royal caribbean cruise room for 3

Royal Caribbean cruise ship cabin and suite guide: Everything you want to know

Picking a cabin on a Royal Caribbean ship can be a daunting task.

For starters, there is an eye-popping number of cabins available on many Royal Caribbean ships. The line is known for operating the world's biggest cruise vessels — ships so big that some have nearly 3,000 cabins each.

But it's not just the sheer volume of cabins that makes picking a room on a Royal Caribbean ship challenging. It's also the number of cabin categories.

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On some Royal Caribbean ships, there are as many as 34 different types of cabins — each a little different than the last.

The backstory here is that Royal Caribbean ships are designed to appeal to a wide demographic, including travelers with varying budgets. That prompted Royal Caribbean to offer a wide mix of cabin types.

The line offers rooms that range from relatively low-cost, windowless "inside" cabins measuring just 149 square feet (perfect for the budget traveler) to massive, multi-room suites that can be more than 10 times that size.

A Royal Caribbean cabin primer

Like many other cruise ships, Royal Caribbean vessels offer cabins in four broad categories: windowless inside cabins, ocean-view cabins, balcony cabins and suites.

On the newer Royal Caribbean ships, the vast majority of the cabins are balcony cabins. Over the years, cruise lines have discovered that cruisers will pay a significant premium to have a balcony with their cabin, prompting a rush to add more balcony cabins to ships.

Related: The 5 best cabin locations on any cruise ship

For instance, on Royal Caribbean's four-year-old Symphony of the Seas , 65% of the 2,759 cabins are balcony cabins; the next-largest category of cabins are inside cabins followed by ocean-view cabins and suites. Here's the exact breakdown:

• Inside cabins: 599 (22%).
• Ocean-view cabins: 176 (6%).
• Balcony cabins: 1,796 (65%).
• Suites: 188 (7%).

There are far fewer balcony cabins on older Royal Caribbean ships (and all older cruise ships in general). Only 12% of the cabins on Royal Caribbean's oldest vessel, the 1996-built Grandeur of the Seas, are balcony cabins.

Inside cabins and ocean-view cabins make up the majority (78% in total) of cabins on Grandeur of the Seas. Suites account for 9% of the cabins on the ship. Here's the exact breakdown:

• Inside cabins: 399 (40%).
• Ocean-view cabins: 381 (38%).
• Balcony cabins: 122 (12%).
• Suites: 94 (9%).

The takeaway here is that you'll have a tougher time locking down a balcony cabin on an older Royal Caribbean ship than on a newer vessel. If you're planning a cruise on one of the line's older vessels and a balcony cabin is a must, you'll want to book early to ensure you get one.

You'll also want to book early if you're aiming for a suite. An old saw in the cruise industry is that "ships sell from the top and the bottom." That is, the first cabins on any vessel to sell out are the most-expensive cabins, which are the suites, and the least-expensive cabins, which typically are the inside cabins. The "middle" sells last.

Related: The ultimate guide to Royal Caribbean

You'll find multiple subcategories within each of the four broad categories of cabins on Royal Caribbean ships. Symphony of the Seas, for instance, has 15 different types of suites alone; suites range from a junior suite with a balcony (Category J3) that measures 287 square feet to a Royal Loft Suite (Category RL) that measures five times that amount.

If you count two types of Symphony of the Seas suites that come in two versions — a standard version and a slightly altered, "accessible" version — there are actually 17 different categories of suites on the vessel.

Royal Caribbean cabins generally have a modern look with clean lines and contemporary furniture, plus lots of storage cleverly worked into the design.

Inside cabins on Royal Caribbean ships

Inside cabins are designed for passengers on a tight budget. On Royal Caribbean ships, these rooms are almost always the least-expensive option when booking a cabin. You can often save considerable money by booking an inside cabin versus an ocean-view or higher-level cabin.

What you'll give up, of course, is that ocean view. Your room will have four walls and no windows offering a glimpse of the outside world (at least, not a traditional window — more on that in a moment).

You'll also be in a very small room. Inside cabins on Symphony of the Seas measure just 149 square feet, quite a bit less than the typical ocean-view cabin on the vessel (those range from 179 to 272 square feet). The typical balcony cabin on Symphony of the Seas is 182 square feet, not including a 50-square-foot balcony.

As I mentioned above, there is one way to get a glimpse of the outside world from an inside cabin on a Royal Caribbean ship. In one of the great cruising innovations, Royal Caribbean has created some inside cabins with a "virtual balcony" that offers a view of the outside.

Related: The upside of booking an inside cabin

The virtual balcony is a high-definition screen built into one end of the windowless room that projects a real-time view of the ocean outside. It's designed to make you think you're actually in a balcony cabin with a view, and it is quite realistic-looking.

Just don't try to walk through the faux balcony opening.

Ocean-view cabins on Royal Caribbean ships

With an ocean-view cabin, you get a window looking out to the sea but not an attached balcony where you can sit outside and enjoy the fresh air.

Royal Caribbean's newer ships have relatively few such cabins, as cabins that face outward are usually built with balconies now.

Related: The 6 classes of Royal Caribbean ships, explained

In general, ocean-view cabins on Royal Caribbean ships are bigger than inside cabins and around the same size as balcony cabins (when comparing their interior space). But you can sometimes find ocean-view cabins that are significantly bigger than a typical balcony cabin. This is sometimes the case for ocean-view cabins at the front or back of ships, where there can be relatively large but oddly shaped rooms with windows but no balconies.

Royal Caribbean has built ocean-view cabins at the front of some ships that incorporate the angled space in the front part of the superstructure. As a result, they have sloping windows, and a bit more floor space around these windows (see the image below).

Royal Caribbean's Radiance-class ships, notably, have a category called Ultra Spacious Ocean View; it includes cabins at the front and back of the ship that measure 319 square feet — nearly twice as much as the typical ocean-view cabin on the vessels (which measures 170 square feet). Each of these bigger ocean-view cabins has two twin beds that can convert into a royal king bed, one double sofa bed and either one Pullman bed and one twin bed or two Pullman beds.

These bigger cabins can hold up to six people, making them popular with families.

Balcony cabins on Royal Caribbean ships

Balcony cabins are what everyone wants these days, and Royal Caribbean is delivering, with huge numbers of balcony cabins on all its newest ships. On the line's five Oasis-class ships, which began debuting in 2009, around 65% of rooms are balcony cabins. On the line's even-newer Quantum-class ships, which began debuting in 2014, the percentage is even higher — around 69%.

The typical Royal Caribbean balcony cabin has a contemporary look, with clean lines and relatively minimalist furniture. It will typically offer twin beds that can be converted into a royal king bed, a desk and a sofa that often pulls out into an additional bed. It typically measures around 180 square feet, not including the balcony area.

