royal caribbean cruise ship suites

Genies, freebies and VIP status: The perks of Royal Caribbean’s Royal Suite class explained

Take your pick: Can you settle for a concierge to elevate your next cruise or do you need a genie to make your vacation magical? The choice is yours when you book a suite that's part of Royal Caribbean's Royal Suite class.

On Oasis- and Quantum-class ships, your suite booking comes with a host of perks that vary based on the Royal Suite-class tier your cabin falls under. The amenities range from in-cabin bathrobes and name-brand toiletries to an exclusive restaurant and personal assistant. Some suites include Wi-Fi, specialty dining, tips and a beverage package wrapped into the cruise fare.

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The effect is to create a little slice of luxury living on a mass-market ship sailing with thousands of passengers on board. VIP privileges help smooth the wrinkles of jockeying for reservations, seats and head-of-the-line positions, so you can enjoy every moment of your trip.

You might need that genie to help you figure out which suites come with which perks on which ships. Here, I'll take you through the ins and outs of Royal Caribbean 's Royal Suite class for the next time you want to make your cruise vacation extra special.

What is Royal Caribbean's Royal Suite class?

The Royal Suite class divides Royal Caribbean's top suites into three categories: Sea, Sky and Star. Sea is the lowest tier, Sky is the middle tier and Star is the highest tier; the names go in order from lowest to the ground to way up in the heavens, to match their level of inclusions.

Which suites fall into each Royal Suite-class category?

Royal Suite class is only found on the newest and biggest ships. These include:

• Allure of the Seas.
• Anthem of the Seas.
• Harmony of the Seas.
• Oasis of the Seas.
• Odyssey of the Seas.
• Ovation of the Seas.
• Quantum of the Seas.
• Spectrum of the Seas.
• Symphony of the Seas.
• Wonder of the Seas.

Among those ships, here are the suite categories that fall under each tier.

• Junior suite.
• Junior suite with large balcony.
• AquaTheater suite (one bedroom).
• Crown Loft suite.
• Golden Balcony.
• Golden junior suite.
• Grand suite (one or two bedrooms).
• Grand suite with large balcony (one bedroom).
• Owner's suite.
• Sky Loft suite.
• Spacious AquaTheater suite (one bedroom).
• AquaTheater suite with large balcony (two bedrooms).
• Grand Loft suite.
• Grand Panoramic suite (one bedroom).
• Owner's Loft suite.
• Owner's Panoramic suite.
• Royal Loft suite.
• Star Loft suite.
• Spacious AquaTheater suite with large balcony (two bedrooms).
• Ultimate Family suite.
• Ultimate Panoramic suite.
• Villa suite.

What are the Royal Suite-class benefits?

All Royal Suite-class suites are tricked out with bathrobes for use on board, a Lavazza espresso coffee maker and upgraded toiletries. On my recent Wonder of the Seas cruise in a Grand suite, the toiletries were Malin + Goetz-brand shampoo, conditioner, body wash and lotion in large pump bottles (so you can't stick them in your luggage before you disembark).

You're also entitled to a dedicated check-in line on embarkation day. All suite guests can eat dinner at Coastal Kitchen, the exclusive suite restaurant, but you must make reservations in advance.

Related: Reasons you should splurge on a suite for your next cruise

Move up to Sky class, and the perks and inclusions get even better. You'll get VIP treatment, such as concierge service, flexible arrival times (an hour earlier or later than your check-in time) and priority disembarkation, priority dining reservations and reserved group seating in certain entertainment venues, such as the main theater and ice skating rink.

On my Wonder of the Seas cruise, the concierge personally escorted us off the ship, holding elevators, skipping us ahead of the general scrum to scan our SeaPass cards and exit, and pointing out exactly where our bags were located.

Sky-class passengers also get access to exclusive venues, such as the Coastal Kitchen restaurant for three meals a day, suite lounge with complimentary evening drinks and snacks, and the suite sun deck. Room service is free of charge 24/7.

On Wonder of the Seas, I truly appreciated the suite lounge and concierge service. It was my first time on an Oasis-class ship, and a lot of advance reservations were not available on the inaugural sailing of the ship. The concierges were brilliant at getting me a table the first day the new Mason Jar restaurant was open for brunch, and making reservations for all the shows we wanted to see.

