Day 2 on QM2 – Crossing is Half the Fun : Sea Day, Gala Night

 “It is not that life ashore is distasteful to me. But life at sea is better.”

 

Sir Francis Drake

 

Time to Enjoy

 
Sometime during the night, the clocks shifted.  On our eastbound crossing, we surrendered an hour each night, quietly shortening our evenings as we sailed toward Europe. Westbound, however, the Atlantic gives something back. Each night the clock retreats, gifting us an extra hour. It is a small and slightly wonderful luxury - more time for a second glass of wine in the Chart Room, more time to linger under the stars on our balcony, more time simply to be awake in the presence of the sea.  In our case, last night, however, it meant more time to sleep and stay in bed.

 
Because of this, there are people on board who insist that voyaging westward is a “longer journey” than the eastward sailing. 

 
As we began our first full day at sea, Queen Mary 2 had already settled into her westbound course overnight.  After weeks of waking to weather forecasts, route decisions, and the immediate requirements of hiking, for us this morning, nothing needed to be done.
 
When I opened my eyes, it was just after 6 AM.  Excited to see what the day would bring, I jumped up and opened the patio door to let in some of the fresh ocean air and check the weather.   Normally, if I am comfortable, the soft roll of the ship makes me want to stay in bed longer.  But with a balcony, the sea is only a few steps away.   I can check outside and come back without much effort or commitment to clean up and walk along the promenade. 

 
As such, this morning found me in my pyjamas leaning against the railing and taking it all in once again.   Outside, the air was cooler than yesterday afternoon.  Around us, the skies are clear and blue, while the ocean is slightly darker with the reflection of the ship as we glide through gentle waves.
 

Orientation from Navigation Channel

 
Inside the cabin, Sean was making us coffee and had turned on the ship’s navigational channel on the TV.    Here we learned that the weather conditions for the day are expected to be mostly cloudy while the seas remain smooth.  Apparently, the winds are coming from a westerly direction and are noted as a 3 on the Beaufort scale.  Outside, both the air and sea temperatures are 15 degrees Celsius, and we are moving at a speed of 23.9 knots appeared to be just beyond the southwest tip of the UK near to the Isles de Scilly.

 
Interestingly, in all the precise facts, but for my part, I was content to know that it was nice outside and that we were back at sea – everything else was just details. 
 

Balcony Reflections

 
The first voyage on QM2 was, for us, undoubtedly very much about discovery and orientation.   Being back on board is more a process of returning and re-entering into familiar rhythms and routines that we enjoy. 
 
Having a balcony transformed the crossing in subtle but profound ways. On our eastbound voyage, we watched the sea for birds and whales by climbing decks and circling the promenade. Now, it all seems accessible without leaving the cabin – well not quite, but almost. 

 
Early morning rituals shifted as a result.  Stepping out of bed, I can slide open the glass door, let the fresh air rush into the cabin while the Atlantic moves past just meters away. Sometimes there are gannets riding the air currents along the wake. Sometimes, nothing but endless water.   Here, there is no need to pull on shoes and jackets to scan the horizon or search for whales. 
 
Having a balcony, especially after so long travelling and hiking and before setting out on an even longer trek in Canada, makes this space and this journey feel wonderful.  It gives us the space to relax longer in our room and stand in the sheltered area regardless of the weather.
 

Morning Stroll and Breakfast on QM2

 
Despite the wonders of being able to enjoy our balcony, eventually the ship calls you outward – that and the room steward has tasks that you get in the way of.  As such, after lingering over coffee, we dressed and stepped into the corridor to make our way to Britannia for Breakfast.
 
As usual, we did not take the most direct route – there is rarely any reason to on a transatlantic crossing.  When the destination is less important than the journey, wandering becomes the point. You have the time so why not embrace it?
 
We soon emerged onto the promenade deck and immediately felt the difference between standing on a sheltered balcony and being out in the open.  Here, no longer protected by a steel frame, the breeze carried a sharper edge.  