A few Royal Caribbean ships have balcony cabins that face toward the vessel's center, not toward the outside. If this seems like a paradox, it is. It results from an unusual design feature of one series of Royal Caribbean ships, the Oasis class.

Related: 6 reasons to book a balcony cabin

The Oasis-class vessels are so wide that they have room for an interior, open-air "Boardwalk" amusement area at their backs lined with inward-facing cabins. On Oasis-class ships, you thus can get a balcony cabin facing the sea or a balcony cabin facing inward, toward the Boardwalk area.

Suites on Royal Caribbean ships

Royal Caribbean is known for having some of the cruise world's most spectacular suites, including (on some ships) suites that sprawl over two decks.

Royal Caribbean isn't a luxury cruise line. However, the top suites on its vessels offer an experience keeping with what you'll find on some of the world's top luxury ships. Depending on the ship, these suites can come with such perks as private butlers (called Royal Genies) who attend to your every need, access to a private restaurant, access to a private suite lounge and sun deck, reserved seating in entertainment venues and priority boarding and disembarkation.

Related: 7 reasons you should splurge on a suite on your next cruise

They also have a much higher price tag than the typical Royal Caribbean cabin. These rooms are aimed at well-heeled travelers who, for whatever reason, prefer the sort of mass-market, megaship cruise experience that Royal Caribbean offers over the more intimate, white-glove experience you'll find on the small ships that luxury lines operate.

As noted above, there is a wide range of suite categories on some Royal Caribbean ships. Among the line's most spectacular suites are the Royal Loft Suites on some of the newer Royal Caribbean vessels. Two decks high, they offer a soaring living room space framed by a glass wall that offers stunning views.

Related: The 5 most spectacular suites at sea

The Royal Loft Suites on Oasis-class ships measure nearly 1,800 square feet and feature two bedrooms, a large living room with a soaring ceiling and a dining area. The Royal Loft Suites on Quantum-class vessels are nearly 1,640 square feet and also sprawl over two decks.

Royal Caribbean is also famous for its Ultimate Family Suite : a two-deck-high suite complex designed for families with young kids. It offers a slide from a second-floor kids room to the main level and extras like a foosball table. Currently, there are only Ultimate Family Suites on three Royal Caribbean ships: Wonder of the Seas , Symphony of the Seas and Spectrum of the Seas.

Note that these family suites often carry an astronomical price, falling in the $20,000-a-week range.

Smaller suites on Royal Caribbean ships include Grand Loft Suites, which can measure around 700 to 850 square feet. That's much smaller than the Royal Loft Suites but about four times the size of a standard balcony cabin.

Bottom line

Royal Caribbean has something for everyone when it comes to cabins on its ships. You can book a small, inside cabin that will get you on board one of the line's vessels at a very reasonable cost, or a huge suite that will set you back many times more but come with all sorts of perks.

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What to Know About Sailing With a Third Person in a Cruise Cabin

Not sure what to expect when sailing with a third person in a cruise cabin?

Even if you’ve never taken a cruise before, there’s one thing you might already know — cruise ship cabins are normally pretty small. Unless you’re sailing in a mega-suite (and spending some serious cash to do so), then you can expect a room that’s between 150-180 square feet. That’s way smaller than most hotel rooms.

Even so, cruise ship cabins are thoughtfully designed. While they are small, they make the most of the space. Two people they will feel comfortable with plenty of room.

But what if you add a third person into the cabin? You might not realize it, but while most people cruise with two to a cabin, you can cruise with three people… and even a fourth cabinmate.

For some passengers this is a great way to sail with family or friends, without the cost of an additional room. Before you book that room for three, however, there are some things you should know about setting sail with more than two people in a cabin.

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Rates Are Much Cheaper For a Third Person

The best thing about sailing with a third person is that the extra can usually sail for much cheaper than the first two people in the cabin.

You might have noticed that the headline prices of cruises aren’t actually what you’ll pay for the entire trip. Instead, they are quoted as the price per person, based on double occupancy. So a $399 headline price is actually $798 for the cabin — and that’s before port fees, taxes, and gratuity is added in.

But while the first two people in the cabin will pay the full price, the third person pays a discounted rate. How much cheaper?

We looked at an example Carnival cruise out of Galveston. The headline price for the trip in a balcony cabin was $974 per person. That’s what the first two passengers would pay. But the price for the third person in the cabin? Only $129, plus taxes and fees.

That’s right. The cost for a third passenger was $845 cheaper for this trip . That’s a huge savings and an unbeatable bargain for any vacation.

Gratuities Still Apply to Third Passengers

While the price break on the fare of a third passenger is nice, one area where they don’t get any relief is in gratuities. Third passengers pay the same gratuities as any other guest . This makes sense for the dining rooms; after all, even if you are the third person in a cabin you are still eating just like anyone else. But the gratuities also apply to the cabin steward who takes care of the room, even though they still have the same amount of space to tidy up.

So if the gratuities are $16 per person, per day, three people would pay a total $48 each day. You’ll want to factor this into your budget for the cruise.

Where the Third Person Will Sleep in the Cabin

Where will that third person sleep in the room? Cruise ships do a great job of maximizing space, and that includes things like beds that drop down from the ceiling and/or couches that turn into beds to sleep another person.

If your third person is an infant or a toddler, then the cruise line can supply you with with a crib (sometimes a “Pack-and-Play”) for your kiddo to sleep.

Interior Cabins Are Going to Be Especially Cramped

It’s obvious, but we should still mention that your cabin — especially if you are in a small interior room with no balcony space — will be cramped.

Cabins are designed with two passengers in mind. With three, things get crowded. If you plan on sailing with three, we’d suggest a balcony cabin (which offers a little outside space) and/or plan on spending time in the public areas around the ship or in port.

Sailing with two adults and a younger child is fine for an interior cabin. Older kids or a third adult? You’ll want more space than interior rooms provide.

A Third Passenger Could Make Drink Packages Expensive

While a third passenger can sail for cheap, there’s one area that could end up costing a lot more money — drink packages. Drink packages have become popular among cruise passengers. You pay one set fee and can drink your fill. For between $60-$100 per day (plus gratuity), you can just ride up to the bar and get pretty much anything you want, from cocktails to beer to wine to soda and more.

However, if one adult in the cabin buys the alcoholic drink package, then most cruise lines make each adult in the cabin purchase it as well . If everyone planned to buy the package anyway, this is no big deal. But if there is a person that won’t get their money’s worth, then the drink package is a huge added expense to cruising with another person.

Sometimes There Are Sales for Free Third Passengers

We’ve already mentioned that third passengers can sail from cheap. But what if they sail for free? We’ve seen sales from the major cruise lines where third (and fourth) passengers can sail for free. For instance, Norwegian’s Free at Sea offer has a perk that extra passengers beyond the second guest can sail for free. We’ve also seen Royal Caribbean offer cruises where kids sail for free. It’s a great way to save even more when having an extra person in the cabin.