My daughter and I loved to pop into the suite lounge to grab a pastry, snack or drink; it was more convenient than room service, when you never knew when or what was going to show up. I found Coastal Kitchen to be several steps above the main dining room in terms of food quality and service, and I regret not eating more meals there.

Every person booked into a Sky-class suite also gets a free "Surf + Stream" internet package for one device. That meant I could get work done while my daughter watched "Encanto" for the thousandth time on Disney+.

You also get one bottle of water on arrival, but that pales in comparison to the rest of the perks!

How is Star class different?

Star class is where the magic happens. In addition to all the aforementioned perks, passengers booked into the largest, most expensive suites receive complimentary specialty restaurant dining, a Deluxe beverage package (for all guests 21 and older) or Refreshment package (for anyone not legal to drink), minibar stocked with soda and water, laundry and pressing, and gratuities.

The suites will feature luxury-brand mattresses and pillows, topped with Frette linens, and have still and sparkling water replenished each day. You'll receive expedited boarding and departure, priority entrance to shipboard activities and the best seats reserved specifically for you at many onboard entertainment venues.

Related: 5 of the world's best cruise ship suites

However, the best Star-class amenity is the Royal Genie, a personal butler who will go above and beyond to enhance your vacation at sea. I've sailed on luxury ships, where butlers basically offer to unpack your bags and bring you afternoon canapes, but otherwise seem like a glorified room steward. Not so with the Royal Genie.

All Royal Genies will help you plan your cruise in advance, snagging your preferred reservations at restaurants and activities, and adjusting these plans in real time as your cruise unfolds and things come up. They will personally escort your travel party on and off the ship.

Beyond that, what your Royal Genie can do for you depends a lot on what you ask for. Think about bringing any food from any restaurant to your suite for in-room or balcony dining. Maybe it's throwing a party for a special occasion or for friends your meet on board. The Genie can supervise your kids at the buffet while you have a date night meal or plan a special day in port. He or she might surprise you with popcorn when you decide to have an in-cabin movie night, bring you daily Starbucks or leave little gifts for you to find.

Even cruisers who are low maintenance, or feel awkward having a crew member follow them around all day long, report getting used to the unobtrusive-yet-ever-present service of a Genie, and say it really makes their sailing special.

Is the Royal Suite class worth it?

Now that's a question without a right or wrong answer.

Are the perks valuable and useful? You bet. Are the suites spacious and upscale? Yep. Is it worth the price? Well, now, that depends ...

When I checked, fares for a Royal Loft suite on a weeklong Christmas 2023 sailing on Oasis of the Seas started at more than $20,000 ... per person (based on double occupancy). The same cabin a few weeks later costs nearly $11,000 per person. On a four-night Bahamas cruise on Allure of the Seas, the suite costs $4,000 per person. That's quite the price range.

Related: Why it pays to upgrade your cruise ship cabin

If you want the most affordable cruise, Royal Suite class is not worth the money. If you're willing to pay whatever it costs for a luxury experience and VIP treatment on a tricked-out megaship with all the restaurants and onboard attractions, it's definitely worth it. You might find you're willing to splurge for a once-in-a-lifetime trip, like a honeymoon, but not for an ordinary vacation. Perhaps you're willing to pay for a lower-tier suite with some but not all the perks, or are willing to patiently scour all the sailings to find a Star-class suite with a lower-than-average fare.

I can't imagine anyone regretting the vacation they had in a Royal Suite-class cabin. However, you might regret all the things you have to give up (new car, dinners out, shopping trips) to afford that suite. Only you can decide how you want to spend your discretionary budget.

Planning a Royal Caribbean cruise? Learn more with these stories:

• The ultimate guide to Royal Caribbean cruise ships and itineraries
• What I love about Royal Caribbean's new suite neighborhood
• The ultimate guide to Royal Caribbean cabins and suites
• Wonder of the Seas 3 ways: Inside, balcony and suite compared
• The 6 classes of Royal Caribbean cruise ships, explained
• The ultimate guide to choosing a cruise ship cabin

Featured photo courtesy of Royal Caribbean.

More From Forbes

How to choose the best cruise ship cabin for you.

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Balcony staterooms on Norwegian Prima feature a Scandinavian color palette with some modern design ... [+] touches.

