[PICTURED: Chiara, Toni, and Aaron watch from Deck 7 (Promenade) as we sail away from Athens.]

In the morning we were excited to finally board our cruise ship. 

But we weren’t invited on until 1pm at the earliest, so we had to busy ourselves somehow.

Sleeping late would have been an obvious option.  Sam and Gianna had been in Greece for ten days already, and Chiara and I had been in Europe for a week. But Toni and Aaron were barely off the jet and still waking up early. 

So after we straggled down in pairs to our favorite table overlooking the Acropolis, and enjoyed the 360 Hotel’s sumptuous breakfast buffet – I haven’t described the amazing breakfast spread at the Hotel 360, because who talks about food, but it earned a lot oohs and ahhs -- we decided to defy Sam and visit Hadrian’s Library after all.

Hadrian’s Library

We didn’t visit Hadrian’s Library because we cared about Hadrian or his Library – all the books were checked out anyway – but because it was practically across the street from our hotel, and we weren’t sure we could muster any more energy than that.  Little did we know what the day had in store for us.

Hadrian, you will recall, was an odd-bird -- a Grecophile Roman Emperor. The walls and columns of his library towered imposingly from the street.  We took many photos. 

But when we went behind the front walls, we discovered that there were not only no books, but also no stacks, no tables, no walls, no roof, and no library at all. Hadrian’s Movie Set would have been a better name for it, or the first Potemkin library.  Behind the not-library was a not-church, and all of it was underneath a not-roof, which means we were sweltering and melting even at 10 in the morning.

I took refuge in shade, but it didn’t cool me down.  Then I sat on the ruins, and Chiara said, “Don’t sit on the ruins.”  As far as I could tell they were already ruined; I couldn’t ruin them more. And they had been left out in the rain like trash. Next my desperate mind summoned the phrase, “Ruins are made for sitting on.” But in the end I climbed guiltily down from the sideways pillar and sat on the ground instead, which resulted in the minor indignity of a Greek ant crawling on me.

The Subway Ride to Port Piraeus

We went back to the hotel and checked out and went to the subway station to ride Metro-1 to Piraeus Port.  Metro-3 had brought us in from the airport, but both lines cross in Montisiraki station, which is why a hotel next to Montsiraki made so much sense, although the map did not reveal the presence of the night drummers.

So this was supposed to be easy – a non-stop subway to Port Piraeus, which was both the terminal stop on the line and the location of the cruise ship. Then all we had to do was to walk to the ship and embark.

The first sign of trouble came on the subway, when Gianna kept pestering us to know which berth or platform or whatever-they-call-it we were heading toward. The port number was written on the boarding pass, or maybe on the email invitation that Princess sent, which I did not have handy.  Gianna insisted that we had to know the number because Port Piraeus is big – really big – much bigger than we think – and we have to know the number.

When we emerged from the subway, we were across the street from Berth’s 7 & 8, which are at the center of the great arc that is Port Piraeus.  Signs said to continue down the street for berths 9-12.  Toni checked the invite and discovered our ship was docked at berth 12. Just our luck to be at the last, most-distant berth.

The Trek to the Crown Princess

We could see the Crown Princess in the distance, four berths away.  Much closer was the P&O Vision, but it was too late to switch ships, and that was a smaller ship anyway, and filled with Brits. So we started walking along the sidewalk toward berth 12.

We passed many taxis offering to take us to Princess, take us to berth 12, but we knew better and disregarded them entirely, oblivious to their laughs as we began our quest, like Don Quixote, to reach the unreachable ship.

Soon road construction forced us off the street and into the port’s main walkway, along the water, which was actually better.  But then the port’s main walkway ejected us back into the street.

And as if in some horror movie, the sidewalk grew narrower and narrow, and bumpier and bumpier. The wheels on our luggage grew less and less useful as the terrain roughened.

It was 12:30pm, a half-hour before our boarding window, which was 1-4pm.  We felt no time pressure, but the sun was really making itself known, and directly overhead, so there was no shade outside the circle of one’s hat brim, as we hauled our luggage in the general direction of the boat.

Then a new street sign appeared that said berth 12 was actually in the direction perpendicular to our travel and away from the ship, while another sign said that berth 12 was in the direction of our travel, but where the road split in three and the sidewalk nearly vanished.

