Day 5 on QM2 – Cunard’s Queen Mary 2 in Black and White

“We didn’t make it around the world, but we were able to wrap the world around us.”

Janis Couvreux

 

Returning Across the Same Ocean

Crossing the Atlantic twice in the span of two months revealed something we did not fully understand when we first stepped aboard Queen Mary 2 in New York. Though the ports are the same and the distances nearly identical, the voyages themselves are not mirror images. They feel like entirely different chapters of the same book.

Our eastbound crossing from New York to Southampton was defined by the newness of the experience. Everything seemed to demand attention - the scale of the ship, the engineering, the traditions, the choreography of service, even the fog rolling past the promenade deck. We studied deck plans. We learned where Britannia sat in relation to the Queen’s Room. We timed our promenade laps against the wind and in accord with the weather conditions. We watched the skyline of Manhattan dissolve and later traced the story of the Titanic and the Grand Banks as though we were stepping into history for the first time. That voyage was very much one that was attentive to the vessel, to its mechanics, to its lineage and her place in Atlantic tradition.

The westbound voyage feels different.

Now, routines have replaced discovery. We are no longer trying to rush and explore everything. We return to familiar spaces without checking maps. The Chart Room is not something to “find”; it is somewhere we settle in the evening. The promenade and watching the wake are no longer novelties, they are part of our daily routine. Even the rituals - high tea, gala evenings, the captain’s noon announcements - feel less like spectacle and more like continuity.

If eastbound was about discovery, westbound has become about relaxation.

Repetition, for us, is rare. We rarely walk the same trail twice. Yet this crossing reveals something unexpected: some journeys deepen rather than repeat. By Day 5 westbound, we realize this is no longer about proving that slow travel matters. It is about living it more fully with the steadier awareness that crossing itself is the point.

Sea days rarely offer dramatic and large events. There are no ports rising from the horizon, no gangways lowered, no hurried disembarkations. Instead, there is time- that is unstructured, that is unhurried, sometimes this is misunderstood.

Some call sea days boring. Yet almost the entirety of a transatlantic crossing consists of sea days. On these voyages, the ocean is not an interlude between destinations; it is the destination. We have never found ourselves short of things to do on this ship. Indeed, it is more often the case that we have to make hard choices, picking one activity over another equally interesting offering.

Navigational Orientation, Breakfast and Birds

We spotted the first gull just beyond our balcony at 6:48 AM, long before the navigational channel confirmed our proximity to land. We awoke to the familiar hum of the engines, vibrations of movement and slow rise and fall of the seas under the hull. This morning it was immediately clear that it was going to be one with gloomier conditions. I opened the balcony only a crack and just as quickly closed it as the cool, damp air rushed in. The skies were slate grey and uninviting. Rather than going out immediately, I decided that it might be better to fortify myself with a warm coffee first.

Filling the coffee machine, I turned on the navigation channel to learn that weather conditions for the day are expected to be Drizzle while the seas are listed as Moderate. Today, the winds are coming from a southwest direction and are noted as a 6 on the Beaufort scale. Outside it is 12 degrees with a sea temperature of 9 degrees Celsius – so definitely cooler than yesterday. We were moving at a speed of 23.7 knots and looked to be just off the coast of Newfoundland near Cape Race, near to the Grand Banks – now the skies, fog and cooler temperatures made sense – at least to someone who has spent some time on Canada’s east coast.

After coffee, we ventured out. The promenade deck was slick with drizzle, its teak planks reflecting a the ship’s railings along its length. Walking required a subtle lean into the wind. Fewer passengers lingered at the rails. Spray occasionally lifted high enough to leave faint salt traces along the glass panels and wooden handrails. Around us, the ocean’s waters were a deep grey-blue, interrupted with whitecaps that flashed briefly before being swallowed again. The skies and horizon had been swallowed by thick fog.

Standing there with sweater pulled tight and jacket zipped high, I thought about the thousands of ships that had crossed this same ocean under far harsher conditions. Sail-driven vessels are entirely dependent on wind. Emigrant ships labouring with uncertainty. Troop transports are pressing through winter storms. Our crossing felt almost indulgent by comparison-steel hull, stabilizers, hot coffee and stewards in the restaurant waiting inside.