Choosing your cruise ship cabin or stateroom is an essential part of planning a dream cruise vacation. The right accommodation can enhance your cruise experience, providing you with a comfortable retreat after a day of adventure, but some choices may turn out to be an expensive mistake.

Here’s how to select the best cruise ship cabin for your needs, whether you're seeking breathtaking views, peace and quiet, convenience, or the best value.

Cruise Ship Cabin Grades

From motel-sized inside cabins to luxurious suites that rival the most expensive land-based hotels, cruise ships offer a range of accommodation grades to suit all preferences and budgets:

Interior Cabins : The most budget-friendly option, these cabins are located inside the ship and have no windows. Although they are often just as spacious as oceanview cabins, the lack of natural light may be off-putting to some.

Oceanview Cabins : Offering a window or porthole, these cabins provide natural light and views of the ocean or ports, a good middle-ground option. On modern ships, such cabins will likely be located towards the bottom of the ship, as balcony cabins now dominate ship exteriors.

Balcony Cabins : These cabins feature private balconies allowing direct access to ocean breezes and private views. These cabins are perfect for those who prefer to enjoy the scenery privately.

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Some ships offer cabins with direct access to the promenade deck, while the largest ships, including MSC World Europa , offer balconies overlooking an internal courtyard or promenade.

The newest, largest cruise ships such as Royal Caribbean's 'Icon of the Seas' offer a huge range of ... [+] cabin grades and locations.

Suites : The most spacious and luxurious option, suites often come with extra amenities and services, ideal for travelers looking for a premium experience. Separate bedrooms, wraparound balconies, and even butler service are some common features of cruise ship suites.

Pioneered by Norwegian Cruise Line, solo traveler cabins are becoming more common across the industry. Whereas for many years solo cabins were usually interior grade, there are now oceanview and even balcony cabins available for solo travelers on some lines.

Consider The Location

Perhaps more so than the accommodation grade, the cabin location can significantly impact your cruise experience.

Top-to-bottom : Cabins on lower decks are usually cheaper with the added benefit of experiencing less movement in rough seas.

However, depending on the size of the ship, they could be farther from entertainment and dining areas. On big ships, there may be 10 or even more flights of stairs between your cabin and the pool, sun deck, buffet, and other amenities found at the top of the ship. There will be elevators, of course, but you should expect queues at busy times.

Cabins on higher decks will provide better views from balconies and suites, and good access to many of the ship’s amenities, but passengers may feel the ship's movement more. You may also hear more noise from outdoor activities on the pool deck.

Cabins on middle floors offer the best combination of access to facilities and less movement in the event of rough seas.

Front-to-back : Just as important as the deck number is the cabin’s location between the ship’s front and rear.

Cabins located at the very front and very back of the ship will experience significantly more movement in the event of rough seas, so choose a cabin towards the middle of the ship if you’re facing multiple sea days or sailing off-season.

Inside cabins on the 'P&O Arvia' cruise ship are a good value accommodation option. They can be ... [+] configured with a double or twin beds.

It’s also worth knowing that most cruise ships feature main dining venues at the rear and the main theater at the front.

The Budget Accommodation Choice

When choosing a cabin, start with understanding your budget. Decide how much you’re willing to spend and remember that while the cabin is important, you’ll also want to budget for on-board activities, excursions, beverages, and other expenses.

If budget matters above all else, an interior cabin is a wise choice. You could also save money by booking a saver fare offered by some cruise lines.

These fares typically don't allow you to select your cabin in advance. This will likely result in you being allocated a cabin at the front or back of the ship, but it will save you money.

Questions To Ask Yourself

If you have more flexibility in your budget, consider what’s important to you in accommodation. If you plan to spend a lot of time in your cabin, you might value a balcony or a spacious room more. Families might look for cabins with connecting doors or extra bed options.

Before booking, read reviews of the ship and specific cabins on websites such as Cruise Critic or watching YouTube reviews. Previous travelers can offer invaluable insight into noise levels, views, and overall satisfaction.

Examine the ship’s layout to see where your cabin is in relation to key areas like the lido deck, dining rooms, and entertainment venues. Consider potential noise from above or below your cabin, especially if it’s immediately above or below a dance floor, crew area, or near the pool.