Some Helpful Things to Pack With a Third Passenger in the Cabin

If you are sailing with more than two people in the room, there are some things we think are a must to pack with you in order to make life bearable for all involved.

First, we’d suggest an outlet adapter like this one that plugs in one outlet and provides more spaces. Cruise ships are known for having limited outlet space, even for a couple of people in a room. Add another and you’ll definitely be fighting over plugs. 

Next, we’d suggest bringing a hangable shoe organizer . These can hang over the bathroom door and provide a number of pockets that allow you to store small items ranging from sunscreen to sunglasses to toothbrushes. With that many people, in the cabin, there’s a lot of items that can lead to a cluttered room.

Finally, magnetic hooks like these are a good idea. The walls and ceiling in the cabin are actually metal. These hooks attach and provide a spot to hang things like swimsuits to dry.

With more people in the cabin, it’s important to make the most of your space.

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At least sometimes, cruise lines will advertise a price per person for a room, say $799 per person plus port fees, gratuity, and taxes, and then when you add in a child during their promotion for kids sail free, the cruise line won’t offer you a room for $799 per person and will instead force you to get a different room, for example $1,400 per person. So the child is actually more expensive per person than the first 2 occupants would have been in the $799 per person room.

What is the price on a Alaskan cruise for the 3rd person on the Ovation of the seas on June 17 for a inside or oceanview cabin?

You can price that out on Royal Caribbean’s website. Just select three people when looking at the cabin.

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3 adults in an inside cabin ?

By woodyuk , February 4, 2016 in Royal Caribbean International

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I am after a little advice. We are a couple in our late 30's.

We were booked on Harmony of the seas in July for a week from Barcelona, but worked out after flights and hotel the same amount of money could be spent on independence of the seas / Navigator of the seas from Southampton for 14 days around the same time. So we are planning to change our booking. I know we might lose our deposit, but was only £50 each.

My partner's family are also going.

Her sister (35) is now single, and so looking to share room with her parents (in their late 60's) I see you can have 3 adults in a cabin, but how practical is this for 14 nights. I assume families do this with children. I did look for a single cabin for her, but they want £3k for 1 person for an inside cabin which works out more than 2 people sharing!.

So we are a party of 5. 2 adults (in 60's), sister (35) and myself and my partner (late 30's). I have done a lot of P&O cruises before, but they had never cruised until last year when we went on anthem of the seas for 4 nights and loved it!

So 2 questions and sorry if too much info ;-)

1. Would you go on Navigator of the seas or independence of the seas? The only thing leading me to navigator of the seas is that I think it has the Zoom high speed internet we got on Anthem of seas (which was amazing!) plus had a newer refit.

2. Advice on 3 adults in an inside or balcony cabin? Do you get another bed or do you sleep on the sofa?

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Currently, Navigator and Indy have the same, non-Voom internet. All ships are supposed to have Voom later this year, but I've not seen any schedule for that.

Goes Cruising

I have done inside cabins with 3-4 in the cabin more than once. You have to cooperate, but it's very doable. Cabins that sleep 3-4 either have a bed that pulls down from overhead, or the sofa bed. I would not book the sofabed. It's in the way, and not comfortable. As long as your SIL is ok with the upper bunk, they should do fine.

cincicruisers

I would choose the longer cruise. As far as the cabin a lot of folks do 3-4 in a cabin.

Desert Cruizers

I would find an inside very tight with 3 adults and all your luggage & 1 bathroom for 14 days. i believe the overall average size of an inside is around 165 sq feet including the bathroom.

There are two "sofa" beds. One can supposedly accommodate two and I find it quite comfortable for 1. The other should be banned.

I do not particularly like Pullman style beds. I find the climb up the ladder "interesting" and the bed claustrophobic. Since the bed is usually above the other bed(s), differing bed times may disturb those sleeping.

Three in an inside while doable, would not be my choice. Especially for 14 days.

On the other hand, a D1 or D2 balcony cabin with large sofa bed is reasonably comfortable for 3.

It should work.. you really only sleep in the room..

Have the girls take showers first.. (we take longer to get ready..)

Luggage can fit under the bed or in the closet.

If anyone can share body wash, shampoo, conditioner, toothpaste..and etc would save on space.

Have laundry done one time to save on clothing..

Have done 3 adults in a cabin on smaller ships. The upper bunk (pullman) is fine as long as the people on the lower beds don't mind not being able to push the beds together. (On some ships, the person in the top bunk can't get down if the beds are together).

The only other piece of advice is you may have to co-ordinate bathroom time. An alternative to that is using the showers in the spa/gym.

I have done an inside for 14 days with hubby and mother-in-law. It was interesting, but doable.

You get to know everyone very well! The single bathroom was sometimes a struggle, as was the issue of dressing with men and women both there.

If you have the bed that pulls down, make sure the person sleeping there doesn't mind barefoot climbing the ladder (MIL had tender feet and didn't do well with it at all). It was a Princess ship so this could be different on RCCL.

Hopefully nobody (or both of them as was my case) snores much.

Lastly, air freshener for the cabin and especially the bathroom was a necessity.

No way would I share with another adult (other than spouse!)...no way!

MommaBear55

My DH and I have done it for 5 days with our adult daughter. That was my limit for togetherness.

Havingfun2010

Of course it's doable. People do it all the time. That is why they have the extra beds. You can't book a triple/quad w/o 3 or 4 in the room. Until they run out of rooms, than they start filling them all.

MISSSNOOPYGIRL

I have done an inside for 14 days with hubby and mother-in-law. It was interesting, but doable.   You get to know everyone very well! The single bathroom was sometimes a struggle, as was the issue of dressing with men and women both there.   If you have the bed that pulls down, make sure the person sleeping there doesn't mind barefoot climbing the ladder (MIL had tender feet and didn't do well with it at all). It was a Princess ship so this could be different on RCCL.   Hopefully nobody (or both of them as was my case) snores much.   Lastly, air freshener for the cabin and especially the bathroom was a necessity.

MOTHER IN LAW???? NEVER!

and yes you do see a new side of people. The good, the bad, the TMI, and the ugly.

Personally it would be too stressful for me with the space limitations. Hubby is all I can take.