 
Regardless, we made our way several times around the ship in groups with other passengers who were already out walking laps briskly, counting their daily steps.  Others moved tentatively, as though still negotiating the transition between land-based momentum and the slower cadence of crossing the ocean.  There is a subtle adjustment on the first day at sea – no matter how many times you have made the voyage, the body needs time to learn to match the ship’s rhythms as well as the motion of the seas.
 
As always, Crew members worked quietly in the background with practiced precision.  Deck chairs were adjusted, railings were wiped down, decks were being scrubbed, and loose items were secured. Maintenance on a vessel like this never ceases. Even while we strolled without urgency, someone was polishing brass, checking fixtures, or monitoring systems far below deck. The choreography of care continued unseen.

From time to time, we stopped behind some of the wind-shearing superstructure and found ourselves watching the waves roll past or staring at the horizon.  So far, neither birds nor whales were visible as we made quick scans of the waters around us.
 
Eventually, both hunger and habit lead us to Britannia.

 
Stepping back inside, we made our way to the ship’s main restaurant and were promptly sent off with a steward to an assigned table.  The dining room was already alive with quiet conversation. White tablecloths. Silver cutlery. Small jars of jam set neatly on the table. Not long after, another server arrived, providing us with warm welcomes, the morning menu and strong coffee along with a glass of orange juice to get us started.  I ordered avocado and tomatoes on toast. Sean chose pancakes and blueberries.

 
My meal arrived promptly.  Sean’s did not.
 
Well, after I had completed my meal, we waited and chatted.  We watched the room fill and empty around us.  Eventually, after over an hour of waiting, Sean’s pancakes finally arrived and were delivered with visible hesitation.  On it sat what can only be described as modest portions.  Each pancake was about 2 inches in diameter (if that) and were delivered on a full-sized plate as though to emphasize their small size.  As the server set the plate down, he apologized.   Something had gone on in the galley, and by the time the error was discovered, the breakfast service had closed. 

 
We had never had anything like this happen on QM2 before. 
 
We looked at each other, and then the plate, and immediately after burst out laughing – startling the nearby table steward who was already nervous about the situation – here we were, two hikers suddenly negotiating portion control on a luxury ship.    
 
The situation was what it was, the staff had done their best to explain it away...it was time to laugh and move on.  The steward looked relieved when we reassured him that it was fine - truly fine. It was one of those moments that will likely become part of our private shorthand for this voyage.
 
Besides, lunch would not be far away – a reality of being on a ship – there was always more food on board.
 
Notes from the Navigator and Daily Program Activities
 
Having moved beyond the situation, we took time to read over the daily program titled “At Sea, En route to New York”…
 
“After dropping the pilot off in the late evening Queen Mary 2 entered the English Channel where she set a West - South - Westerly course paralleling the Southern English coast.  Queen Mary 2 passed south of the Bill of Portland and Start Point.  As we leave the English Channel we will be to the south of Bishop Rock, marking the traditional start is considered the busiest shipping channel in the world with more than 500 vessels transiting the channel every day.”
 
As an interesting aside, Bishop’s Rock is a beacon that stands some 160 feet above the sea, marking the western edge of the Isles of Scilly.   The first iron structure was built in 1847 before being replaced by a granite building 11 years later.  For generations of transatlantic captains and vessels, this lighthouse marked a threshold.  Passing it, en route westward, meant leaving the English Channel and committing to the Atlantic.  Inversely heading eastward, this point marks the end of the North Atlantic shipping route and the entrance to the English Channel. For ocean liner captains, Bishop’s Rock is on the most direct line taken by vessels competing for the coveted Blue Riband – an honour awarded for the fastest Atlantic crossing

 
Beyond the Navigator’s Notes, the daily program also included a list of potential activities that passengers could partake in if they chose.  Some of the selections that stood out to us included:
 
11:15 PM - Cunard Insight Talk : Captain Rick Reynolds – ex - Concord pilot
12:15 PM - Cunard Insight Talk : Jeff Rozelaar – Winston Churchill
3:00 PM - Cunard Street – Illuminations 
8:45 PM - Red and Gold Gala Night – Formal Attire
 
We studied the offerings briefly, coffee in hand. Some days at sea, you followed the schedule. Other days you let it blur into the background. The beauty of a transatlantic crossing is that both approaches are equally valid.
 

