Day 7 on QM2 - Departure Preparations and Farewells

“Sail through the good days, and on bad days pick a spot of blue sky to steer toward.”

Richelle E. Goodrich

The Last Sea Day on Queen Mary 2

 
We woke up early and turned on the navigational channel – a ritual to orient ourselves, little different from checking the weather on trail mornings.

For the first time since departing Newfoundland, the map no longer showed an endless blue field. We were in the Celtic Sea, edging toward the English Channel. The faint outline of Ireland had appeared on the screen, and by day’s end, the coasts of England and Wales would also come into view.

Land and the end of this voyage are near – we are no longer in the middle of the Atlantic, but we’re also not yet to Europe. Today is the last full sea day. We still have time left to savour this voyage.

For a week, we had been gently spoiled aboard Cunard's Queen Mary 2. The rhythms of breakfast in Britannia, morning promenade laps, enrichment lectures, afternoon tea, evening music with drinks - they had become so familiar that it was easy to forget how temporary they were.

There is no denying that days at sea blend together – but we never expected them to pass so quickly.

Atlantic Sunrise

We dressed and stepped out of our cabin onto the promenade deck. Here streaks of reds, oranges and gold already stretched across the sky. More often than not, these dawns had been extraordinary, and this morning was no exception.

We found a sheltered spot on deck and simply sat, coffee warming our hands against the cool air. Just trying to hold onto the moment.

Beyond the railings, the ship had an escort – Northern Gannets, what must have been hundreds of them – streaming around and behind the ship. As always, they rode air currents effortlessly, wheeling, diving and soaring – completely at home in this unpredictable and beautiful environment.

Among them were smaller gulls, some pacing the ship, others cutting sharply in the opposite direction as though intent on their own invisible routes.

The ship continued on…steadily eastward.

Breakfast and Daily Itinerary

After sunrise, we made our way to the King’s Court for breakfast.

We had learned over the course of the week that the buffet operates by its own rhythm – especially when busy. The room was already full when we entered. Plates were being filled, coffee refreshed, and passengers moving in looping patterns between counters and tables.

The food, as always, looked excellent. Bowls of fresh fruit, warm pastries, hot dishes steaming beneath polished lids. By this point in the crossing, it was impossible to deny that one could eat extraordinarily well aboard Queen Mary 2.

But the atmosphere was undeniably busy.

Unlike the choreography of Britannia - where courses arrive in measured sequence - the buffet required a different navigation strategy. People paused suddenly, pivoted mid-stride, and guarded entire sections of counter space while considering options. Some moved decisively; others hesitated, plates balanced in hand.

We did our best to slip quietly through it.

I chose muesli with fruit, yogurt, and nuts - simple and light - along with strong coffee. Sean opted for an omelette and sausages. We found a small table near the edge of the room and sat down, plates modest by buffet standards.

Having gotten our food and even retrieved a cup of coffee, we took the opportunity to sit and read through the daily program. Today’s Notes from the Navigator, as we continued “At Sea, En route to Southampton”, detailed that

“After passing Bishop’s Rock Queen Mary 2 will steer rhumb line courses past Start Point, Lizard Point, the Bill of Portland and Anvil Point. In the early hours of tomorrow morning we will sail around the east coast of the Isle of Wight and pick up the Southampton Pilot at Nab Tower. After making the turns around Brambles Bank and Calshot Spit we will make our final approaches into the port of Southampton.”

Once again, we resolved to find a map and learn where the noted points of interest on a transatlantic voyage were.   For now, we read on, examining the potential activities that passengers could enjoy today,

10:00 AM - Cunard Insights Talk : Robert Macomber – World War II in the North Atlantic
11:00 AM - Lecture with Till Bronner – Royal Court Theatre
1:15 PM - Cunard Insight Talk : Rachel Kolsky – London on Film
3:30 PM - Final Afternoon Tea with the Harmony String Trio
5:00 PM - Harpist Fiona McGee – Commodore Club
9:00 PM - Jazz Session with Till Bronner – Chart Room

Departure Preparations and Logistical Realities

This morning, there seemed to be a subtle difference in tone throughout breakfast. Conversations at nearby tables drifted toward questions of weather forecasts, arrival times, and onward plans. People were checking their train times to cross the UK or their flight reservations across to Europe. Clearly, many of QM2’s present passengers had begun the process of reorienting themselves toward land and what comes next.

After breakfast, we returned to our cabin.