I to, think it would be really tight! You might want to look into a bigger suite where there is more room. :)

Hi   I am after a little advice. We are a couple in our late 30's.   We were booked on Harmony of the seas in July for a week from Barcelona, but worked out after flights and hotel the same amount of money could be spent on independence of the seas / Navigator of the seas from Southampton for 14 days around the same time. So we are planning to change our booking. I know we might lose our deposit, but was only £50 each.   My partner's family are also going.   Her sister (35) is now single, and so looking to share room with her parents (in their late 60's) I see you can have 3 adults in a cabin, but how practical is this for 14 nights. I assume families do this with children. I did look for a single cabin for her, but they want £3k for 1 person for an inside cabin which works out more than 2 people sharing!.   So we are a party of 5. 2 adults (in 60's), sister (35) and myself and my partner (late 30's). I have done a lot of P&O cruises before, but they had never cruised until last year when we went on anthem of the seas for 4 nights and loved it!   So 2 questions and sorry if too much info ;-)   1. Would you go on Navigator of the seas or independence of the seas? The only thing leading me to navigator of the seas is that I think it has the Zoom high speed internet we got on Anthem of seas (which was amazing!) plus had a newer refit.   2. Advice on 3 adults in an inside or balcony cabin? Do you get another bed or do you sleep on the sofa?   Thanks

I just got off the Independence of the Seas today. I am around the same age as your sister in law and shared an inside cabin this week with my parents who are the same age as your in-laws.

My parents got the large bed and I slept on a bunk. The room was a little bit small, but we made it work. There is a sofa that seats 2 people, but it did not open up into a bed in our cabin. We also had a chair at the desk/ vanity.

We saved quite a bit of money going on an inside cabin. It was very do-able for 3 adults to share an inside cabin. My parents would get up earlier and go to breakfast first, so I would use that time to shower and get dressed. By the time they were back, they got use of the room and bathroom and I headed up for breakfast and a walk.

IOS is a lovely ship and the food was good. Although I was able to get wifi on my Amazon Kindle tablet, I was never able to connect to wifi using my iPhone while onboard.

Ps: Definitely invest in a better air freshner, like Febreze, for the bathroom as well as Poo-pouri ( can be found on amazon or at Bed,Bath, and Beyond stores).

My DH and I shared an inside cabin with our daughter numerous times, the last time when she was 18. It worked for us since she was on a different schedule and was either sleeping or out of the cabin when we needed to shower and get dressed.

Fourteen days is a long time for togetherness! What was the quote from Modern Family?

"You know what they say, houseguests start to stink after 3 days like dead bodies."-Gloria

Admittedly not the same situation, but.....14 days is a loooooong time! :) I agree that febreze and poopourri would be worth packing, and I've seen many times on these boards that when the cabin is full, the showers in the spa/sauna area can be a lifesaver. (In some cases, they are awesome!) I would hope you can at least get a balcony -- having a view and a place to get away might make things a little less claustrophobic. When we cruised with our two boys in a balcony I think the couch pulled out into a bed...but not a comfy one. The couch might be better for just one person. I think it depends on the room you get.

Good luck, and whichever option, 14 days is also a fabulous amount of time to cruise!

I would suggest against it for a 14 night cruise. I shared a room with my sisters 2 years ago. We were all young to mid-20's and it was OK.... definitely tough... but we were also on the same schedule since it was a family of 5 vacation. If you can alternate with showering, dressing etc, might not be too bad since you are barely in your room. Maybe a balcony room would be cheaper than her own room but would at least FEEL a bit bigger for everyone??

HappyCruiser54

I only did 3 adults in one cabin one time...it was an inside as that was all that was available. It was not a very good experience. We took turned using the upper bunk....what a hassle getting in and out of. And two of us were hot and one was cold...so we would set the air on (Caribbean Cruise) and during the night the other girl would turn it off since she was cold. In hindsight we should have had better communications prior to cruise. Just make sure ahead of time you work out who is using the bunk....also shower times....and temp for cabin....sounds like little things but it does make a difference. Having said all this we still had a great cruise...but then I always do!

We have done a 14 and a 7 inside with daughter and boyfriend we got to know him well.

You can have some use showers in spa gym area bigger if pressed for time. All our cruises are mostly for 4 either inside or balcony. I snore badly so I always bring a supply of ear plugs for those offended. Even when doing an inside for 2 we have beds separated otherwise you have to crawl down the bed to get out.

Inside will be very tight, get a balcony room with a sofa bed.

Cruise_Christy

We are doing 13 days in a room with my mother (so yes, my husband has agreed to 13 days sleeping in the same room as his mother in law..) in August but there is just no way we would do it in an inside. We do spend some time in the cabin, and it is just too awkward to get dressed and ready and relax in such a small space. Plus there is no way she would sleep on a pull out upper bed and I personally wouldn't either, and most insides have those to sofa beds.

I would strongly recommend a balcony room with a sofa bed. There will be a curtain between the sofa bed and the double to give some privacy for getting dressed etc. and it will be much easier and far cheaper than booking an inside + a single.

That being said only the people travelling know what they're comfortable with. If they are literally only going to be going to the room at 11pm and leaving it at 8am in the next morning as they plan to be out and about all day, well sleeping in a small space isn't the end of the world. It's just the comfort level of the pullman that will be a factor.

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5 best Royal Caribbean ships for kids

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Royal Caribbean is unarguably one of the best cruise lines for kids. But that doesn’t mean all its ships are equally good for kids of all ages and interests.

Every ship in Royal Caribbean ’s fleet has kid-friendly attractions, such as pools, an outdoor movie screen, a rock-climbing wall and a kids club with age-appropriate activities. The line’s oldest and smallest ships don’t offer much more than that — while the newest and biggest ships in the fleet have many more amusements. These include splash parks and waterslides, ice skating rinks, bumper cars, zip lines, laser tag and fast casual restaurants serving Mexican food and Johnny Rockets burgers and milkshakes.

Royal Caribbean excels at offering something for everyone on its ships. It’s hard to find an age group that wouldn’t find something to love about the line’s newest ships, such as Wonder of the Seas (the current world’s largest ship) or Icon of the Seas (which will steal the title when it debuts in January 2024).

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As a quick guide, the line’s Vision- and Radiance-class ships have the fewest kid-friendly attractions. Voyager- and Freedom-class ships offer a sweet spot of plenty of family fun with a more manageable size. Oasis- and Icon-class ships are giant megaships packed with restaurants, shows and amusements aimed at kids and families, while Quantum-class ships offer a more sophisticated and high-tech approach to big-ship family fun.

But if we absolutely had to choose the best Royal Caribbean ships for kids, here are the ships we’d pick.

Best Royal Caribbean ship for babies and toddlers: Freedom of the Seas

I cruised with a 1-year-old to Alaska on Rhapsody of the Seas, one of Royal’s oldest and smallest ships, and it wasn’t my best cruise by a long shot. If you’re planning to cruise with little kids, my advice is to start with a short, warm-weather sailing on a ship that caters to the youngest cruisers.