Relearning and Relaxing

 
Wandering the wide hallways, we chatted about how the return voyage (at least so far) feels less about discovering the ship (though we do continue to find new parts and quiet corners) and more about settling back in and relaxing.

 
Our first crossing had been about exploration.  We had systematically explored the ship, read every plaque we could find, gone to as many Illuminations talks as we could, and tried not to miss out on anything.  This time, however, there is no urgency to fill every moment or try to prove that we belong on board.   We already know where the Chart Room is, and how to make our way up to the Observation deck or find the Commodore Club.  And we know that it is best to arrive to the Queen’s Room at least 30 minutes early before High Tea begins to get a seat.

 
And so, we spent the remainder of the morning simply walking about at our own pace.  We walked because it felt good to move without purpose or direction.  We drifted through public spaces, we took a moment to sit at a large window and watch the waves outside, and we spent time on the promenade deck. 

 
Today we weren’t really interested in much of what the daily program had offered – not because the topics were boring or not to our liking, but just because it felt good to drift about without an agenda.   
 

Lunch in the Golden Lion

 
With breakfast insufficient and the Atlantic stretching around us, we made our way to the Golden Lion Pub for lunch. The room’s darker wood and low lighting felt cozy after the bright openness of the promenade.   This space always feels so different, especially compared to the vertical elegance and white linen formality of Britannia. 

 
Seated in deep leather chairs, Sean ordered beer-battered Atlantic cod with mushy peas. I chose the cauliflower, leek, and truffle pie – the vegetarian option on the menu.  

After weeks of measuring portions based on kilometres walked and energy needs, our bodies were still operating on the high metabolism rates of the trail.  Despite the fact that I had just eaten a decent breakfast only a short while ago, my body had yet to accept that we no longer needed energy to trek 25 or 35 kilometres a day.  Put another way, I enjoyed lunch as it abated my constant hiker’s hunger.
 
The portions, this time, were not ambiguous; they were thankfully (for Sean’s sake) generous.

Sitting here and munching happily along the large windows that ran the length of the room showed nothing but water and waves outside.  We sat here longer than necessary for the simple fact that we had no need to rush anywhere.
 

Captain’s Noon Update

 
At noon, the captain’s voice carried through the ship as it always does. The bell rang, sounding through the central well and wide main corridors of the second and third decks, then the announcement. He detailed our position, speed, sea state, and a brief note about the waters we had entered.  He relayed interesting information about the region of the Atlantic we were passing through, shared anecdotes about the vessel, and typically concluded with a joke, a quote or a nautical term for the day. 
 
I can honestly say that we have really come to enjoy these updates.
 

Getting there is Half the Fun

 
The afternoon began and unfolded without much urgency.  There were enrichment talks available, history talks, Concorde pilots, and Churchill lectures - but neither of us felt compelled to attend.   And so, we returned to the promenade.
 
Inside, we paused in the Commodore Club, then the Chart Room, then wandered back to our cabin simply to take a break and stand on the balcony and continue to watch the water move past.

 
Transatlantic crossings give way to a rare commodity – time.  With no ports of call and long stretches between meals, lectures, trivia sessions and high tea, the days open up.  Instead of focusing on what’s next and arrival, you are given what so many these days crave – unstructured time. 
 
One of Cunard’s historic mottos captures this well: “Getting there is half the fun.” These words come from an era when ocean crossings were treated as experiences in their own right, not something to be endured before the “real” holiday began. Spacious surroundings, leisurely meals, attentive service, and the simple luxury of having nowhere else to be - the crossing itself becomes the point.

 

It is striking how little on board is about speed. The Atlantic may once have been raced for prestige and the Blue Riband, but today the emphasis is comfort, atmosphere, and continuity. In that sense, Cunard has tried - perhaps more than any other line - to preserve the idea that movement across the sea can be meaningful in its own right.
 

Return to Maritime Quest

 
Some people see Queen Mary 2 simply as a mode of transit, but it is also a living museum.
 
