Ah, 2008. The year of flip phones, MySpace top 8 drama, and for Kevin and me—a five-day, four-night cruise aboard Majesty of the Seas by Royal Caribbean. A majestic name for a majestic boat. Or should I say… ship? (I learned very quickly that cruise people take their ship terminology very seriously. My bad, Captain.)
We ported out of Miami, which is always a bit of an adventure in itself—nothing like dodging South Beach traffic while clutching sunscreen and trying not to look like a confused tourist. But once we boarded Majesty of the Seas, I knew we were in for something special. Or at least something with unlimited soft-serve.
Our room was on the seventh deck—fancy, right? I don't remember if that was considered "high society" or “slightly above sea spray,” but I do remember that we could hear just enough engine noise to remind us that we were on a floating hotel powered by industrial magic and an army of well-trained staff.
The ship itself was absolutely beautiful back then even before all the newest upgrades to add waterslides and all the extra hoopla we expect now. Majesty isn’t in the Royal Caribbean front lineup anymore—semi-retired like a wise old sea captain—but at the time, she was in her prime: sparkling chandeliers, sweeping staircases, and that new-ship-but-also-slightly-salty-ocean-air scent. Mmm, memories.
The food? Oh, let me tell you. We treated that cruise like a floating all-you-can-eat buffet. We made aggressive eye contact with the pizza buffet multiple times a day. The Compass Deli became our second home. I may or may not have had one too many soft-serve cones in a single afternoon. I regret nothing.
And then there was Johnny Rockets—because nothing says “nautical luxury” like eating chili cheese fries while doing the Twist with a view of the Atlantic. Am I right?
Each night, the ship came alive with entertainment options. One night we saw a comedian. Another night we caught a musical revue that tried to cram all of Broadway into 47 minutes. We attended an art auction and bid $50,000 for a piece of art in the middle of a bidding war between 2 people that could actually pay for it. There may have been karaoke. There may have been dancing. Kevin may have pretended not to know me at least twice due to my dancing.
As for the ports? Chef’s kiss.
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Nassau, Bahamas: At that time, the island was still trying to recover from devastation brought by a hurricane. The community was struggling and it was obvious. Kevin was propositioned to buy a “genuine” Rolex by a man wearing a SpongeBob shirt. Drug deals and "Ladies of the night" offering specials along the streets. A real experience. We spent most of the day on the boat during this port.
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Key West, Florida: We strolled around eating key lime pie in various forms (pie, ice cream, smoothie—someone stop us), visited the Southernmost Point, and swore we saw a Hemingway ghost. (It turned out to be a guy with a beard and flip-flops.)
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CocoCay: Royal Caribbean’s private island. That’s right—we cruised to a place so exclusive, you can only get there if you know someone at Royal Caribbean. (Or, you know, book a cruise.) We lounged on the beach, floated in clear water, ate so much BBQ we thought we were going to explode and seriously contemplated just not going back. Could we live there? Open a shack that sold cold drinks and touristy shell necklaces? The dream lives on.
When we finally returned to Miami, slightly sunburned and several buffet plates fuller than we arrived, we were both deliriously happy and mildly in mourning. How do you return to normal life when you’ve spent the last few days having your towels folded into animals and being called “ma’am” by people who also bring you dessert without judgment?
You don’t. You just start planning your next cruise.
Long live Majesty of the Seas. You may be semi-retired, but your memory—and your pizza buffet—will live on in our hearts (and waistlines) forever.