Day 7 on QM2 – Arrival into New York : Gateway to the New World

“Should you be fortunate enough to make a voyage on this magnificent ship you doubtless will, as others have done, regret its conclusion..”

Cunard Publicity for the Queen Mary’s maiden voyage, 1936

Final Morning on Queen Mary 2

Sailing west across the Atlantic Ocean carries its own quiet anticipation. Somewhere beyond the shores of the UK, the curve of the Atlantic and coastlines of Newfoundland lies the silhouette of Manhattan - bridges, steel, and American-style ambition. Unlike Southampton’s subtle farewell, arrival in New York is theatrical. Even days out at sea, you begin to sense that crescendo forming.

Morning Orientation

Awake and out of bed at 4:30 AM, it was less than 2 hours after concluding our final night on board, chatting with others in the Commodore Club and Chart Room. Under our door was the last daily program for our last few hours on board QM2.

A quick glance at the onboard navigation channel, we learn that (blessedly) we had gained an hour at 2 AM – meaning that we had actually gotten 3 hours of sleep! Beyond this, the weather conditions for the day… morning… docking are expected to be clouded while the seas are noted as slight. Outside on deck, it is a balmy 20 degrees with a sea temperature noted as 17 degrees Celsius. Owing to delays resulting from the tides, we were going a leisurely speed of only 13 knots and appeared to be not far off the coast of Long Beach, as Queen Mary 2 slowly began pulling into the Inner Bay of New York Harbour.

As Sean made us two quick cups of instant coffee – to wake us up a little – I stepped onto the balcony. The warmth was immediately evident, as was the fact that the deep rolling seas of the Atlantic had given way to calmer waters of the shallower harbour ahead. The sea had changed colour again – no longer a dark blue or indigo it was now a more muted blue-green. 

In the distance, there was a startling amount of marine traffic – cargo ships, tankers, coastal vessels – all lit up along the horizon by the sun as it began to rise up.

We both dressed quickly, completing our final bits of packing and stepped out of our cabin to head up to the promenade and upper decks. We walked quickly through the corridors and hallways of Queen Mary 2, knowing where we were headed. En Route, we both filled up another coffee cup in the Lido and grabbed a muffin before continuing on outside to watch our approach.

Stepping on Deck

We stepped onto the deck as the ship prepared to take on the harbour pilot. We never stopped moving, instead the pilot’s boat pulled up alongside QM2 and personnel jumped onboard. The voyage was now in its final stage.

The early morning light across the water glittered, bathing one side of Queen Mary 2 in a glow as we approached the mouth of the Hudson River. Ahead of us, New York City towered in the distance, shrouded by grey clouds and fog.

Seeing it I can’t help but feel a wave of excitement - land! At the same time, however, I also feel a tinge of sadness, as if the peaceful rhythm of the ocean and the quiet expanses of the Atlantic have become a part of us. There’s a quiet moment before the rush begins, before docking gets underway, and the chaos of the city will engulf us. I take a deep breath and realize how much we’ve experienced on this journey.

Approaching New York

Queen Mary 2 glided forward with deliberate calm. The buoys beneath us swayed and rang gently as we passed. Black-backed gulls circled in the waters nearby. Common Terns flashed white against morning light. Cormorants perched on channel markers, watching as we passed by.

The day and city skyline revealed themselves in layers.

Long Island emerged first – the beachfront stretching along the waterline. Ferris wheels and roller coasters stood faint but recognizable along the skyline behind them. So many sandy beaches that we never knew were here.

Farther off, barely visible in front of us through the lingering fog and haze, stood the Verrazzano-Narrows Bridge spanning the waterway.

As we drew closer, the water around us got busier. Small family boats, fishing vessels and tour boats sped by. Each is moving more quickly than our slow, steady approach.

Few experiences in travel echo the past as powerfully as approaching New York Harbour by ocean liner. For generations of immigrants, soldiers, explorers, and everyday travellers, this was the sight that announced hope, safety, and the promise of a new life, as well as uncertainty – all in equal measure.

All too soon, the massive footings of the Verrazzano Bridge stood on each side of us. Then we entered the narrows and passed beneath the great span. Above us, the noise of hundreds of cars racing over the steel structure echoed.  The bridge sounded as though it was humming.   Beyond this, once we crossed under the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge, phones began ringing and people began checking online or calling home.  For many it was as though the voyage concluded mid approach.