The Maritime Quest Trail on board are a series of plaques and displays that are woven throughout the ship’s public corridors and tell the story of Cunard’s long maritime heritage and the creation of QM2 herself.  Introduced when the vessel entered service in 2004, this self-guided exhibition includes photographs, ship plans, artifacts, and archival images that stretch back to the early steamships of the 1840s. 
 
It highlights legendary vessels such as the original RMS Queen Mary, RMS Queen Elizabeth, and QE2, before highlighting the corporate decisions and engineering design decisions that shaped the world’s past purpose-built ocean liner.

 
On our eastbound crossing, we had onlymanaged to read about half the panels. This time, with the weather shifting and fewer people lingering in the corridors, we decided to return and continue.
 
What makes Maritime Quest compelling is not just the information, but the way it is found throughout the ship. The displays are not confined to a single area. They appear unexpectedly - beside elevator banks, near the entrance to Britannia, along quieter hallways that many passengers pass without noticing. Some are in secluded corners. Others sit in the busiest thoroughfares. 
 
Just as the panels are spread throughout the ship, so too are the central themes scattered about.  As such, if you set out to read about a particular topic, such as The History of Cunard, or Cunarders at War, or Immigration and Movement of people, you inherently set yourself on a track that might well span the ship.

 
Today, we were interested in stories of those who had voyaged on board Cunarders throughout the decades, and chronicles of royalty, politicians, diplomats and trend-setting celebrities who had also travelled the same transatlantic corridor as we were 
 
Finding the related plaques, we found ourselves pausing, stepping closer and sometimes tracing the lines of a ship’s design with our fingers or the handwriting of a letter written home with our fingers before stepping back to read the information in full. 

 
As always seems to happen when we show an interest in something unexpected, those plaques which had gone ignored soon attracted attention and with it a small audience.  More than once, we found ourselves being systematically nudged out of the way by another passenger suddenly eager to read the same paragraph we had been absorbed in. 
 
In these cases, we would leave and double back later to read on – as often as not, when we left so too did the other “interested” passenger – we have seen this before. It was a familiar dynamic - not unlike reading interpretive panels on the Camino outside a church or along Hadrian’s Wall.  Interest is contagious.
 

Reliability and Relaxation

 
As we moved from plaque to plaque today, it became clear that these stories were not random.  They were connected by something deeper than history or nostalgia.  Beneath the photographs and lists of powerful or famous passengers ran the consistent thread of reliability.  Ships that sailed and arrived when they promised to.  Captains trusted in storms and wars.  A company that built its reputation on steadiness.

      

From its earliest days, Cunard was synonymous with safety, reliability, and keeping to schedule - qualities that mattered deeply in an era when crossing the Atlantic was as much a necessity as a choice. Yet as competition intensified, first among rival ocean liner companies and later with the rise of commercial aviation, Cunard’s identity also evolved. No longer defined solely by speed and reliability, the company increasingly embraced a broader truth: that the crossing itself could be as meaningful as the destination. Style, service, ritual, and sociability increasingly became defining features of life at sea, transforming the voyage into an experience rather than simply a means of transport.

 
This shift is captured in Cunard’s embrace of leisure and shared life on board. Deck games, concerts, dances, cocktail hours, and quiet moments of conversation turned days at sea into a rhythm of social engagements, leisure, and rest. Passengers were encouraged not merely to pass time, but to inhabit it - to stroll the decks, observe the ocean, participate in shipboard traditions, and form temporary communities throughout the voyage.

 
Even practical accommodations such as the ship’s kennels, a rare and much-loved feature, reflected Cunard’s commitment to continuity and care, allowing families to bring beloved pets across the Atlantic as part of the journey. In this way, the ship increasingly became a social space and a reminder that travel, when thoughtfully designed, can be an end in itself.
 

Royalty and Politicians on Board

 
Reliability breeds trust. And trust – once established – attracts power and culture. As such, a company known for reliability inevitably became the corridor through which the influential in search of time and discretion travelled.  
 
As we continued throughout QM2’s corridors, finding new Maritime Quest plaques, the passenger lists shifted.  Where earlier panels spoke of emigrants, soldiers, and young families, now the names that appeared carried political weight.