Your cruise itinerary might also influence your choice of accommodation. For scenic cruises, such as those in Alaska or the Norwegian fjords , a balcony might be worth the splurge to enjoy the magnificent views in relative peace. A balcony breakfast while sailing along a fjord will be an experience to remember.

On the other hand, if you plan to spend most of your time exploring ports and partaking in onboard activities, the type and location of cabin might be of less importance.

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Plan the Best Cruise for your Family

By Amanda Mesa | Published on April 19, 2024

It's no big secret that cruising is one of the most convenient options for a family vacation. Most major cruise lines cater to families, featuring ships that offer all kinds of fun activities, entertainment and even family suites designed to give everyone plenty of room to unwind comfortably. But with so many cruise lines and ships to choose from, how do you narrow down your search and find one that checks all your boxes for an unforgettable escape?

Take it from a seasoned traveler: One of the top options out there right now is Utopia of the Seas ℠. The newest Oasis Class ship is loaded from bow to stern with adrenaline-amping attractions like the longest slide at sea, plenty of complimentary and specialty dining options to please the most finicky of eaters and spectacular, family-friendly entertainment to light up every night of your sailing. This ship is also home to one of the most jaw-dropping accommodations on the ocean — the sprawling Ultimate Family Suite with its own karaoke and cinema room and an in-room slide. What's more, Utopia of the Seas ℠ emphasizes three- and four-night getaways, making it easy for families to make memories even if they only have a few days to spend on an escape.

Read on for everything you need to know to have the best family vacation on this latest addition to the Oasis Class.

Plenty For Families To Do During The Day

O Oasis Class ships are known for their standout onboard attractions, and Utopia of the Seas ℠ brings back lots of guest favorites — in a bigger and better way. The ship is home to the Ultimate Abyss℠, rising 10 stories with zoom boosters and transparent racing windows and qualifying as the longest dry slide at sea. At The Perfect Storm, you'll also find the Supercell℠ and dual racer slides Typhoon℠ and Cyclone℠, the latter filled with pulse-pounding twists and turns that will have both parents and kids shrieking with excitement.

If you've read my previous reporting on cruises, you may remember that my favorite place to hang out on any cruise ship is poolside. So when I found out that Utopia of the Seas ℠ offers one of the boldest pool scenes in the fleet, it quickly climbed the ranks on my "top ships" list. There are a whopping five pools on board — two resort-style and one with a sloping beach entry on the top deck. This is where families will find most of the action, including reggae bands and impromptu pool parties that guests of all ages will love. Then there's the adults-only Solarium pool (more my vibe), where guests aged 16 and older can chill with plenty of room to lounge and bubbly whirlpools affording breathtaking views. The Solarium pool even has its own bar, so grown-ups can enjoy all their favorite vacation libations just steps away.

If you and your fam want a little extra privacy and space, you can reserve one of the ship's casitas. Each of these poolside cabanas comes with exclusive attendant service, delivering snacks and sips directly to you.

In addition to an epic pool scene and adrenaline-amping slides, Utopia of the Seas ℠ boasts an iconic FlowRider® surf simulator, twin rock-climbing walls, a zip line that soars across the ship's Boardwalk® neighborhood and a fun, all-ages mini golf course, Aqua Dunes. All of these attractions are complimentary for guests, so you can pack every day at sea with thrill-filled adventures for free.

Exclusive Play Spaces For Teens And Kids

Knowing a cruise ship offers dedicated kids' clubs or childcare programs can be a huge deal for traveling families — including mine, as I remember feeling bored as a kid on vacation with my parents and their grown-up friends. When my husband and I travel with couples who have small children or teens, it's nice to know we can still enjoy some adult time on board while the littles have a blast hanging out with guests their own age in a safe, supervised environment.

Utopia of the Seas ℠ offers the cruise line's award-winning Adventure Ocean® Youth Program, which provides full days of supervised activities and entertainment for kids aged three through 11 — all complimentary to cruise guests. Cruisers bringing babies along can take advantage of the Royal Babies and Tots℠ Nursery, offering care for the littlest guests for a fee. And if you're cruising with teens, they'll be happy to know this larger-than-life ship has a swanky cool hangout with daily programming (think disco parties and game nights) they can experience with others in their cohort.