The transformation was immediate and unmistakable. Our steward had placed the luggage mat squarely across the lower section of the bed - an unmistakable signal that it was time to begin the practical work of departure. Instructions reminded us that suitcases were to be placed outside our cabin door between 5:00 PM and 11:00 PM. They would be taken ashore overnight and waiting for us in Southampton in the morning. Our disembarkation time: 9:40 AM.

The necessary logistics of what was to come next had taken hold.

Laying everything out across our room – hiking and camping gear on one side and formal on board clothes on the other. We undertook to sort what would be needed for this evening, tomorrow morning, what could be surrendered to the hallway luggage pick up this evening, and what we needed for 40-45 days of hiking in the UK.

By late morning, we carried our pile of guidebooks back up to the open deck, found a place in the sun near the aft of the ship and, between soaks in the hot tub, we flipped through pages and maps.

Five guidebooks - each undoubtedly had great information and a value, but also represented a lot of weight is a lot of weight to carry across Wainwright’s Coast to Coast, the Pennine Way, the West Highland Way, the Great Glen Way and Hadrian’s Wall National Trail. Together, they represented a considerable burden to carry across England and Scotland.

Still undecided, we eventually went in and, after several attempts, secured a washing machine in one of the on-board launderettes. An hour later, the formal clothes that had defined glaa evenings and elegant dinners were washed, dried, and folded away. Velvet dresses and suits gave way to once more to technical fabrics and trail-ready layers.

As Sean said, “off with the good clothes, on with the trail clothes.”

By afternoon, the cabin felt emptier. Drawers were emptied, hangers hung empty, and our gear was all put away. Packing has always had a way of changing everything.

Reflecting on the Promenade

After packing what we could and giving way to the practicalities of departure, we returned outside. We chose to walk – partly out of habit, partly to steady ourselves against the awareness that by this time tomorrow we would be on shore. Movement has long been our way of thinking things through, so we moved. Thankfully, Queen Mary 2 gives one plenty of space and endless kilometres of deck to do just this.

The sun had broken fully through the cloud, and for the first time in days, there was genuine warmth in it. In the shelter of the superstructure, it felt almost summer-like. Step out from behind a windbreak, however, and the Atlantic could quickly remind you that this was still open water - the wind sharp, insistent, and at times bitingly cold.

Others clearly had the same idea as us – passengers lined the teak loungers along the promenade, faces were turned out to sea. Many wore sunglasses, some had t-shirts on, while others wore down jackets or pulled blankets right around their legs. Books lay open on laps or tables, but most remained unread as people enjoyed the sun and relished the moment.

As we continued making our way around the ship, we periodically also ventured up to the top deck, the lookout and the forward observation deck.

Then, almost at once, the sky seemed full of Northern Gannets. Dozens at first and then so many that it felt like there were hundreds around us – sweeping in long arcs behind the ship, racing along the side of the vessel and soaring above the front superstructure. All a clear sign that we were nearing land.

As we watched them, it was impossible not to think of the larger migrations unfolding around us. The Celtic Sea and the approaches to the English Channel sit beneath vast aerial highways. Each spring and autumn, seabirds, waders, and passerines cross these waters between breeding grounds in northern Europe and wintering areas stretching into Africa and the Mediterranean. The coasts of Ireland, Wales, and western England act as staging grounds and corridors - funnels of movement where land and sea meet.

We were not just approaching England. We were passing through one of the great migratory crossroads of the North Atlantic.

Sir Samuels and the Captain’s Noon Announcement

Not quite sure what to do with ourselves – our packing half done, no decisions made about our pile of guidebooks and done with walking (for the moment) we drifted into Sir Samuels just before noon.

We had yet to try this specialty coffee shop during the crossing, so today seemed the ideal time. Situated across from the Chart Room, it is a large space, deep chairs and warm lighting. We found ourselves a cozy seat and ordered a café latte and shared a fruit Danish. It was an utterly indulgent and unnecessary stop as well as a cost. Yet it was also a wonderful experience that was entirely worth it.

As we sat, the ship’s bell rang out not far down the hall.

Shortly afterwards, the captain’s voice carried through the public address system – his measured tones reassuring as always. Over the course of the last week, his daily announcements had become something that we had looked forward to. It is a moment when every passenger’s attention seems focused on one thing while notes about our position, weather, and the day’s navigation are read out.

This afternoon, however, there was an added meaning.

At approximately 3:45 PM, he told us, we would pass Bishop Rock - the westernmost point of the Isles of Scilly and the traditional marker that signifies the official completion of an eastbound Atlantic crossing. Beyond that point, we would enter the English Channel, passing within eight miles of England’s southern coast.