 
The same gangways that welcomed emigrants, returning soldiers, and aided war brides also received monarchs, prime ministers and presidents.  As global circumstances changed, so too did the passenger lists and the significance of the crossings.
 
Cunard’s passenger lists have always reflected the full spectrum of society.  In an age before near-instantaneous air travel, crossing the Atlantic required days of shared space.  Negotiations unfolded over dinners, alliances were strengthened in private lounges and over drinks.   All of which was only possible in an environment defined by reliability and discretion. 

 
Royal patronage helped define Cunard’s identity from an early age. Members of the British royal family travelled regularly aboard the Queen's, reinforcing the company’s association with tradition, ceremony, and continuity.  The RMS Queen Mary and RMS Queen Elizabeth were more than vessels, they were a floating extension of national pride and imperial presence.  Decades later, when QE2 returned from the Falklands War, it would be welcomed home in Southampton by the Queen Mother on the royal yacht HMY Britannia.

 
These connections were not merely spectacle, they reflected the company’s standing and legacy. Standards of service, the formality of passengers and the measured pace of on-board itineraries are a reflection of this.  These distinguished travel on a Cunard ship from other lines – even today.
 

Celebrities on Board

 
Of course, influence aboard Cunard ships was never confined solely to royalty, politicians, or military leaders.
 
As the 20th century unfolded, the currents of culture began to shift. Fashion, style, and public imagination increasingly flowed not from palaces or parliaments, but from studios, stages, and publishing houses. Authors, artists, actors, and musicians became the new arbiters of style, shaping how an age dressed, spoke, and dreamed.  Here again, Cunard liners offered something important – space to relax and comfort alongside privacy in public view.

 
Days at sea created space between engagements, between premieres, and between performances. Manuscripts were revised in deck chairs. Film stars paced the promenade. Musicians carried melodies between continents long before global tours became routine.

 
Hollywood figures such as Ginger Rogers, Clark Gable, Deborah Kerr, Cary Grant, Elizabeth Taylor, and Bing Crosby shared decks with artists whose influence ran deeper than screen or stage - Ella Fitzgerald, Duke Ellington, Pearl Bailey, and Helen Keller, among many others. 

 
Maritime Quest preserves these crossings without spectacle. The displays do not linger in gossip or scandal. Instead, they suggest that ocean liners once served as corridors of creativity, cultural exchange and as floating mirrors of popular culture.
 

Evening on Queen Mary 2

 
By late afternoon, having spent much of the day exploring Maritime Quest, the light outside began to shift and soften.  Stepping away from the information plaques and displays, we noticed that somewhere on board, the orchestra was playing, and those passengers in the corridors were increasingly dressed up for the evening’s gala. 
 
As such, we returned to our cabin to shower, freshen up, and prepare for the night.
 
There seems to be something almost ceremonial about preparing for dinner on an ocean liner.  Ensuring dress shirts are crisp, ties are done up more carefully, and shoes are polished with greater care.   To us, even the fabric feels different against bodies that have known rain, salt and trail dust for weeks. 

 
Tonight, Sean stepped into his crisp dark suit and slipped into a fun red dress.  For two long-distance hikers who measure most days in kilometres and calories, formal was still feels faintly ironic but also wonderfully pleasurable.
 
As we prepared for the night, we took our time.  Outside our sheltered balcony, the sea rolled unconcerned for the pomp and traditions on board. 
 

Dinner in Britannia

 
Ready, we stepped back into the corridor.  As the evening settled i,n the ship itself began to transform.  The lighting was dimmed to a warm level.  In the Grand Lobby, passengers paused to take pictures on the staircase.  While others filtered into the Chart Room for a quick pre-dinner drink before continuing on into Britannia and the Queen’s Room.   

Inside Britannia, the grand restaurant was alive.  Beyond the white tablecloths, sparkling silverware, and quiet clink of china ware conservations took place throughout the room. Through the windows lining the space, the day’s light continued to fade.
 
We were soon shown to a two-person table in the middle of the room.  Service resumed its familiar routines.  Napkins placed in our laps, menus presented, water poured, wine offered, bread placed at the table. 