On Royal Caribbean, that means picking a ship that has both a Royal Babies & Tots nursery and a Baby Splash Zone (because kids in swim diapers are not allowed in the main pool and water play areas). For my money, I’d go with Freedom of the Seas. It has both of those baby staples and plenty of restaurants and activities for the adults to enjoy as well. Your preschooler may enjoy the parades down the Royal Promenade followed by a scoop of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream. (Freedom is one of six Royal Caribbean ships with their own Ben & Jerry’s outlet.)

However, Freedom is not as huge as an Oasis-class ship (which have great offerings for the 3-and-under diapered set), so you’ll have less FOMO when you’re stuck in the cabin after early bedtime. And the halls aren’t quite as long when your new walker decides the best activity on the ship is pushing something up and down the cabin hallways. (Yes, I’ve been there, done that.)

Related: The 6 classes of Royal Caribbean cruise ships, explained

Plus, Freedom of the Seas sails mainly short three- and four-night Bahamas cruises to Nassau and Perfect Day at CocoCay , Royal Caribbean’s private island. If your kids are like mine, beaches are fascinating places to play, and CocoCay has a calm bay, pirate ship-themed play area, splash park and a shallow-entry pool perfect for babies and toddlers. Plus, conveniently located complimentary barbecues and tram services make it easier for parents to manage a day at the beach with their kiddos.

Best Royal Caribbean ship for little kids (ages 3-7): Icon of the Seas

Royal Caribbean’s newest ship Icon of the Seas isn’t debuting until January 2024, but I’m already positive it’s the best in the fleet for younger kids. That’s because Royal Caribbean has built the entire ship to target young families .

The line has created a happy place for parents and kids under the age of 7 or so. It’s called Surfside and is an open-air space located at the back of the ship. It will feature a splash area with junior waterslides for kids and an infinity pool for adults. It will also have a beach-themed carousel, dry playground, arcade, multiple family-friendly restaurants (so you don’t have to go far when hunger strikes) and a mommy-and-me cocktail/mocktail bar.

This Deck 7 neighborhood is also a hop, skip and a jump away from the Adventure Ocean kids club on Deck 6.

Related: The best cruise ships for kids

Even better for all those little legs, Surfside will be surrounded by family-themed cabins and suites, many with separate sleeping areas for kids and adults. You won’t have to carry your tuckered-out tyke far when they’re ready for naptime in the cabin.

Because Icon of the Seas is a larger, reimagined version of Royal Caribbean’s beloved Oasis-class ships, families with young children can also enjoy ice skating and acrobatic diving shows, tons of family-friendly dining around the ship and top-deck attractions such as pools and minigolf.

Icon of the Seas will sail family-favorite weeklong itineraries to the Caribbean from the port of Miami . Each cruise also stops at Perfect Day at CocoCay.

Best Royal Caribbean ship for older kids (ages 8-12): Wonder of the Seas

I took my daughter on Wonder of the Seas for her eighth birthday, and I can attest that Wonder (and its Oasis-class siblings) are ideal for older kids. These megaships have so much going on, your kids will never be bored. Or, as soon as they’re finished with one activity, they have several more to turn to next.

Some of the Wonder of the Seas activities have age or size limits, which is why littler kids can’t fully appreciate all it has to offer. For example, my daughter could go rock climbing, play in the splash park and multiple pools, ride the waterslides and the 10-decks-long dry slide. But she was just slightly too short and light to boogie board on the FlowRider or try the zip line. The minimum height requirements are usually 48 or 52 inches.

Related: Why Wonder of the Seas is awesome for families

The Studio B ice skating show and original musical “Effectors II” are perfect for older kids. My daughter was especially wowed by the slackliners, aerialists, dancers and divers we saw at the AquaTheater. Kids ages 8 to 12 may also enjoy Wonder’s escape room, sports court, minigolf course, carousel, promenade parades and arcade.

And let’s not forget about the many fast casual dining venues on the ship. My daughter would have dined on hot dogs and milkshakes at Johnny Rockets every day if I were willing to pay for it. She also enjoyed quesadillas at El Loco Fresh near all the fun top-deck attractions, the Campfire Cookie dessert at Playmakers and browsing the selections at the buffet. Other kid-friendly venues that got her thumbs up included the new-on-Wonder Mason Jar southern-themed specialty restaurant and pizza at both the free Sorrento’s and the extra-fee Giovanni’s.

Wonder of the Seas mainly sails seven-night Caribbean cruises, which is a perfect vacation length for this age group. Book those school-vacation weeks early as they’re popular dates.

Best Royal Caribbean ship for tweens and teens: Odyssey of the Seas

Tweens and teens would certainly enjoy all of the ships already mentioned, but sometimes they’re looking for a vacation that’s a little cooler and perhaps more high-tech. That’s why Odyssey of the Seas is our pick for the best Royal Caribbean cruise ship for middle and high school kids.

Odyssey of the Seas and its Quantum-class sister ships have some cool attractions not found on other Royal Caribbean vessels. Teens will love trying the RipCord by iFly skydiving simulator and bouncing on the Sky Pad VR bungee trampoline. At the ship’s SeaPlex, they can get active with indoor basketball, table tennis and bumper cars, or get their game on at the arcade or virtual-reality play space. If they work up an appetite, they can grab burgers at Playmakers nearby.

The ship also features Two70, a cool hangout by day (grab a bite at the cafe and curl up somewhere away from parents to check your social media feeds) and a high-tech performance venue at night. The NorthStar is a sightseeing pod that rises high above the ship on a mechanical arm; teens can snap a selfie while up there.

Related: The 5 best cruises for teens

Social 180 is the tween and teen hangout on Odyssey of the Seas, and it’s extra cool given that it has both an indoor lounge and an outdoor patio. Plus, the ship has plenty of teen-friendly Royal Caribbean fan favorites, such as the FlowRider, rock climbing wall, laser tag and outdoor movies.

Tweens and teens may also be ready to appreciate Royal Caribbean’s diverse array of specialty restaurants including sushi at Izumi, steaks at Chops Grille and Italian at Giovanni’s. Plus, they can grab quick bites at El Loco Fresh and Sorrento’s.

Odyssey of the Seas sails a mix of weeklong and longer Caribbean sailings, as well as Greek Islands and Holy Land cruises. This gives families more options for more adventurous travel with teens who are ready to handle longer trips or flights to Europe.

Best Royal Caribbean ship for families heading to Alaska: Quantum of the Seas

Because most of our family picks are for ships sailing to the Caribbean and Bahamas, it seemed like an oversight to leave out Alaska. Alaska is an amazing destination for a family vacation with kids, and Royal Caribbean bases four ships up north every summer. But some are better for families than others.

Our top pick for families sailing to Alaska is Quantum of the Seas (though nearly identical Quantum-class sister ship Ovation of the Seas is a close second). Quantum sails seven-night round-trip cruises from the accessible port of Seattle, perfect for families that can’t take more than a week’s vacation and don’t want to spend the time and money flying to Alaska to board a ship.