In Britannia Restaurant, the subtle increase in motion altered the atmosphere. Glassware musically tinkled, staff navigated tables with a more measured pace, and there were fewer people at the tables around us. None of which was dramatic, but it was noticeable. A slight change in the daily routine.

We ordered coffee, orange juice, fresh fruit, and avocado on toast, which again, for the second time on this voyage, were surprisingly modest in proportion.

Notes from the Navigator and Daily Program Activities

With our sparse meal complete,d we enjoyed another cup of strong coffee and examined the daily program. Today,

“Queen Mary 2 will sail by Sable Island, a narrow crescent - shaped sandbar believed to have been formed from large quantities of sand and gravel deposited on the continental shelf near the end of the last ice age. The island is sometimes referred to as ‘the Graveyard of the Atlantic’, due to the large number of shipwrecks on the Sandbar. The island is also home to 350 bird species and 190 plant species, in addition to a herd of approximately 500 feral horses, which are the island’s most well - known inhabitants.”

Our fifth day at Sea on board QM2 gave way for a number of potential activities for passengers to enjoy, including:

10:00 AM - Watercolour Art Class with Pauline Williams: Harbour Scenes
11:15 AM - The Life and Works of L.S. Lowry – Illuminations
12:15 PM - Cunard Insight Talk : Matthew Towler – Espionage Ghost Stories
4:30 PM - Queen Mary 2 Progressive Quiz – Carinthia Lounge
8:45 PM - Masquerade Ball Gala – Queen’s Room
10:15 PM - Showtime : Broadway Rocks – Royal Court Theatre

Sable Island, Fog and Shipwrecks

Curious about some of the geographic and naval references in the morning program, we made our way to the library. There is something both humbling and grounding about reading of shipwrecks while seated securely within steel walls. You feel entirely secure while also knowing how quickly conditions can change out here.

The region we were approaching, which had been listed as the ‘Graveyard of the Atlantic’ had been and continued to be shaped by a number of colliding forces. This region of the ocean was defined by the Continental shelf – a place where the ocean floor rises up gradually toward land, meaning that the waters here are shallower. Amid these shallower waters, the glacially deposited sand and gravel sea floor are continually shaped and reshaped by currents and storms, making charting this region challenging as sand bars appear, disappear and migrate amid the shallow seas. Added to which the meeting of cold ocean currents from the Labrador Currents with warm summer air gives way to the creation of dense fog banks. Rolling in without warning, the fog obscures sightlines – often precisely as the moment clear views are most needed. Add to this the possibilities of floating icebergs, and the situation only worsens.

The result, over centuries of sail and steam, has been an environment responsible for an extraordinary number of shipwrecks - vessels undone not by a single dramatic force, but by the quiet convergence of geography, weather, unpredictability and human miscalculation.

It was, in its way, fascinating. Our questions answered, we returned the reference volume to the librarian, stepping back out into the hushed corridors of the ship. Before leaving, we picked up the day’s crossword puzzle to fill the time later in the day.

Classic Approach to a Classic Ocean Liner

So many interesting talks and options for the day, we found ourselves having to make hard choices. Though we attended Matthew Towler’s next talk on Espionage Ghost Stories (seriously, how could you miss any talk with such a title - ghosts and spies?), the fact was that today, little else captured our attention.

After several transatlantic crossings on Queen Mary 2, today we decided to do something a little unusual - and undeniably fun, at least from a photographer’s perspective. With the ship preparing for the Gala this evening, we set out to explore the vessel with a singular challenge: to photograph the entire day exclusively in black and white. 

The goal being to create a series of classic images of a classic ship.

It felt fitting on a ship that already carries the elegance of another era, its Art Deco touches, sweeping staircases, and polished chrome practically inviting monochrome interpretation.

Moving through the ship with this constraint sharpened our attention to the vessel’s design, its form, and textures - turning familiar spaces into timeless scenes. Reflections along the wet promenade. The curve of a banister against a pale wall. The geometry of deck chairs stacked in mist. Fog reinforced the aesthetic, flattening distance and softening contrast.

