.

What sorts of programs do you have for travel agents?
Travel agents are the primary source of our business. One exciting new program is for groups in 2010 and ‘11 that gives clients savings of up to 50 percent off the brochure rates. A group size with us is only nine paying guests, and the 10th sails free, so you earn TCs much faster. We do have a maximum of two tour conductors per group, occupying the same cabin. If agents achieve group numbers, they can earn a $500 to $1,000 bonus commission per group. We’re currently redoing our website, and in the spring we plan to have a new, improved travel agent area on it as well. We don’t have a booking engine, but we have postcards and e-mails and flyers that can be customized.

Larry Haugh is vice president of sales for Star Clippers Americas.