We had reached only berth 10.

After a brief, heated exchange, Chiara, Gianna, Toni, and Sam hopped into a cab, while Aaron and I attempted the journey on foot, following the counter-intuitive signs (away from the ship) instead of the confusing signs (somewhat toward the ship but with three roads diverging and severely diminished sidewalk alongside what was looking increasingly like a turnpike).

Aaron had Google Maps going, so I figured we’d probably get there by 4pm – the ship looked to be maybe a half-mile away, if you were walking toward it, although we were not walking toward it.

The cab took its four passengers in a pattern of expanding spirals to give the meter a workout, and then deposited them at the ship.

On Our Own

While the others were being deposited at the ship by a taxi, Aaron and I were still struggling up hill in the heat, lost in an unmarked ancient Greek torment known to some as Hadrian’s rat-maze.

No other cruisers were tugging their luggage up this street, but we took no hint and were undaunted. 

The only people we saw were locals who hated tourists and didn’t want us stopping in the shade of their coffee shop awning, but stop we did. Their hot glares were not hotter than the sun.

As we repeatedly backtracked from blind alleys, we could see the ship, ever closer, but as distant as a mirage.

I can’t adequately describe the physical distress and desiccation I felt in the sun-beaten walls of Hadrian’s rat-maze, so instead I will describe Aaron’s distress, which was none.  He wore his pack on his back, and patiently waited for me to recover from whatever recent 40- or 50-yard advance had done me in.

Eventually we found our way to Berth 11, and from there the path to Berth 12 was obvious.

By now we had pieced together that the counter-intuitive signs were for cars, and the confusing signs were for pedestrians, and if we had taken the long curved arc around the hill instead of the long curved arc over the hill, we would have been better off.

I would keep that in mind for next time, but for Port Piraeus of course there will be no next time, because Port Piraeus is not my friend. I will call it “Port You Can’t Get There From Here” or “Port Take a Taxi.”

Although in all fairness, had our ship been located at Berth 7, we would have just emerged from the subway and climbed on board.

Preparing to Board the Crown Princess

I haven’t mentioned the ship as we approached it, because my mind was focused entirely on surival, but I wasn’t so distracted that I did not notice how huge it was.  The Crown Princess is very imposing.  It is longer than you can see at once, unless you are very far away or have an elongated view from the front.

The ship is also very tall. There are 15 full decks from stern-to-bow, and then several elevated structures and partial decks above that. 

Only the bottom three decks are under water, so the ship presents as a massive wall of balconies about 10-12 stories above the water, and then towers, swimming pools, sports courts, and view decks are above that.  So it is hard to take it in vertically as well as horizontally. It was easily the largest ship in port.

Antonia met Aaron and I with water, which was enough to get me across the vast expanse of asphalt that separated us from our ship – and especially separated us from the big white tent that was the staging area for cruisers who wished to board the Crown Princess, but whose turn it was not.

Inside the tent was air conditioning and water and seating and friendly administrators handing out embarkation numbers.  Our group was assigned the number “21,” and we received a piece of paper to prove it.

Gianna and Sam had gone on a walk to recover from the trauma of the confusion of the transfer-gone-awry from the subway to berth 12, or perhaps to recover from the Cassandra trauma that resulted from having warned us that a bad thing might happen but not having been able to prevent it.

I used the time to re-hydrate, and then we unnecessarily checked our bags onto the ship.

You check your bags outside the white tent, and then your bags are said to automagically appear at your stateroom door a few hours later.  Princess staff apologize profusely that it might take some hours for your bags to appear, since they are transporting and distributing thousands of bags in a short time.

We travel light, so all our bags were the size of carry-ons, and the bag-checking-staff said we could just carry them on if we want.  But I had already printed out our custom bag tags as instructed, and it didn’t seem wise to depart from the script – I wasn’t in a mind to think clearly about it anyway, and I also wanted to try out the service that everyone else was using, so we checked all the bags on to the ship, including Sam’s and Gianna’s.

Then Sam and Gianna returned, and together, waving our #21 after all the other #21s had boarded, we stepped through the fateful doorway that would take us away from Athens and onto the great ship.