Afterwards, we rounded into the Upper Bay. With each passing minute, the skyline grew clearer.

Then, not long after we got our first views of the Statue of Liberty – standing unmistakably ahead – just as she had for millions arriving through Ellis Island throughout the late 19th and 20th centuries. We followed the same deep - water channel once travelled by troopships returning from Europe, by refugee vessels seeking sanctuary, and by the great liners of the golden age of steam.

As views of her cleared, a hush fell over the open decks, which felt almost reverent.

Seeing her from the water level brought a new appreciation for the emotional weight she carries. The moment felt as though our crossing overlapped countless others.

There is a wonderful movie, The Legend of 1900, in which there is a pivotal moment on every voyage when there is one person who is the first to spot the Statue of Liberty. The recognition in the scene travelled across the deck like electricity. Watching the statue emerge from the waterline this morning, I understood that sentiment more deeply.

As quickly as it had come, the moment passed. The magic was interrupted as the Staten Island ferry crossed the waters between Lady Liberty and Queen Mary 2. Beyond Manhattan, a city of steel and glass, began to rise fully into view.

The World Trade Tower seemed to lose and regain its upper floors as low haze shifted. Next, Governor’s Island appeared, sliding past.

Then the iconic structure of the Brooklyn Bridge emerged from the mists.

On every side, skyscrapers extended across the horizon – all merging together to create one continuous skyline.

Throughout it all, we moved between vantage points - top deck, promenade, forward beneath the bridge near the captain’s cufflinks, then back along the promenade and aft of the ship. The morning light was warmer than forecast. Skies that were predicted to be overcast remained largely clear, shifting only slightly with passing haze.

Docking At Red Hook, Brooklyn

Gradually, almost imperceptibly at first, our forward motion eased. Then we began to turn, completing a full circle in the ship’s own radius. Until, not far away and slightly to port was the Red Hook Terminal in Brooklyn – a site that had been unnoticed amid the spectacle of Manhattan’s skyline.

Then the engines shifted tone. Queen Mary 2 began to slide sideways toward the pier. Tugboats repositioned around us, mooring lines were cast to dockworkers below, and in short order, we were secured. After a week at sea, we were – quite literally – tied back to land.

The silence of our approach was broken. Turning toward the stern, we were surprised to see the aft decks crowded - passengers and crew lining the railings. It was clear that even for those who cross regularly, arrival in New York retains something iconic. This is not just another port call. It is an ending with history attached.

Delayed Disembarkation

Docked, the mood on board shifted almost immediately.

The on-board politeness and civility dissolved. Despite the fact that we all had pre-arranged disembarkation times, the fact remained that our arrival had been delayed. What should have begun around 7:30 AM was instead taking place closer to noon. All of a sudden, as though taken by surprise, everyone had an “urgent reason” that meant that they had to disembark before everyone else. People began pushing and shoving amid the queue to leave in their attempts to cut in and get ahead of others.

Announcements from the bridge crew – at first – requested patience. Passengers were asked to remain within their assigned time slots. Clearly, most on board ignored this, and the levels of frustration increased.

For our part, we opted to wait until the end and so stood on the promenade deck and watched the activity on the docks below.

An hour later, more announcements were made in a very British fashion. The crew were no longer asking for patience and what entailed as a full-fledged civics lecture. Passengers who were rude to the crew, passengers queue jumping, and those disembarking out of turn were doing so to no benefit. Luggage would only be given over in accord with assigned disembarkation times, and so, those who had hastened to cut in and leave the ship early would only find themselves waiting in the terminal for their luggage – regardless of what they said or did. It was almost wonderfully British in its restraint as passengers were directly told by the captain, “This is not how things will be done!”

Yet despite this, the impatience and urgency of land-based attitudes continued. The contrast between our days at sea and the passengers’ quiet reverence at the Statue of Liberty only shortly beforehand was stark. Those who last night quipped about wanting to remain on board were now fanatical to get off and to be in the next place rather than enjoying being right where they were.