Related: The best Alaska cruise for every type of traveler

Quantum of the Seas has many of the same amenities as the aforementioned Odyssey of the Seas, which are ideal for Alaska. Indoor activities like kids clubs, the sky diving simulator and SeaPlex will always be usable even if the northern weather gets chilly or rainy. The North Star sightseeing ride is much more appealing when you can take in Alaska’s stunning scenery rather than mere stretches of Caribbean sea. Two70 makes for an equally attractive indoor observation lounge when the ship is cruising through fjords and by glaciers.

Quantum of the Seas get the nod from Ovation because it has two activities Ovation lacks: an escape room and laser tag.

Bottom line

It’s hard to go wrong with any Royal Caribbean cruise ship when you’re planning a family vacation. The bigger the ship, the more amazing kid attractions you’ll find on board. I’d recommend sticking with Voyager class and newer ships when traveling with kids, but even the smaller ships have kids clubs, pools and other family-friendly activities.

So when all is said and done, the best Royal Caribbean ship for kids is likely whichever ship in the fleet your family happens to be on!

Planning a cruise? Start with these stories:

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Crying Myself to Sleep on the Biggest Cruise Ship Ever

Seven agonizing nights aboard the Icon of the Seas

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Updated at 2:44 p.m. ET on April 6, 2024.

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MY FIRST GLIMPSE of Royal Caribbean’s Icon of the Seas, from the window of an approaching Miami cab, brings on a feeling of vertigo, nausea, amazement, and distress. I shut my eyes in defense, as my brain tells my optic nerve to try again.

The ship makes no sense, vertically or horizontally. It makes no sense on sea, or on land, or in outer space. It looks like a hodgepodge of domes and minarets, tubes and canopies, like Istanbul had it been designed by idiots. Vibrant, oversignifying colors are stacked upon other such colors, decks perched over still more decks; the only comfort is a row of lifeboats ringing its perimeter. There is no imposed order, no cogent thought, and, for those who do not harbor a totalitarian sense of gigantomania, no visual mercy. This is the biggest cruise ship ever built, and I have been tasked with witnessing its inaugural voyage.

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“Author embarks on their first cruise-ship voyage” has been a staple of American essay writing for almost three decades, beginning with David Foster Wallace’s “A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again,” which was first published in 1996 under the title “Shipping Out.” Since then, many admirable writers have widened and diversified the genre. Usually the essayist commissioned to take to the sea is in their first or second flush of youth and is ready to sharpen their wit against the hull of the offending vessel. I am 51, old and tired, having seen much of the world as a former travel journalist, and mostly what I do in both life and prose is shrug while muttering to my imaginary dachshund, “This too shall pass.” But the Icon of the Seas will not countenance a shrug. The Icon of the Seas is the Linda Loman of cruise ships, exclaiming that attention must be paid. And here I am in late January with my one piece of luggage and useless gray winter jacket and passport, zipping through the Port of Miami en route to the gangway that will separate me from the bulk of North America for more than seven days, ready to pay it in full.

The aforementioned gangway opens up directly onto a thriving mall (I will soon learn it is imperiously called the “Royal Promenade”), presently filled with yapping passengers beneath a ceiling studded with balloons ready to drop. Crew members from every part of the global South, as well as a few Balkans, are shepherding us along while pressing flutes of champagne into our hands. By a humming Starbucks, I drink as many of these as I can and prepare to find my cabin. I show my blue Suite Sky SeaPass Card (more on this later, much more) to a smiling woman from the Philippines, and she tells me to go “aft.” Which is where, now? As someone who has rarely sailed on a vessel grander than the Staten Island Ferry, I am confused. It turns out that the aft is the stern of the ship, or, for those of us who don’t know what a stern or an aft are, its ass. The nose of the ship, responsible for separating the waves before it, is also called a bow, and is marked for passengers as the FWD , or forward. The part of the contemporary sailing vessel where the malls are clustered is called the midship. I trust that you have enjoyed this nautical lesson.

I ascend via elevator to my suite on Deck 11. This is where I encounter my first terrible surprise. My suite windows and balcony do not face the ocean. Instead, they look out onto another shopping mall. This mall is the one that’s called Central Park, perhaps in homage to the Olmsted-designed bit of greenery in the middle of my hometown. Although on land I would be delighted to own a suite with Central Park views, here I am deeply depressed. To sail on a ship and not wake up to a vast blue carpet of ocean? Unthinkable.

Allow me a brief preamble here. The story you are reading was commissioned at a moment when most staterooms on the Icon were sold out. In fact, so enthralled by the prospect of this voyage were hard-core mariners that the ship’s entire inventory of guest rooms (the Icon can accommodate up to 7,600 passengers, but its inaugural journey was reduced to 5,000 or so for a less crowded experience) was almost immediately sold out. Hence, this publication was faced with the shocking prospect of paying nearly $19,000 to procure for this solitary passenger an entire suite—not including drinking expenses—all for the privilege of bringing you this article. But the suite in question doesn’t even have a view of the ocean! I sit down hard on my soft bed. Nineteen thousand dollars for this .

The viewless suite does have its pluses. In addition to all the Malin+Goetz products in my dual bathrooms, I am granted use of a dedicated Suite Deck lounge; access to Coastal Kitchen, a superior restaurant for Suites passengers; complimentary VOOM SM Surf & Stream (“the fastest Internet at Sea”) “for one device per person for the whole cruise duration”; a pair of bathrobes (one of which comes prestained with what looks like a large expectoration by the greenest lizard on Earth); and use of the Grove Suite Sun, an area on Decks 18 and 19 with food and deck chairs reserved exclusively for Suite passengers. I also get reserved seating for a performance of The Wizard of Oz , an ice-skating tribute to the periodic table, and similar provocations. The very color of my Suite Sky SeaPass Card, an oceanic blue as opposed to the cloying royal purple of the standard non-Suite passenger, will soon provoke envy and admiration. But as high as my status may be, there are those on board who have much higher status still, and I will soon learn to bow before them.

In preparation for sailing, I have “priced in,” as they say on Wall Street, the possibility that I may come from a somewhat different monde than many of the other cruisers. Without falling into stereotypes or preconceptions, I prepare myself for a friendly outspokenness on the part of my fellow seafarers that may not comply with modern DEI standards. I believe in meeting people halfway, and so the day before flying down to Miami, I visited what remains of Little Italy to purchase a popular T-shirt that reads DADDY’S LITTLE MEATBALL across the breast in the colors of the Italian flag. My wife recommended that I bring one of my many T-shirts featuring Snoopy and the Peanuts gang, as all Americans love the beagle and his friends. But I naively thought that my meatball T-shirt would be more suitable for conversation-starting. “Oh, and who is your ‘daddy’?” some might ask upon seeing it. “And how long have you been his ‘little meatball’?” And so on.