There is always a moment in such settings - especially on Gala Night - where the placement of forks and spoons can feel faintly theatrical. Sean, who once navigated private school formalities, seemed more certain of the order. I, a product of Waldorf classrooms and creative independence, found myself glancing discreetly before committing to the outermost utensil.  I frequently made mistakes to which the staff – without intrusion or critique – simply replaced the correct utensils, allowing me to continue on. 
 
After years of eating from camp pots, balancing meals on knees inside a tent, or rehydrating trail food in thermal bags beside river creeks, this choreography of courses feels both foreign and indulgent.   Yet it for all it might seem excessive or exclusive, it is more a reflection of long-held traditions and the willingness to participate in them.

 
Courses arrive in steady succession. Talk between tables included stories of previous voyages and crossings, questions about bird sightings and simple bits of pleasant conversation.  As our meal was presented, each plate was thoughtfully composed and extremely enjoyable.
 
At some point during dinner, it struck me again how extraordinary this moment was: dressed up formally, seated beneath woven tapestries and crystal light, while beneath us thousands of meters of Atlantic water rolled in darkness.  All of this amazing experience is taking place in the middle of the Atlantic. 
 

Red and Gold Gala

 
Preparations for the Red and Gold Gala had gone on throughout the day – red accents in the daily program, the staff adjusting floral arrangements in the Grand Lobby, the decorating of the Queen’s Room and changes to the ship’s lighting.  Gala night is like a gathering of traditions into a single beautiful moment.

 
By the time we left Britannia, the transformation of the ship was complete.
 
The Grand Lobby glowed in warm tones as the on-board photographers took pictures of elegant couples. Lights reflected off the polished, curved handrails of the staircase.  And the string trio played in the central well, filling the atrium beautifully.  Central to all of this were those well-dressed individuals who grandly descended the double staircase.  On gala night, this seems to be a must – to make a great entrance. 
 
Making our way to the Queen’s Room, we found Red and Gold banners were hung, cascading from the ceiling.  The orchestra was playing, and tables had been set.  Even the large wooden dance floor seemed to be more polished.

The room filled, and we stood for a few minutes on the edge of it all. Eventually, we joined those on the dance floor for a few songs.  Around u,s other couples moved with practiced ease, waltzing and fox trotting professionally.  Many on board had clearly done this many times before.  We followed along, imperfectly, stumbling, but enjoying nonetheless.
 
It was not long, however, before we found ourselves in a quieter headspace.  While the room swelled with energy, we slipped away.  Not out of disinterest or fatigue but simply because tonight, for whatever reason, we tapered towards spending time on our own.

  
And so we walked on - preferring the quiet corridor alongside Illuminations and the low hum of engines as we sat beside one of the large windows, relaxing. Outside was only darkness and faint traces of white in the waves that travelled alongside the ship’s hull. 
 
Later, we made our way to the Chart Room for a glass of rosé.  Here too, the lighting was lower, and conversations more intimate as each group sat in their area. We sat side by side at a window, watching reflections ripple along outside.    

 
Near midnight, we wandered upward toward the King’s Court, drawn by the promise a plate of cookies - a final nibble of chocolate before bed.  Even this felt part of the rhythm on board – elegance that gave way to simple pleasures.
 
Back in our room, as Sean changed into evening sleepwear, I stepped onto our balcony.  Outside, the stars glittered overhead, and the moon was high in the sky, making the wake silhouette with its light.  Beyond the ship, the waters were dark. 
 
We were firmly in the Atlantic Ocean now, and there was nowhere else we needed or wanted to be.
 
See you on board!
 
Nautical Term of the Day – Blue Riband – For much of the 19th and early 20th centuries, the transatlantic run was a stage for national pride and maritime rivalry, embodied in the coveted Blue Riband - an unofficial honour awarded to the fastest Atlantic crossing. Though it carried no physical trophy, the title drove decades of innovation, with liners like Cunard’s Mauretania defining an era where speed equalled prestige. Today, as ocean travel embraces elegance over haste, the Blue Riband lingers as a reminder of the ambition and drama that once ruled the North Atlantic.