Boarding the Crown Princess

It turns out that Princess avoids lines when possible. It was not the last time we would be offered a number and a seat in a comfortable lounge and instructions to wait until called. That is one of the ways that Princess, and presumably the other cruise ships, gracefully and efficiently move thousands of passengers around every day.

There may be a lot of other people waiting to do the same thing you’re doing, but you can’t see them because they are waiting in a different lounge and/or at a different time. Princess knows that they are cuing up hundreds or thousands of people, but the passengers’ experience is a brief comfortable wait and very short lines.

As a result, for us, “Embarkation was a breeze,” which is a phrase frequently repeated in the cruise reviews. They checked our tickets, checked our passports, took our photos, and issued us our magic blue cards. 

The magic blue cards get us into and out of our rooms, and onto and off the ship, and they are also how all on-board purchases are made, including food, clothing, souvenirs, and laundry tokens.

Next we went through security and had our few remaining worldly goods X-rayed, and any metals upon our person were detected, then we crossed the gangway onto the ship.

There was a mandatory stop for photos in front of a green screen, which resulted in a really confused but strikingly accurate depiction of our various mental states of exhaustion, frustration, and bemusement at the exact moment when we boarded.  We did not buy any other photo they took, but we bought that one.

And then we were loose inside the ship with about 4-5 hours before we set sail.

On Board the Crown Princess

We met our cabin steward, Larry, who was responsible for the first 18 cabins near the bow on Deck 14, including 230, 222, and 218, which, despite the odd numbering, were three nearly adjacent balcony rooms. Toni & Aaron were adjacent to Gianna & Sam, and then the Smiths somehow got between Gianna & Sam and Shelly & Chiara.  But the distances were not far; we could easily call across to each other if we leaned over the balcony rail.

The urge to unpack was strong, but our bags were in limbo, so we set out to explore the ship.

The general layout of the ship is that the bottom three floors – decks 1-3 – are just for the crew, and they are invisible to us. 

Deck 4 is accessible, but we only use it for getting on and off the ship. 

Decks 5-7 are full of bars, restaurants, shops, the theater, the Piazza, the casino, the library, art gallery, and the photography center, and we spend a lot of time there. 

Decks 8-14 are mostly just staterooms, and we ignore them.

Decks 15-19 are swimming pools, restaurants, food stands, observation decks, sport and exercise facilities, sunbathing, and the spa.  But Deck 15 is the highest complete deck – everything else is just occasional steps up to platforms and landings.

So you very frequently have to go back and forth from the lower public decks (5-7) to the upper public decks (15+), and this is accomplished via three great banks of stairs-and-elevators – one in the center of the ship, and then two more located halfway to the bow or the stern. Some people select their stateroom to be close to one of the stair/elevator banks.

There are ten passenger elevators – four at the fore/aft of the ship, and six in the middle.  During peak periods, like when a show lets out of the Princess Theater or when everyone is coming back from their shore excursions, there were crowds around the elevators. Then, rather than wait, we just went out on the deck not watch the water for a few minutes, or we headed to a different elevator bank that wasn’t near the event. But other than those few occasions, we never had any trouble waiting for an elevator. The elevator service was faster and more reliable than at most hotels.

However, we tended to take the stairs down and the elevators up.  So we would very frequently spiral down the grand carpeted staircases six or eight floors, from 14 past 12, 11, 10, 9, 8, 7 (Princess Theater), 6 (Guest Services), 5 (International Café), and then only use the elevators to go up.

Our State Rooms

I have read so many bad state room reviews that I was simply stunned by the beauty and comfort of our room. I expected sewage smell in the bathroom, too cramped to move, rust stains and defective grout, beds sagging in the middle.  Instead, we got a gorgeous room, with first-rate bedding, a highly functional bathroom, ample storage, lots of mirrors, plenty of light, a full closet, mini-fridge, an infinity of fresh air, powerful temperature controls, and giant glass doors onto a private balcony 10 stories above the water.

The view from the balcony is so staggering that it would make up for any deficiencies in the room, but there aren’t many deficiencies.

The shower is tight even for one person. There aren’t many electric outlets, but we brought a power strip so we had no shortage. There is enough room around the bed to be comfortable, but just barely enough extra space for a desk and two chairs.  The toilet looks normal, but makes the strange sucking sound that we associate with airplanes – only not so violent.

