Queen Victoria Review

The Queen Victoria Is No Queen!

Review for Transatlantic Cruise on Queen Victoria
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hemisflower
First Time Cruiser • Age 80s

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Sail Date: Jan 2008

We'd heard that Camilla, Duchess of Cornwall, wife of Prince Charles, had failed to shatter the traditional bottle of Veuve Cliquot when she launched the Queen Victoria on December 6, 2007. We'd also heard that a week later, on the Queen's maiden voyage, nearly 200 of her passengers had developed an intestinal infection, the Vicky Novo Virus. Despite this, we were ecstatic that we'd succeeded in booking passage on the first segment of the Queen's maiden voyage around the world. We could hardly wait to experience Her Highly-Publicized Majesty, her stylish parties, her elegant staterooms and particularly, her gracious service. Yes, we remembered the good old days of Cunard. Yes, we dreamed of having our shoes polished daily and watching solicitous stewardesses add select fragrances to our bath water. Who then, other than superstitious ancient mariners, could have fathomed that the new Queen would suffer from a wave of general mismanagement, slipshod service and inadequate cabins. Yes, the dEcor was attractive - the furnishings were tasteful and the synthetic woodwork gleamed - but we were happy that we only had to sail on the Queen for 24 days, from Southampton to Los Angeles. Alas, the Queen Victoria was on the cheap. She had, from conception to berth, been Carnivalized. It all began with a highly disorganized embarkation process at Southampton. Because our driver let us off at the baggage intake area of the Cunard terminal, we only had to walk all the way around the building to the main entrance in order to check in. However, we pitied those who were dropped off at the main entrance. They had to self-porter their heavy luggage back to the baggage intake area and then return before registering. It soon became apparent that the boarding process was also disorganized. Because our accommodations were on the 8th deck, we were told that we could board at 1 p.m. while passengers with less expensive quarters on the 1st through 7th deck were asked to board at 2, 3 or 4 p.m. But this was not to be. Instead, we waited in the sparsely furnished terminal, crowded with some 2000 passengers, until 2:45 p.m. without so much as a free glass of water from Cunard - although water and stale sandwiches could only be purchased at the terminal's concession booth. After this wait and after queuing and waiting again, this time within the jammed gantry gangway - where our places and spaces were usurped by a lengthy parade of wheelchair guests that Cunard should have boarded earlier - we received no on-board welcome whatsoever. An unsmiling crewmember simply pointed to a staircase that would take us to our quarters. Later, we learned that both port and final disembarkations would be worse. In New York, our first destination, many passengers had no intention of leaving the ship. Nevertheless, we were told that all of us must disembark with our custom declarations and health forms in hand - allegedly to satisfy the INS, Customs and Homeland Security - and that we would have to wait to reboard until each and every passenger had disembarked and passed muster with these agencies. Thus, we waited 2 plus hours to disembark and another 2 hours to embark again. Ashore, no one attempted to collect our health forms and the Customs officers seemed bewildered and annoyed that those of us in transit who had purchased nothing were wasting their time. In Fort Lauderdale, for no apparent reason, we again waited several hours to disembark, and in Los Angeles, the New York scenario was repeated. In fact, in each of the endless announcements made in conjunction with the disembarkation of all passengers, the ship blamed its own delays on federal agencies. However, we, the passengers, knew better. Cunard needed to make sure that each and every one of us had left the ship in order to conduct full crew maneuvers, and as rumor had it, to avoid the requirement that if even one passenger remained aboard, some 25 crew members would have to be available to answer to his or her needs. But back to that moment in Southampton when we first entered our quarters - which could hardly be called a stateroom. Crammed into approximately 160 square feet was a Queen size bed, a 4 foot sofa-bed, a small coffee table, 2 night tables, a straight chair which had to remain under something similar to a desk if we were to access the balcony, an unstocked mini-bar and within those same 160 square feet, a postage stamp bathroom which couldn't be entered if any of the closet doors opposite were open. We were very grateful for our balcony although we used it only 2 or 3 times - the North Atlantic weather was icy and the Central American climate, unbearably hot and humid. Almost immediately, we - and every other passenger - noticed the absence of drawers and adequate closet space. With 3 ½ small drawers per cabin, there wasn't a traveler who didn't proclaim with disbelief, sarcasm and humor that "the Queen had no drawers". With two tiny unlit closets, they were also quick to proclaim that the Victoria was "no closet Queen". Consequently, a number of guests only went ashore in New York to collect empty boxes for under-the-bed storage. Others, who planned to travel the world on the Queen Victoria launched a protest and decided to ask en masse for a rebate. Where were the Queen's drawers? The small desk, attached to the mini-bar, was cluttered with a vinyl stationery folder (soon placed under the bed), light-computer-electrical switches and outlets, a telephone (automatically programmed to say without apology that all lines are busy or unavailable), water glasses (for which we could purchase water), and a permanently unfilled ice bucket (also placed under the bed). The mini-bar's top provided a flat surface for an unpredictable TV set - without CD, VCR or DVD accessories and without a guide to the TV programs, movies and lectures playing somewhere at some unknown time on its 50 channels. But, the tiny desk did have a stationery drawer - too small for the stationery folder - and the mini-bar did have a 6x16 drawer that housed a large, permanently attached hair dryer - as far away from the bathroom as possible. In additional, each of the two night tables had a small bottom drawer at floor level - so that able-bodied guests could access them by doubling over or lying on their stomachs. The drawer crisis could have been corrected simply - and even cheaply enough to satisfy Carnival, but it wasn't. The TV could have been attached to the wall, freeing space for at least 4 drawers above the mini-bar. Two drawers could have been added to each night table, and another three could have been placed in the 3 ½ foot black hole in the life preserver cupboard located next to the closets. Still, the cabin's lack of drawers and closet space did harmonize smoothly with the bathroom facilities - a throne that flushed randomly, a sink that wouldn't hold three pairs of Queen-size pantyhose and a shower for the short and lean that only had elbow room for half a dozen elbows. The bathroom, with neither bath nor room, had no drawers, cabinets or even absorbent towels, but on the positive side, the bed linens, pillows are mattresses were eminently seaworthy. If we were uncomfortable inside our cabin, there was no escape from the inundating commercialism and the absence of service in the public rooms. "Commercialism" was the polestar of the Queen Victoria and "Cheap" was both its adjective and watchword. Sadly, sailing on the Queen was akin to making a transatlantic flight in economy class - where passengers must purchase their box lunches, soft drinks and head sets. Carnivalized from its inception, the ship's policy was to save a buck, make a buck and pass the buck. To make a buck, daily sales of cheap goods - sunglasses, perfumes, watches, caps, and tee shirts - were pro forma. Guest photos - the ship was awash with photographers - not-so-fine art, books, memorabilia, beauty treatments and even yoga lessons - were constantly sea-hawked via flyers, the ship's TV channel and the daily program - which also provided maps to the port shops that Cunard favored. To save a buck, most of the entertainers and lecturers - with some notable exceptions - were second rate, the destinations planned were those that charged little or no port fees, i.e. the container port of Manzanillo where the ship charged $8 for a shuttle ride into town; and guests who won the daily competitions received coupons that might be traded for ¼ of a bookmark or several links on a key chain. In addition, nothing was free in the public rooms - not a bottle of water, cup of coffee or soft drink - and nuts and potato chips were served with great reluctance in only one of the many bars. Nevertheless, cardboard canapEs were served at some of the Officers' cocktail parties because the invitation lists were limited to guests making the full voyage around the world or those who'd sailed a specific number of days at sea with Cunard. As frequent world travelers, who've sailed on both luxury ships and expedition vessels, we've never before experienced such poor service. The passenger staff, with few exceptions, was sour-pussed, surly and unaccommodating. We learned that this was due to their low wages, a heavy work overload and little time off - all because some 210 staff positions had not been filled. Why hadn't these positions been filled? Because Cunard/Carnival had again tried to save a buck. It built the Queen Victoria without sufficient quarters to harbor the staff it needed. This explained why she actually needed another 40 chefs - which in turn explained why our uninspired dinners frequently arrived late, cold, overcooked or all of the above. For this, we couldn't fault our courteous waiter and his assistant. They