Amid it all, we remained at the railing. Having requested the last disembarkation, we were happy to delay stepping off and returning to land. Instead, we watched as dockworkers unloaded luggage while also resupplying QM2 with fresh provisions. There is something deeply satisfying about the practicality and choreography of what dockworkers do. Luggage transiting between the ship and shore. Supplies being replenished. One crossing ending at the same time as the next one prepares to begin.

Seven days ago, we had stood in Southampton watching England recede. Between then and now lay Bishop Rock, long swells, shifting currents, gained hours, laughter over shared jokes, wind-pressed promenade walks, and quiet evenings under open sky. After almost 3500 km at sea we have arrived – what an adventure.

Now docked in Brooklyn arrival felt less like a reward and more like a jolt back into the world. Though New York has iconic, grand, and beautiful in its own way, it is, nonetheless, still a city full of noise, hustle, bustle and priorities that we do not relate to.

Our time was eventually called, and then disembarkation. Scanned off the ship, walking down the gangway, through the terminal doors, and just like that, the Atlantic was behind us.

Depressingly, at least from our perspective, it was all over too soon.

U.S. Customs on Shore

I have always thought that it was unfortunate that almost the moments of arrival after a long flight or remarkable voyage are not marked by a kind welcome or pleasant conversation. Instead, they are defined by armed security, guarded expressions, and often aggressive procedural scrutiny.

After stepping down the gangway into the Red Hook terminal, we entered a cavernous hall - functional, colourless, stripped of the warmth we had known on board. The scale of it felt industrial. Within minutes, we had located our luggage and were directed into a long, snaking queue toward U.S. Customs.

The shift was abrupt and unwelcome.  

Only a short while beforehand, we had been lingering over meals in Britannia, having drinks in the Chart Room, and moving through polished corridors and open decks. Now we stood beneath bright overhead lights, advancing slowly toward officers clearly managing a crowded morning. Instructions were delivered sharply. Patience was requested repeatedly - by Cunard staff as much as by officials - announcements reminded that the delays were beyond the ship’s control.

Even as Canadians, this crossing of a border tends to feel more intense here than elsewhere. Questions are brisk, and the atmosphere is stressful. It is, perhaps, the simple reality of modern travel – security before sentiment.

In good order, our passports were stamped, bags cleared, and we were allowed to step outside into Brooklyn.

Navigating New York, Heading Home

Ahead of us lay a different sort of navigation. And so, once again, we shifted modes.

A quick check of email confirmed what we had begun to suspect - WestJet had gone on strike. Our flight to Halifax, which would have connected us onward to our train, was cancelled. Amtrak to the Atlantic coast, to Montreal, and even to Toronto was fully sold out. Options narrowed quickly as we calculated connections in Canada and the risk of missing VIA Rail departures.

Ultimately, our only viable choice was a ten- to fourteen-hour overnight FlixBus back to Toronto.

From being carried across an ocean, we were once again responsible for carrying ourselves forward.

Docked, Queen Mary 2 remained immense, imposing and elegant. The routines that had sheltered us from the speed of the modern world - the measured noon announcements, white tablecloth breakfasts, and laps around the promenade were all behind us. We were no longer passengers. We were now observers of a ship in port preparing quietly for her next Atlantic crossing.

Slipping our backpacks on and pulling ungainly rolling luggage behind us, we turned away from the dock and set off into the city. With our luggage in tow, we made our way the short distance to the New York Ferry terminal. 

Here, thankfully, two young men working helped us decipher the routes and the payment machines to get tickets to board the ferry.

While waiting in line, scanning timetables and watching ferries dock and depart, we noticed movement along a wooden pier - a Northern Mockingbird bouncing lightly from post to railing. A new species for us, welcoming us back!

Soon we stepped onto the ferry and were soon whisked into the busy waterways of the East River, separating Brooklyn and New York. It did not take long for New York to press in on us. 

Thankfully, we had not come to linger. This was not our destination, merely a place that we were passing through.

Another crossing was complete, but our journey was continuing on.

See you on board!

Nautical Term of the Day – North Atlantic Drift - A warm extension of the Gulf Stream, this current moderates Europe’s climate and shaped historic shipping lanes. Even today, captains use its flow to fine - tune eastbound or westbound timing.