The ventilation is outstanding.  It could be the best-ventilated bathroom I have ever had in my life.  And there is positive air pressure in the center of the ship, so if you open both doors – to the hallway and to the balcony – a strong wind pours through the room from hallway to balcony, until you close one of the doors.

The cooling system is robust, and you can make your room as cold as you want, which is a great relief when you return sweaty from a hiking excursion.  Presumably in the winter the system heats as effectively as it cools, but we don’t know about that.

Each day a 4-page newsletter unimaginatively named “The Princess Patter” is delivered to the room. There was one waiting for us when we arrived.  It is mostly a schedule of all the events in all the venues across the ship, plus advertisements for whichever of the ship scams feels like it needs more attention than it’s getting – usually the Effy jewelry shop.

It isn’t a bad thing to be advertising the ship’s services, because it takes a strong mind to comprehend the extent of what’s available, let alone to locate it. However, as is true everywhere else in the world, the line between helpful marketing and manipulative marketing is thin and disregarded, and nowhere more than on Princess Cruises.

The Muster Drill

The first big event onboard is called the “Muster Drill,” and like port, starboard, stern, and bow, it is an archaic word for a familiar concept, which is the safety video.

The ship does not sail until everyone reports to their assigned area to witness the safety video, and anyone who has flown on an airplane will have a rough idea of what the Muster Drill is like.

Twenty minutes prior to the Muster Drill, crew members were stationed throughout the ship to herd everyone to their assigned locations. 

Our assigned location was the Princess Theater, because our cabin was near the bow of the ship. Blue-cards were scanned on the way in, so the computer knows who has been to the Muster Drill, and who needs to attend the makeup session (e.g., late-boarding passengers).

The audio recording of an unreasonably cheerful woman explained how to exit the ship in the unlikely event of a catastrophic end to the voyage. Crew members demonstrated how to put on the life vests, and how to hold them so they don’t come off when you plummet into the sea from the rapidly descending perch of your luxury stateroom.  Several verses of the song “Safety,” with parody lyrics sung to the tune of “Love Boat,” kept everyone jovial.

Sail Away

Before we knew it, the ship was moving.  From our balcony we watched Athens recede as the ship headed toward our first port of call, Santorini.  The ocean was blue, the land was smoggy and overpopulated.  Somewhere on the upper decks there was a “sail away party” with music, but we never attended.

After a time, watching Greece and the sea grew boring, so it was time for dinner.

Dining on the Crown Princess

Dining on the Crown Princess works like this:

The Horizon Buffet

You can eat any time at the big buffet, called “The Horizon Buffet.” It is open from 6am until 11pm every day.  At several points on the clock the food in the buffet evolves from Breakfast to Brunch to Lunch to Dinner, but you never need to care about that.  You can show up any time, as many times as you like, eat as much as you like, for as long as you like, sit anywhere you like.

I would describe the dining experience at the Horizon Buffet as sublime and unparalleled.  It is a kaleidoscopic cornucopia of culinary delights, which you get to enjoy from a table pressed against a giant glass window with a view that puts to shame the fanciest view restaurant anywhere on land. It is an extraordinary privilege to eat at the Horizon Buffet.  I probably never will be adequately grateful for the experience.

And it’s not just ham and eggs they serve at the Horizon’s Breakfast Buffet. They offer lox and bagels, eggs benedict, eggs Florentine, baked fish, blood sausage for the Brits, every kind of fruit, bread, or pastry.

Chiara would add, every kind of fruit but not CUT fruit; mostly whole fruit.

The strong consensus among the traveling party was that the Horizon Buffet was “Nothing Special.” Aaron conceded that the food was "not that bad." Toni accused the Horizon Buffet of serving "The saddest little eggs benedict I have ever seen." Some went so far as to suggest that the Horizon Buffet was “nothing special” in the Platonic sense of being the very Form of non-specialness, as if the phrase “nothing special” was invented specifically because the Horizon Buffet created such an urgent semantic need for the phrase.

Chiara went further still and called it “a shitty buffet.”

The Dining Halls

If the Horizon Buffet is “Good,” then the big dining halls are “Better.”