had to serve approximately 20 passengers and often apologized to us when they had to wait indefinitely for food to emerge from the kitchen. Similarly, our cabin attendant was the only steward available for a corridor of some 20 rooms. Thus, we were quick to forgive him for his occasional inability to service our cabin. As to the other staff members, few had patience with the guests and consequently, few of the guests had patience with them. Bartenders and waiters in many of the public rooms might not appear for hours, or ignore the passengers, or refuse to serve them a particular beverage because they were not, at the time, seated in the room designated for that service. As a result, we were often forced to fetch our own coffee - free only in the 9th deck cafeteria and carry in down to a 2nd deck sitting area, or purchase a glass of wine on the 2nd deck - and carry it up to the 9th deck in order to enjoy it with friends or with meals. In one instance, when I wanted a teatime sandwich to accompany a soft drink that I'd fetched from the pub, I was told that I could only have the sandwich with tea in the Queen's Room - where soft drinks were not permitted. After arguing first with the waiter and then with the maitre d', the latter allowed me to take my finger sandwich into the adjacent sitting area if I promised to return the plate ASAP. In 15 minutes, the maitre d' appeared and snippily asked if I was finished with his plate yet. While this incident makes it plain that Cunard considers it too costly to service more than one or two public rooms at a time, this does not excuse Cunard for its failure to train and discipline its staff - all the while touting its legendary White Star Service. It would cost little to require the staff to smile occasionally, say "hello" or "good morning" and ask "how may I help you" instead of saying "I can't do that" and "you can't do this". Perhaps they were using the daily program, listing the shipboard "can'ts" and "don'ts", as a manual. Oddly enough, as we approached Mexican waters, the staff grew more polite and helpful - which might be attributed to the fact that their contracts were coming to an end voluntarily or involuntarily. It may also be attributed to the passengers who gently taught the staff to smile and offer appropriate greetings. With the void in cordial service - or any service, it would seem that we had difficulty in handling gratuities. We didn't. To save and make a buck simultaneously, every passenger was automatically docked $11 per day for gratuities while, in addition, each and every chit for anything automatically included a 15% gratuity plus a large black line labeled "gratuity". Annoyed, any number of passengers insisted that the $11 daily charge be removed from their bills. To this, the purser assented - at least prospectively - as he was duty bound to run a very tight ship. We were also embarrassed by our Queen's parsimony. While docked in New York, we were abashed to see the city's group of "plaque presenters" and port officials, unaccompanied by an officer or host, pushing their trays though the ship's cafeteria. As a matter of protocol, "plaque presenters" are treated as honored guests. They come aboard to welcome a ship on its first visit to their port and they typically present the Captain with a commemorative plaque, the key to the city, assorted gifts and kind speeches. To reciprocate, the ship is expected to welcome these special visitors with an elaborate luncheon or elegant champagne reception. But the Queen provided no such regal fare. Instead, her staff informed the plaque presenters that they were "welcome" to grab a bite in the cafeteria prior to the presentation ceremony. We could only hope that the actual presentation ceremony was considerably more gracious. On this, the Queen Victoria's maiden voyage, there were, as expected, unexpected construction and maintenance problems that surfaced. Overlooking the occasional air conditioning and toilet flushing problems, the only major complaints came from passengers who had sewage backups in their showers and those who, day and night, were subjected to loud thumps and booms immediately overhead - deck construction problems that could only be corrected in dry-dock. Other than that, the biggest protest came from an angry but united community of both smokers and non-smokers. Subject to the unhealthy smoking policy aboard, some 60 smokers and their non-smoking partners were relegated to a small outdoor area on the 10th deck - dangerous in both the cold blustery weather of the North Sea and the blazing sun in the tropics, or the cigar lounge seating 8 people, or another 8 seat area adjacent to the casino between 2 restaurants. To accommodate more than 8 people, passengers had to move uncomfortable casino and pub stools into the area and/or stand in the corridors where smoke drifted up the grand staircase to the upper decks. When the Captain and Purser were, by petition, asked to designate one of the many