I put on my meatball T-shirt and head for one of the dining rooms to get a late lunch. In the elevator, I stick out my chest for all to read the funny legend upon it, but soon I realize that despite its burnished tricolor letters, no one takes note. More to the point, no one takes note of me. Despite my attempts at bridge building, the very sight of me (small, ethnic, without a cap bearing the name of a football team) elicits no reaction from other passengers. Most often, they will small-talk over me as if I don’t exist. This brings to mind the travails of David Foster Wallace , who felt so ostracized by his fellow passengers that he retreated to his cabin for much of his voyage. And Wallace was raised primarily in the Midwest and was a much larger, more American-looking meatball than I am. If he couldn’t talk to these people, how will I? What if I leave this ship without making any friends at all, despite my T-shirt? I am a social creature, and the prospect of seven days alone and apart is saddening. Wallace’s stateroom, at least, had a view of the ocean, a kind of cheap eternity.

Worse awaits me in the dining room. This is a large, multichandeliered room where I attended my safety training (I was shown how to put on a flotation vest; it is a very simple procedure). But the maître d’ politely refuses me entry in an English that seems to verge on another language. “I’m sorry, this is only for pendejos ,” he seems to be saying. I push back politely and he repeats himself. Pendejos ? Piranhas? There’s some kind of P-word to which I am not attuned. Meanwhile elderly passengers stream right past, powered by their limbs, walkers, and electric wheelchairs. “It is only pendejo dining today, sir.” “But I have a suite!” I say, already starting to catch on to the ship’s class system. He examines my card again. “But you are not a pendejo ,” he confirms. I am wearing a DADDY’S LITTLE MEATBALL T-shirt, I want to say to him. I am the essence of pendejo .

Eventually, I give up and head to the plebeian buffet on Deck 15, which has an aquatic-styled name I have now forgotten. Before gaining entry to this endless cornucopia of reheated food, one passes a washing station of many sinks and soap dispensers, and perhaps the most intriguing character on the entire ship. He is Mr. Washy Washy—or, according to his name tag, Nielbert of the Philippines—and he is dressed as a taco (on other occasions, I’ll see him dressed as a burger). Mr. Washy Washy performs an eponymous song in spirited, indeed flamboyant English: “Washy, washy, wash your hands, WASHY WASHY!” The dangers of norovirus and COVID on a cruise ship this size (a giant fellow ship was stricken with the former right after my voyage) makes Mr. Washy Washy an essential member of the crew. The problem lies with the food at the end of Washy’s rainbow. The buffet is groaning with what sounds like sophisticated dishes—marinated octopus, boiled egg with anchovy, chorizo, lobster claws—but every animal tastes tragically the same, as if there was only one creature available at the market, a “cruisipus” bred specifically for Royal Caribbean dining. The “vegetables” are no better. I pick up a tomato slice and look right through it. It tastes like cellophane. I sit alone, apart from the couples and parents with gaggles of children, as “We Are Family” echoes across the buffet space.

I may have failed to mention that all this time, the Icon of the Seas has not left port. As the fiery mango of the subtropical setting sun makes Miami’s condo skyline even more apocalyptic, the ship shoves off beneath a perfunctory display of fireworks. After the sun sets, in the far, dark distance, another circus-lit cruise ship ruptures the waves before us. We glance at it with pity, because it is by definition a smaller ship than our own. I am on Deck 15, outside the buffet and overlooking a bunch of pools (the Icon has seven of them), drinking a frilly drink that I got from one of the bars (the Icon has 15 of them), still too shy to speak to anyone, despite Sister Sledge’s assertion that all on the ship are somehow related.

Kim Brooks: On failing the family vacation

The ship’s passage away from Ron DeSantis’s Florida provides no frisson, no sense of developing “sea legs,” as the ship is too large to register the presence of waves unless a mighty wind adds significant chop. It is time for me to register the presence of the 5,000 passengers around me, even if they refuse to register mine. My fellow travelers have prepared for this trip with personally decorated T-shirts celebrating the importance of this voyage. The simplest ones say ICON INAUGURAL ’24 on the back and the family name on the front. Others attest to an over-the-top love of cruise ships: WARNING! MAY START TALKING ABOUT CRUISING . Still others are artisanally designed and celebrate lifetimes spent married while cruising (on ships, of course). A couple possibly in their 90s are wearing shirts whose backs feature a drawing of a cruise liner, two flamingos with ostensibly male and female characteristics, and the legend “ HUSBAND AND WIFE Cruising Partners FOR LIFE WE MAY NOT HAVE IT All Together BUT TOGETHER WE HAVE IT ALL .” (The words not in all caps have been written in cursive.) A real journalist or a more intrepid conversationalist would have gone up to the couple and asked them to explain the longevity of their marriage vis-à-vis their love of cruising. But instead I head to my mall suite, take off my meatball T-shirt, and allow the first tears of the cruise to roll down my cheeks slowly enough that I briefly fall asleep amid the moisture and salt.

I WAKE UP with a hangover. Oh God. Right. I cannot believe all of that happened last night. A name floats into my cobwebbed, nauseated brain: “Ayn Rand.” Jesus Christ.

I breakfast alone at the Coastal Kitchen. The coffee tastes fine and the eggs came out of a bird. The ship rolls slightly this morning; I can feel it in my thighs and my schlong, the parts of me that are most receptive to danger.

I had a dangerous conversation last night. After the sun set and we were at least 50 miles from shore (most modern cruise ships sail at about 23 miles an hour), I lay in bed softly hiccupping, my arms stretched out exactly like Jesus on the cross, the sound of the distant waves missing from my mall-facing suite, replaced by the hum of air-conditioning and children shouting in Spanish through the vents of my two bathrooms. I decided this passivity was unacceptable. As an immigrant, I feel duty-bound to complete the tasks I am paid for, which means reaching out and trying to understand my fellow cruisers. So I put on a normal James Perse T-shirt and headed for one of the bars on the Royal Promenade—the Schooner Bar, it was called, if memory serves correctly.

I sat at the bar for a martini and two Negronis. An old man with thick, hairy forearms drank next to me, very silent and Hemingwaylike, while a dreadlocked piano player tinkled out a series of excellent Elton John covers. To my right, a young white couple—he in floral shorts, she in a light, summery miniskirt with a fearsome diamond ring, neither of them in football regalia—chatted with an elderly couple. Do it , I commanded myself. Open your mouth. Speak! Speak without being spoken to. Initiate. A sentence fragment caught my ear from the young woman, “Cherry Hill.” This is a suburb of Philadelphia in New Jersey, and I had once been there for a reading at a synagogue. “Excuse me,” I said gently to her. “Did you just mention Cherry Hill? It’s a lovely place.”