It was an unmistakable threshold in this voyage.  

He spoke then of the Blue Riband - the unofficial accolade awarded to the passenger liner achieving the fastest transatlantic crossing. In earlier eras, it had been a matter of corporate pride, social prestige, and national honour. Cunard ships had held it many times, symbols of maritime supremacy in an age when speed equalled progress.

After these anecdotes, the captain closed with his quote for the day – “There are good ships, there are wood ships, but the best ships are friendships.”

It was light, almost playful - but fitting. After seven days at sea, strangers had begun to recognize one another in corridors. Familiar faces nodded in passing. The floating city had briefly become a small community.

He thanked everyone for sailing on Queen Mary 2. And just like that, the crossing felt nearly complete.

High Tea in the Queen’s Room

At some point in the afternoon, we made one final, deliberate circuit of the ship. We walked the corridors near the Chart Room and Golden Lion. Paused in the Grand Lobby. Drifted past the Royal Court Theatre and down toward Illuminations. It was an attempt - perhaps futile – to fix everything in our minds and spaces we had enjoyed one more time.

Eventually, we made our way to the Queen’s Room. We arrived almost an hour before High Tea was scheduled to begin, knowing that on this final sea day, the sitting would be busy. We slipped into a pair of deep, velvet-covered chairs and settled in.

As we sat there, we listened to the talented Spanish Classical guitarist Mark Ashford.

About thirty minutes after we arrived, the transformation began. A platoon of waiters entered the room in quiet formation. Crisp uniforms. White gloves. They moved with practiced efficiency, beginning with the tablecloths - crisp white linen smoothed carefully across polished surfaces. Then came plates, cups, and saucers. Jars of jam are placed precisely. Cutlery aligned. Each successive wave of staff added another layer.

Individually, each action was simple. Collectively, it was mesmerizing.

The choreography of a ship like Queen Mary 2 reveals itself most clearly in these moments. Hundreds of small coordinated movements combine to create an event that feels effortless to those seated. Watching it unfold was almost as compelling as the tea itself.

When service began, it was the familiar abundance: steaming pots of tea, crustless finger sandwiches, warm scones, and delicate pastries arranged on trays.

But on this afternoon, the food felt secondary.

We were joined once again by the lively and wonderful LGBT group we had met earlier in the week - laughter quick, conversation animated, stories came easily. It felt less like strangers sharing a table and more like friends gathering one final time before parting. Then Vivian arrived. Elegant as ever, and in full possession of her dry British wit, she surveyed the room and declared grandly:

“My dears, it’s alright to have your heart attacks now -

 we’re close enough to shore that they can lift you to hospital.”

The table erupted in laughter. Vivian was also nearing the completion of yet another world cruise. She wore the experience lightly, as though circling the globe were just another errand undertaken annually.

Over the next hour, the group of us drank tea, shared pastries, and exchanged farewells. It felt like a small community gathering at the end of something meaningful that we had all shared.

Wandering and Pondering

Following High Tea, we resumed our wanderings. As we walked, we could hear it in conversations around the ship and in the subtle preparations being made. Suitcases were left in the corridors. Cabin Stewards were moving around with quiet urgency. From everything going on it was clear that departure preparations were well underway.

With that said, tonight we are torn. Do we return to our cabin for a final quiet evening and spend time together chatting about the crossing, or do we embrace the moment and stretch these final hours? Perhaps once more visiting the Chart Room or have another drink in the Commodore Club to soak up the atmosphere of places that we have come to matter to us?

By 8 PM, we made our choice, we set our luggage outside our door and stepped out into the halls to spend the evening wandering without any specific destination or goal in mind. It was too windy to venture out onto the top deck, so we meandered around the ship’s interior trying to hold onto what remained of the moment.

Throughout the evening, we drifted from place to place, enjoying a glass of wine or a pint of Cunard Black. In the Golden Lion, we spent time listening to one young lady who looked remarkably like Joni Mitchell as she played guitar and sang for several hours.

Near midnight, I slipped up to the King’s Court for cookies, which we carried with us onto the promenade. We walked outside around the ship and munched on cookies in the night’s darkness until 2 AM, when we went to our cabin.

Back in our room, our luggage had been collected by the porters and under our door, our final account had been delivered – we simply put it into our backpacks, knowing that our charges would automatically be settled.

Tomorrow morning, or rather this morning, would come soon enough...and with it the sea would give way to shore.

See you on board!

Nautical Term of the Day – Clean Bill of Health - Ports issued ships a document declaring no onboard illness before allowing entry. The term now signals a favourable medical report.