bars for smoking, preferably one with beverage service, they went overboard to pass the buck to Cunard and Carnival. This further irritated both the non-smokers and smokers who were promised smoking facilities aboard and who felt that, since they were paying the same high prices as the other passengers, the master of the vessel could and should honor Cunard's promise. Consequently, some refused to pay the daily $11 gratuity and numerous others vowed that they'd never again travel with Cunard. For some passengers, food can make or break a cruise. Guests seeking quantity could sate themselves with mediocre meals in the main dining room - with lamb chops always served in rhubarb juice; in the pub - with stale mashed potatoes on the cottage pie; in the Queen's Room - with tea with finger sandwiches possibly imported from the original Queen Elizabeth; or in the cafeteria - which provided a varied menu of comfort foods, an unvarying salad bar, processed cheeses and packaged ice cream. Guests seeking quality were far more limited. If they were not entitled to dine in the Queen's or Prince's Grill, excellent Indian and Oriental meals were available on certain evenings in the "alternative dining" section of the cafeteria. There, only the first 40 in the queue would be served - albeit very slowly. As an alternative to "alternative dining", guests could enjoy exceptional food and service in the Todd English restaurant for $30 per person, excluding wine and gratuities. Upon embarkation, passengers were given a month-long dress code calendar - often modified in the daily program - which designated the after 6 attire expected in all public rooms. If the evening was to be "formal", dinner jackets were required; if informal, jackets and ties; and if "elegant casual", jackets without ties. While one might expect Cunard to honor and enforce its old traditional dress code, one steeped in etiquette and protocol, the Queen's procedural commanders were either ignorant of or oblivious to any Post-Vanderbilt influence. Shipboard etiquette - any system of etiquette - must insure that all guests feel at ease in the anticipated environment. On the Queen Victoria, the prescribed dress code was inconvenient if not outrageous. Never before have we sailed on a ship that required passengers to dress formally after a day spent in port, on evenings prior to disembarkation, on Sundays, or on evenings when guests would later have to change into a costume. Confused and inconvenienced, many guests simply chose to dress informally or casually despite the dress code - although it was hardly appetizing to dine next to a hirsute man decked out in a sweaty tank top. In fairness to those who did observe the dress code - often at their own inconvenience - the various maitre d's should have been required to ask such patrons to dress more appropriately or "dine in". Alas, it seems that for Carnival, a sea of formal evenings - as many as three per week - is "the" pinnacle of shipboard elegance. In retrospect, the high points of our voyage were the gala "Meeting of the Three Queens" in the New York harbor and our transit of the Panama Canal. The Queen Victoria and the Queen Elizabeth II had sailed in tandem across the Atlantic and after joining the Queen Mary in New York, all three queens, assembled together for the first and last time, were honored with a majestic firework display near the Statue of Liberty. In Panama, Cunard finally opened its pocket book. It paid $100 per passenger - about $200,000 - for the privilege of transiting the canal during the daylight hours. It further engaged the best of lecturers to educate us every step of the way. But it was the passengers who made the ship. The finest part of our Queen Victoria experience was meeting wonderfully warm people - acquaintances that we now call friends - although dining with them or inviting them to dine with us was another Cunard no-no. Most of our new friends are Brits - English, Irish, Scottish or Australian - who are probably the best-balanced people on earth. They don't allow their serious side or their personal problems to impair their sincerity, cheerfulness and wonderful sense of humor. Admiring their style and character, we even learned how to shrug off our disappointment with the Queen and laugh about her shortcomings. One day, we joked for hours about being forced to walk the plank for criticizing her i.e., "On plank day, were we to dress formally, informally or casually? Would we need to pay the full $11 gratuity for that day? Would the added 15% gratuity be enough? Would Cunard charge us for the plank and the blindfold?" Some of our new friends plan to leave Cunard permanently for smoother waters while the die-hard Cunarders plan to renew their loyalty to the Queen Mary II. They have little choice because the Queen Elizabeth II will soon become an over-the-top but charming bistro in Dubai and to them, "the Queen Victoria is no queen".

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