The main dining halls are nearly without justification called “Botticelli,” “Michelangelo,” and “Da Vinci.” ALMOST without justification, since the wall art in each dining hall does have some relationship to the artist. But since it is mostly American passengers aboard and American ship that only occasionally and coincidentally finds itself in Italy, an alert nose might smell pretense.

You can dress however you like at the Horizon Buffet, but to enter the main dining halls you have to wear pants and a collar, if you are male, and you have to avoid beach attire if you are female.

The food and service in the main dining halls are so much better than the Horizon Buffet that it is TOTALLY worth it to put on some pants (jeans and sneakers with a polo shirt were good enough for me every day) and a collared shirt.

We were frequently seated by the windows in the Dining Halls, so we could see the water going by, but the Dining Hall windows are nothing like the huge picture-window experience you get up on the 15th deck at the Horizon Buffet.

Botticelli Dining Hall is reserved for those who choose “traditional dining,” which means you have an assigned table at an assigned time with assigned wait staff, and it is the same every day.

Traditional Dining is a good way to add structure and predictability to your day, in case you are feeling all at sea, and it efficiently eliminates all the halting discussions about when and were to have dinner.

But we chose “any time dining,” which means that we can eat wherever we want and whenever we want, but we might have to wait for a table if things are busy.

I was very uneasy about having chosen “any time dining,” because with 3,000 passengers on the ship, I had a suspicion that things would always be busy. It’s just that I hate waiting, I hate lines, and hate crowds, and I hate unpredictability.  I want to BE unpredictable myself, but I want everything else in the world but me to be completely predictable. That’s my idea of personal freedom – everyone is constrained but me.

Michelangelo Dining Room was the opposite of Botticelli -- exclusively reserved for “any time” diners.

Da Vinci was half-and-half – first shift was for traditional diners; second shift was for any time diners.

So we never got to eat in Botticelli, we always were invited to Michelangelo, and when we ate late Da Vinci was an option.

However, none of that matters, because all three dining halls are exactly identical, with the same menus, same service, same locations in the ship (aft, Decks 5 or 6) – and except for the wall paintings, the exact same décor.  The décor I am thinking of in particular is panels of slow-twinkling lights in the ceiling. So, REALLY the same.

The Dining Halls offer table cloth service with a full bar, bread, appetizer, entrée, and dessert. Everything on the menu sounds amazing.  None of it is amazing. Some of it is excellent; some of it is mediocre. We did not get good at predicting the quality of individual menu items in the Dining Halls, but relying on the recommendations of the serving staff gave a better result than mere chance.

Specialty Dining

If the Dining Halls are “Better,” then the specialty dining venues – Sabatini’s and the Crown Grill – are “Best.” The fee is $30 per person, and for that you get two things: First, the best food they can summon, which really is consistently excellent; and second, a spacious and quiet place to eat.

In Sabatini’s, the tables are far apart, and mostly unoccupied when we went.  In Crown Grill, the tables are so big that the GUESTS are far apart, but you can keep track of the conversations on the other half of the table with a parabolic microphone, if you have it, or by texting the people on the other side of the table to ask what they are discussing.

The Da Vinci Dining Hall

For our first meal on board, we chose the Da Vinci Dining Hall, and we were not sorry.

Half the menu at the Dining Halls is stable, and half rotates daily, so if you want to eat grilled salmon, fried chicken, fettucine alfredo, or a burger and fries (or for appetizers shrimp cocktail or Caesar salad), you can do that every single night.

But the more adventurous can go exploring the menu for orange roughy with saffron potatoes, grilled calamari in champagne sauce, duck breast in honey garlic glaze, ribeye steak, seafood pasta, or the obligatory vegetarian entrée (such as fried falafel). Those choices were for Tuesday; on Wednesday it was different again.

The desserts were more stable night-to-night, always led by something called The Princess Love Boat Dream, which anyone can have if they summon the courage to order it, which many of us did, though not usually with a straight face.  I won’t describe what comes when you order the Princess Love Boat Dream. Let it be a surprise, in case you ever have a chance to order your own.

So we ordered drinks, including alcoholic drinks, and sometimes two or more alcoholic drinks. And we ate the bread and ordered appetizers and entrees and desserts and had a riotous time, if not drunk on alcohol, then on the unexpected abundance and unfamiliar traditions of the cruise ship.