Perched at the edge of a cliff, at the beginning of a 50-foot descent along a rugged canyon wall, I had no choice but to give in and trust my guide, Berani. He stood above me and assured me the harness around my waist would keep me safe. All I had to do was relax and start releasing the rope, bit by bit.
It felt unexpectedly good to let the fear wash over me. Not the harrowing kind we've lived with during the last two years, but the thrilling kind that adrenaline-spiking activities like canyoning can produce. For the next four hours, I rappelled down six more cliffs and jumped over waterfalls into deceptively deep pools, always bobbing along comfortably in my life jacket. Every now and then, I turned around to look back at the moss-covered boulders and cascading waters we had traversed. With the sun shining through the canyons, I felt like I could be on the set of an Avatar or Jurassic Park sequel.
In fact, I was on a sailing of the Seabourn Odyssey in Roseau, on the island of Dominica, the second stop on Seabourn's seven-day Caribbean Yacht Gems cruise, which also visits ports on St. Lucia and St. Kitts. The mid-September sailing hosted a little over 100 guests, including 20-somethings on honeymoons, multi generational families, active couples (including a number of veteran cruisers), and me, traveling solo on my first international trip since the pandemic began and my first cruise since 2018. The ship itself had just returned to service a few weeks earlier after the industry's 17-month operational pause, which put thousands of crew members and personnel out of work and, for a moment, cast doubt on the future of cruising.
I grew up around cruise ships—my parents met while working on Royal Viking Line and made careers in the business—so it was no surprise to me, as a lifelong cruiser, to hear guests say they teared up when they finally stepped back onto the gangway. Six months ago, to be swaying on the aft or listening to live music at sunset after a week of island-hopping—as we did during the cruise's farewell party—would have seemed impossible. Happily, the Odyssey's first 10 sailings went off without a hitch, in no small part due to strict vaccination requirements and rigorous testing of staff and passengers. With a full crew and passengers at about a quarter of capacity, the staff-to-guest ratio was incredibly high. For a line known for its lavish service, that meant an even more intimate and personalized experience than usual. My fellow passengers shared stories of missing out on specific meals only to have the menu replicated and served in their suite the next day, and of scoring last-minute reservations at The Grill by Thomas Keller, the only onboard establishment that required them.
I noticed the extra attention and effort as well. Even with new protocols in place, Seabourn was able to execute a number of its signature events, like Caviar in the Sea, which was held when we were in St. Kitts. We had the Carambola Beach Club entirely to ourselves for one over-the-top afternoon. Several crew members arrived in a sleek speedboat, Bond-style, to deliver the caviar on ice. A few others, uniformed and masked, waded hip-deep in the waves to serve plates off surfboards to those of us cooling down in the aqua-blue sea. Up on the sand, rows of lobsters were tossed on the grill. Later that evening, I returned to my cabin to find a freshly drawn bath with rose petals lining the tub.
To borrow a phrase from my Semester at Sea dean: The ship is the unexpected best port. And after months on land, canceled bookings, and changing rules and regulations, it's the “port” many travelers are keenest to return to. Just ask the dozens of guests on my sailing who extended for a second (or third or fourth) week, rather than disembarking as originally scheduled.
This article appeared in the December 2021 issue of Condé Nast Traveler. Subscribe to the magazine here.