In the end, it became a way of creating an interesting series of images aboard a truly classical ocean liner, capturing the essence of QM2 not in colour, but in tones of light and dark. The fog outside only seemed to reinforce the monochrome approach.

In this way, our afternoon was filled with wandering and photographing, which was kind of fun.

Principle and Reality

In principle, capturing spaces through photography or in an artistic manner sounds interesting – and it is. In practice, however, it often makes one look faintly absurd. For several hours, we struck other passengers and not a few crew members as being slightly odd.

There were times that people stopped to watch us as Sean crouched near stairwells, took up close pictures of banisters and statues, or balanced oddly against a post in the Grand Lobby or Queen’s Room to get the lighting just so.

Finding new angles and fresh perspectives to see and capture spaces often means that you have to take a somewhat unique approach – and do so while carrying a large camera and, if possible, without provoking too much curiosity. The last of these is almost impossible to achieve – especially while travelling on a luxury ocean liner on a gala night.

While it is an easy scene to imagine and even laugh at – it is, I assure you, a tougher reality to stand beside as it takes place. Envision (if you will) gentlemen in crisp tuxedos and suits, women in elegant ball gowns or tasteful dresses…and then there is Sean crawling down the promenade deck…a wet promenade deck… in his own suit pants, dress shirt and vest on because to him “it is the only way to get the reflection right”. The situation lends itself understandably to questions.

Curious passengers watch in amazement, the crew ask if everything is quiet all right and the ship’s security repeatedly drift pass and stands nearby in discreet curiosity.

Despite the absurdity of the situation, I cannot deny that it is often these moments, slightly out of step with expectation, that often yield the most vivid encounters. Curious passengers asked questions. Conversations followed. Brief friendships sparked. We may not always fit the mould, but fitting the mould has never been the point.

A Return to Colour - Gala Evening

By evening, the wind had moderated slightly, though the swells remained long, and you can still feel the slight movement of the ship. Having refreshed and changed into formal clothes for the Gala night. I wore a black dress and a red-and-black shawl adorned with Indigenous bird designs-a small, distinctly Canadian statement amid a sea of formalwear. Sean changed into a dry set of dress clothes, having “somehow” gotten wet in the afternoon.

    

Ready, we returned to Britannia for dinner. Tonight’s evening meal seemed to carry a shift in mood - the middle of the crossing has passed. Conversations now include phrases like “only two more sea days” or “before we know it we’ll see land.” The Atlantic still surrounds us, but anticipation has begun to rise quietly beneath the surface.

We were now tracing the shorelines of North America and on the run toward New York

Masquerade Gala

After dinner, we stopped in the Chart Room for a drink before setting off to the Gala in the Queen’s Room and the Masquerade Gala.

Here we ran into and chatted with Mike Brady of Ocean Liner Designs, a YouTube channel that we have recently enjoyed while learning about vessels and transatlantic voyages.

After a few dances, we would later find our way to G32, the dance club at the extreme aft of QM2. Here, the ship’s gentle rise and fall was distinctly notable. A fact that made dancing slightly more challenging, as it was distinctly possible to find that the floor was either closer than you expected or further away, depending on the motion of the waves below.

At one point, sitting in the upper balcony of G32 I discovered that there was a small external porthole to see outside from. As such, I continually slipped away from conversations and dancing to peer through the glass at the dark Atlantic. Even dressed formally, even indoors, the call of the sea remained stronger than chandeliers, champagne, and dance floors.

As I said before, there are times when we definitely don’t fit in with expectations. And so, despite the environment, I don’t deny that I spent much of the evening crawling across a cushioned cough to look outside.

Looming Realities

As midnight approached, we said our good nights and returned to our stateroom to find disembarkation luggage tags waiting by the door. Sean has aptly named them the “tags of despair.” Arrival suddenly felt imminent. We placed them on the desk, an act of temporary denial. According to the navigation channel, we were now beyond Newfoundland, off the coast of Cape Breton Island, Nova Scotia.

Time and tide wait for no one. Voyages, like photographs, capture only moments before moving on.

See you on board!

Nautical Term of the Day – Try a Different Tack - Changing tack meant altering direction to meet the wind more effectively. Now it means trying a new approach.