Yet another thrilling space for kids on board Utopia of the Seas ℠ is the Wonder Playscape, which features slides, climbing walls, puzzles and other interactive features for kiddos. The space was completely reimagined for this ship, so you can expect surprises even if you've experienced the Wonder Playscape on board another ship in the past. 

Restaurants To Please Every Palate

Foodies, rejoice! Utopia of the Seas ℠ goes big and bold on flavors, no matter what you or your kids are in the mood for. You'll find more than 20 unique dining venues on board, including brand-new concepts. At the Windjammer, you and your family will have over 200 incredible dishes to choose from every night of your sailing, not to mention delicious breakfast, brunch and lunch options, totally free of charge. The casual restaurant has more than 1,000 seats, so you never need to worry about snagging a table for you and your crew.

Two of my other favorite free restaurants are Sorrento's Pizza, an open-late spot that serves up perfection by the slice, and Dog House, known for its yummy artisanal brats piled with all your favorite toppings. If you're a brunch lover like me, you'll find plenty to rave about at The Mason Jar, a Southern-inspired specialty restaurant that highlights hearty eats from the bayou and the Low Country. Standouts include crispy chicken paired with fluffy waffles, decadent cinnamon rolls, smoky BBQ and incredible lobster and crawfish gumbo. Brunch here steals the show, though you can also chow down at dinnertime and late at night — The Mason Jar is open until 1 a.m.

If you're looking to plan the perfect date night, all you have to do is head to Central Park®. The Trellis Bar there is great for enjoying pre-dinner sips, from cocktails to fine wines and bubbly. This leafy, lush neighborhood is home to some of the ship's top specialty restaurants, including Chops Grille℠, an elegant steakhouse that provides a great backdrop for special occasion dinners like birthdays and anniversaries.

For an elevated family dinner, try Giovanni's℠ Italian Kitchen & Wine Bar. This chic specialty restaurant emphasizes rustic Italian dishes, many served family-style. From tender osso buco to cheesy lasagna and kid-friendly pizzas, everything on the menu is exemplary. Prefer to keep dinner a little more casual but still want to dial it up? Hooked Seafood℠ — a laid-back yet stylish specialty dining venue delivering an authentic taste of the New England coast — is a wonderful option. Among my favorites are their Maryland crab cakes and creamy Maine lobster rolls.

Wow-Worthy Evening Entertainment

The fun doesn't stop when the sun sets on board Utopia of the Seas ℠ . This ship keeps the good times going strong long after dark, with spectacular shows every night of your sailing. At the AquaTheater, the deepest pool at sea, guests can watch as world-class divers dazzle with deck-defying acrobatics, stunts and synchronized swimming. The ice-skating shows are just as awe-inspiring, featuring a talented team of figure skaters that will wow you with their dizzying spins and graceful jumps. And of course, you can look forward to incredible Broadway-style musicals in the ship's main theater, performed every evening for your family's viewing pleasure.

All onboard shows are complimentary — they're one of many things included in your cruise fare.  All you have to do is reserve your seats in advance via the Cruise Planner app or on board at the box office. This will ensure you can snag seats for everyone in your party in the same row or section.

If you're cruising with adults or planning to take advantage of the ship's convenient evening childcare options so you can enjoy a night out on deck, you'll find plenty of bars and venues to keep you occupied into the wee hours. My favorite spot for dancing is Boleros, a Latin-themed nightclub. Hosting a live band every night that delivers a hip-swinging medley of sultry salsa, samba and merengue classics, Boleros also mixes legendary mojitos.

If you prefer a concert, head to Music Hall, where incredible cover bands command the stage, giving you plenty of inspiration to bust a move. And at The Attic, you can indulge in late-night belly laughs. This cozy, adults-only comedy club showcases a rotating lineup of fabulous stand-up comedians, from slapstick pros to unrivaled pun-masters. Maybe karaoke is a cornerstone of your identity, as it is for me? You won't want to miss out on Utopia' s Spotlight℠ Karaoke — a lively spot that lets you belt out your favorite hits in front of a full house, or book a private room for a more intimate concert with friends or family.

Staterooms Designed For Families Of All Kinds

In addition to the incredible onboard activities and restaurants Utopia of the Seas ℠ offers cruisers of all ages, the ship's accommodations show a clear family focus. There are staterooms on board to suit groups and families of all kinds, including plenty of options for connecting rooms. You can take your pick of spacious staterooms with stunning views and upgraded amenities, like a sprawling Ocean View Large Balcony or an Ultra Spacious Ocean View Balcony.

If you're traveling with older teens or exclusively adults and want to stay close to the Solarium, consider a Solarium Suite — a new suite category only available on Utopia of the Seas ℠ . Each Solarium Suite features 280-degree views from the ship's uppermost levels, as well as all of the experience-enhancing perks that come with Royal Suite Class Star status, including unique amenities, expanded access to suites-only parts of the ship and surprises curated by your very own Royal Genie.

That said, the crown jewel of staterooms and suites on board Utopia of the Seas ℠ is without a doubt the ship's Ultimate Family Suite . This sprawling hideaway includes three huge bedrooms that can accommodate up to 10 guests, plus an in-suite cinema and karaoke station, a corner balcony with a private whirlpool, table tennis, spectacular views and even a two-story slide that young ones (and the young at heart) will love.

Whether you're traveling with a baby, kids, teens or the extended family , Utopia of the Seas ℠ makes coordinating family vacations stress-free.

Written By AMANDA MESA

Amanda has written for Royal Caribbean since 2017. She also covers travel, lifestyle, food and beverage for Indulge Magazine, the Miami Herald and PureWow. She's traveled extensively around the world, enjoys building unforgettable itineraries and loves introducing readers to lesser-known.

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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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Updated at 2:44 p.m. ET on April 6, 2024.

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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 optic 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.

Royal Caribbean's newest ship is also its priciest. Here's what it's like spending as little as possible, with no lobster or other upgrades.

• Royal Caribbean's Icon of the Seas could be an expensive vacation compared to other cruise ships.
• Sailing on the mega-ship without paying for any of its upcharged amenities is possible.
• But it would mean spending at least $265 a day, staying sober, and repeating meals.

A budget vacation on Royal Caribbean's new wildly popular Icon of the Seas is possible. Just be prepared to stay sober, repeat meals, and pay at least $265 a day.

Right now, there's likely no better example of the mass-market cruise industry's shift toward the budget airline strategy — charge a cheap base fare and offer irresistible up-charged amenities — than Royal Caribbean's new world's largest cruise liner.

After all, what other ship comes with a $100,000-a-week cabin and a $200-per-person restaurant?

But it is possible to vacation on the mega-ship without giving into any of its upcharged restaurants and activities. If you're strong enough to do so, here's what your seven nights on Icon of the Seas could look like.

Be warned: It won't include lobsters or private lounges .

Less than half of Icon’s 28 eateries are complimentary, so you’ll likely repeat meals.

Picky eaters are sure to find at least one satisfactory option at the ship's three buffets, one of which is Mexican-themed.

If not, the complimentary pizza shop or sandwiches from the two on-board cafés might suffice.

In search of variety, grab a Mediterranean-style wrap or crepe at the five-stall food hall instead.

For a more formal dinner, budget cruisers can grub on a three-course meal at the complimentary dining room.

The three-floor restaurant has a rotating menu with classics like crab cakes, New York strip steak, and cheesecake.

Just don't expect lobster or filet mignon. Both cost extra.

For better or worse, guests snubbing upcharged options would also be snubbing booze.

Like most mass-market cruise ships, Icon of the Seas' 18 bars aren't free. If you want alcohol and sodas, be prepared to pay for a beverage package.

Thankfully, the ship’s complimentary amenities could distract you from your sobriety.

Icon's surf simulator and impressive six-slide waterpark won't run you a tab.

The same goes for its seven pools and nine hot tubs — save for one of each exclusive to guests who've booked a suite.

For drier activities, families could spend their afternoons scaling the rock climbing wall or testing their putt at the nine-hole mini-golf course.

Or they could work off their lunch buffet by sweating it out at the sports court — basketball and ping pong included — for no extra charges.

Fortunately, Icon of the Seas' nighttime entertainment is also a great equalizer. Its ice skating performance, rendition of the Broadway hit "Wizard of Oz," and multi-disciplinary dance, swim, and dive show are complimentary to all guests.

But if you want to test your fear of heights at the part-walking, part-agility, part-ziplining Crown's Edge , you'll have to cough up $49.

The arcade games aren't free, either.

Guests staying in suites have access to a shared outdoor lounge.

There's also the option to pay up to $700 for one day with a private cabana-like "casita."

But if you're on a budget, you'll have to fight "pool chair hogs" for the best poolside seating instead. (Consider bringing a sheet mask with you — a 25-minute facial at the ship's spa is almost $150.)

And hold off on your Instagram photo dumps until after your vacation.

Otherwise, you'll have to cough up $31 per day and device for streaming-enabled WiFi, totaling $217 for the duration of the cruise. (Icon of the Seas is exclusively operating seven-night sailings.)

But let’s face it: The base fare alone isn’t ultra-affordable compared to other cruise ships.

Patrick Scholes, a lodging and leisure research analyst at Truist Securities, told Business Insider in late 2023, three months before Icon's launch , that the vessel was priced at a premium of "at least 50%, if not more."

Steep, compared to the typical 20% to 50% new-ship premiums.

The cheapest interior stateroom for 2024 currently costs $265 per person per day.

But even the windowless cabin comes with its own list of upgrades.

Travelers who want to pick their own stateroom must pay an additional $128 per person. If they opt for one of the larger (by at least one square foot) interior cabins, it'll be an extra $100.

Which is to say, good luck avoiding any of the upcharged amenities on your Icon of the Seas vacation .

• Main content

• Northern Europe & Baltic Sea

COST of day trip to Moscow ??

By densol , February 26, 2012 in Northern Europe & Baltic Sea

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We have just booked a cruise to the Baltics for next year. I am trying to find out the average cost for a day trip to Moscow from STP. I have searched several times, and whilst I have read reviews and reports about the trips etc - I cannot actually see any examples of the costs. I imagine its quite expensive - but we want to do it so I need to budget LOL !!

Any ballpark figures ? :D

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We have just booked a cruise to the Baltics for next year. I am trying to find out the average cost for a day trip to Moscow from STP. I have searched several times, and whilst I have read reviews and reports about the trips etc - I cannot actually see any examples of the costs. I imagine its quite expensive - but we want to do it so I need to budget LOL !! Any ballpark figures ? Thanks

We did the Moscow trip through our cruise ship in late July 2008. Its cost was a little under $1000 pp. Now, that cost through this cruise line is a little over that $1000 pp cost. Now, most are using the high-speed rail connection versus the air flights as we did. I have seen some other numbers from other cruise lines and/or private firms that run $700-850.

Why cheaper or the differences? As cruise lines are pressured to keep their "sticker price" low, they need to make up some "margin" with ship tours, beverages, spa stuff, etc., to help cover their costs and gain some profit. Second, different tours provide various features. Our tour included going inside the famed and spectacular Kremlin Palace. Most Moscow tours don't feature that option and you cannot just walk up there and get in on your own. That Palace is where the Czars were crowned and all of the current/recent Russian leaders assumed their powers.

We could have saved a little if we had used a private tour to go to and visit Moscow, but, with my wife's pushing, we felt it was worth it to pay a little more, do it through the cruise line. If there had been any problems or mix-ups, it was the ship's duty to "make it right" and we would not have to worry.

If you have three days in St. Petersburg and/or have been there before, then the Moscow tour can work out very well. It's not cheap, but in my view, worth it!! Both are a few of my visuals from this super great city with such interesting history and dramatic architecture.

THANKS! Enjoy! Terry in Ohio

Did a June 7-19, 2011, Solstice cruise from Barcelona that had stops in Villefranche, ports near Pisa and Rome, Naples, Kotor, Venice and Dubrovnik . Enjoyed great weather and a wonderful trip. Dozens of wonderful visuals with key highlights, tips, comments, etc., on these postings. We are now at 66,454 views for this live/blog re-cap on our first sailing with Celebrity and much on wonderful Barcelona. Check these postings and added info at:

http://www.boards.cruisecritic.com/showthread.php?t=1426474

For details and visuals, etc., from our July 1-16, 2010, Norway Coast/Fjords/Arctic Circle cruise experience from Copenhagen on the Silver Cloud, check out this posting. This posting is now at 60,364 views.

http://www.boards.cruisecritic.com/showthread.php?t=1227923

One of the Kremlin Wall Towers in Moscow:

Walking on the famed Red Square of Moscow:

St. Basil's sits on Red Square and dates back to its 1555-61 construction on the orders of Ivan the Terrible (Ivan IV). It commemorates the capture of Kazan and Astrakhan and marks the geometric center of the city. This location has been the hub of its growth for Moscow since the 14th century. It was the tallest building in Moscow until the completion of the Ivan the Great Bell Tower in 1600. This church was near destroyed in the 1930’s when Stalin was in control.:

Here is a small sampling of the Kremlin Royal Treasures of the Czars: Eggs & Jewels insicde the famed Armory.:

Moscow’s subways are called the “People’s Palaces” with their marble coverings and unique designs for each of the different and many stations.:

This is the interior for Moscow's most historic church, Assumption Cathedral or the Cathedral of the Dormition, inside the Kremlin walls. It is the mother church of Muscovite Russia. The church stands on Cathedral Square and was built in 1475–1479 by the Italian architect Aristotele Fioravanti. It was erected on the spot of an older 14th century cathedral of the same name:

We did the day trip to Moscow with Alla-tour and were very pleased with our tour. Our guide whose English was great was a wealth of information and the day went very smoothly. I checked the web site and Alla's prices for 2012 range from $884 a person for two down to $542 a person for 6 with the 5% cruisecritic discount. So if you can get a group together the per person price goes down considerably. You can try to do this on the roll call section of cruisecritic.

We did not go to the Palace and as Terry says this is not included generally in tours. However, we did go to the Diamond Fund, an amazing display of crown jewels and jewelry in the Armoury building but not really part of the Armoury. I would think you could include this if you had a small group and really wanted to see it. It is quite small and does not accommodate a large group. You can google "diamond fund kremlin" to learn more.

Here are some of my pictures

Red Square with St. Basil’s at the far end

Kremlin Cathedral Square

Bolshoi Theatre

Treasures at the Armoury

200 ton Tsar Bell

Tomb of the Unknown Soldier

We did the day trip to Moscow with Alla-tour and were very pleased with our tour. Our guide whose English was great was a wealth of information and the day went very smoothly. I checked the web site and Alla's prices for 2012 range from $884 a person for two down to $542 a person for 6 with the 5% cruisecritic discount. So if you can get a group together the per person price goes down considerably. You can try to do this on the roll call section of cruisecritic. We did not go to the Palace and as Terry says this is not included generally in tours. However, we did go to the Diamond Fund, an amazing display of crown jewels and jewelry in the Armoury building but not really part of the Armoury. I would think you could include this if you had a small group and really wanted to see it. It is quite small and does not accommodate a large group. You can google "diamond fund kremlin" to learn more.

Well said, cadreamer! (nice photos, by the way).

We also used Alla. She is just a super person to work with and, if you get a group together, she will accomodate what YOU want to do!! You can check-out her Moscow tour at:

http://www.alla-tour.com/tours/1

As cadreamer suggests, go to your roll call on Cruise Critic & see if you can get a group together.

Terry, your pix, per usual, are awesome! Still envious! :)

Terry, your pix, per usual, are awesome! Still envious! :) jill

Appreciate, Jill, the kind comments! Envy is GOOD!!

Below are a few more visuals on Moscow that are more "interesting". Fascinating to having seen both cities, back-to-back. It really puts all of this unique Russian history and architecture in better perspective.

Did a June 7-19, 2011, Solstice cruise from Barcelona that had stops in Villefranche, ports near Pisa and Rome, Naples, Kotor, Venice and Dubrovnik . Enjoyed great weather and a wonderful trip. Dozens of wonderful visuals with key highlights, tips, comments, etc., on these postings. We are now at 67,001 views for this live/blog re-cap on our first sailing with Celebrity and much on wonderful Barcelona. Check these postings and added info at:

The famed KGB (Secret Police) Headquarters in Moscow where many entered and did not exit (alive) during the 1950’s and 1960’s:

Kremlin Treasures: Royal coaches:

Young Military Officers on the streets of Moscow with Soviet "High Hat".:

These are the series of smaller domes on the top of the Church of the Deposition of the Robe in the Kremlin Cathedral Square area.:

Inside the newly, more westernized GUM Department Store:

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