As it turned out, the couple now lived in Fort Lauderdale (the number of Floridians on the cruise surprised me, given that Southern Florida is itself a kind of cruise ship, albeit one slowly sinking), but soon they were talking with me exclusively—the man potbellied, with a chin like a hard-boiled egg; the woman as svelte as if she were one of the many Ukrainian members of the crew—the elderly couple next to them forgotten. This felt as groundbreaking as the first time I dared to address an American in his native tongue, as a child on a bus in Queens (“On my foot you are standing, Mister”).

“I don’t want to talk politics,” the man said. “But they’re going to eighty-six Biden and put Michelle in.”

I considered the contradictions of his opening conversational gambit, but decided to play along. “People like Michelle,” I said, testing the waters. The husband sneered, but the wife charitably put forward that the former first lady was “more personable” than Joe Biden. “They’re gonna eighty-six Biden,” the husband repeated. “He can’t put a sentence together.”

After I mentioned that I was a writer—though I presented myself as a writer of teleplays instead of novels and articles such as this one—the husband told me his favorite writer was Ayn Rand. “Ayn Rand, she came here with nothing,” the husband said. “I work with a lot of Cubans, so …” I wondered if I should mention what I usually do to ingratiate myself with Republicans or libertarians: the fact that my finances improved after pass-through corporations were taxed differently under Donald Trump. Instead, I ordered another drink and the couple did the same, and I told him that Rand and I were born in the same city, St. Petersburg/Leningrad, and that my family also came here with nothing. Now the bonding and drinking began in earnest, and several more rounds appeared. Until it all fell apart.

Read: Gary Shteyngart on watching Russian television for five days straight

My new friend, whom I will refer to as Ayn, called out to a buddy of his across the bar, and suddenly a young couple, both covered in tattoos, appeared next to us. “He fucking punked me,” Ayn’s frat-boy-like friend called out as he put his arm around Ayn, while his sizable partner sizzled up to Mrs. Rand. Both of them had a look I have never seen on land—their eyes projecting absence and enmity in equal measure. In the ’90s, I drank with Russian soldiers fresh from Chechnya and wandered the streets of wartime Zagreb, but I have never seen such undisguised hostility toward both me and perhaps the universe at large. I was briefly introduced to this psychopathic pair, but neither of them wanted to have anything to do with me, and the tattooed woman would not even reveal her Christian name to me (she pretended to have the same first name as Mrs. Rand). To impress his tattooed friends, Ayn made fun of the fact that as a television writer, I’d worked on the series Succession (which, it would turn out, practically nobody on the ship had watched), instead of the far more palatable, in his eyes, zombie drama of last year. And then my new friends drifted away from me into an angry private conversation—“He punked me!”—as I ordered another drink for myself, scared of the dead-eyed arrivals whose gaze never registered in the dim wattage of the Schooner Bar, whose terrifying voices and hollow laughs grated like unoiled gears against the crooning of “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road.”

But today is a new day for me and my hangover. After breakfast, I explore the ship’s so-called neighborhoods . There’s the AquaDome, where one can find a food hall and an acrobatic sound-and-light aquatic show. Central Park has a premium steak house, a sushi joint, and a used Rolex that can be bought for $8,000 on land here proudly offered at $17,000. There’s the aforementioned Royal Promenade, where I had drunk with the Rands, and where a pair of dueling pianos duel well into the night. There’s Surfside, a kids’ neighborhood full of sugary garbage, which looks out onto the frothy trail that the behemoth leaves behind itself. Thrill Island refers to the collection of tubes that clutter the ass of the ship and offer passengers six waterslides and a surfing simulation. There’s the Hideaway, an adult zone that plays music from a vomit-slathered, Brit-filled Alicante nightclub circa 1996 and proves a big favorite with groups of young Latin American customers. And, most hurtfully, there’s the Suite Neighborhood.

I say hurtfully because as a Suite passenger I should be here, though my particular suite is far from the others. Whereas I am stuck amid the riffraff of Deck 11, this section is on the highborn Decks 16 and 17, and in passing, I peek into the spacious, tall-ceilinged staterooms from the hallway, dazzled by the glint of the waves and sun. For $75,000, one multifloor suite even comes with its own slide between floors, so that a family may enjoy this particular terror in private. There is a quiet splendor to the Suite Neighborhood. I see fewer stickers and signs and drawings than in my own neighborhood—for example, MIKE AND DIANA PROUDLY SERVED U.S. MARINE CORPS RETIRED . No one here needs to announce their branch of service or rank; they are simply Suites, and this is where they belong. Once again, despite my hard work and perseverance, I have been disallowed from the true American elite. Once again, I am “Not our class, dear.” I am reminded of watching The Love Boat on my grandmother’s Zenith, which either was given to her or we found in the trash (I get our many malfunctioning Zeniths confused) and whose tube got so hot, I would put little chunks of government cheese on a thin tissue atop it to give our welfare treat a pleasant, Reagan-era gooeyness. I could not understand English well enough then to catch the nuances of that seafaring program, but I knew that there were differences in the status of the passengers, and that sometimes those differences made them sad. Still, this ship, this plenty—every few steps, there are complimentary nachos or milkshakes or gyros on offer—was the fatty fuel of my childhood dreams. If only I had remained a child.

I walk around the outdoor decks looking for company. There is a middle-aged African American couple who always seem to be asleep in each other’s arms, probably exhausted from the late capitalism they regularly encounter on land. There is far more diversity on this ship than I expected. Many couples are a testament to Loving v. Virginia , and there is a large group of folks whose T-shirts read MELANIN AT SEA / IT’S THE MELANIN FOR ME . I smile when I see them, but then some young kids from the group makes Mr. Washy Washy do a cruel, caricatured “Burger Dance” (today he is in his burger getup), and I think, Well, so much for intersectionality .

At the infinity pool on Deck 17, I spot some elderly women who could be ethnic and from my part of the world, and so I jump in. I am proved correct! Many of them seem to be originally from Queens (“Corona was still great when it was all Italian”), though they are now spread across the tristate area. We bond over the way “Ron-kon-koma” sounds when announced in Penn Station.

“Everyone is here for a different reason,” one of them tells me. She and her ex-husband last sailed together four years ago to prove to themselves that their marriage was truly over. Her 15-year-old son lost his virginity to “an Irish young lady” while their ship was moored in Ravenna, Italy. The gaggle of old-timers competes to tell me their favorite cruising stories and tips. “A guy proposed in Central Park a couple of years ago”—many Royal Caribbean ships apparently have this ridiculous communal area—“and she ran away screaming!” “If you’re diamond-class, you get four drinks for free.” “A different kind of passenger sails out of Bayonne.” (This, perhaps, is racially coded.) “Sometimes, if you tip the bartender $5, your next drink will be free.”

“Everyone’s here for a different reason,” the woman whose marriage ended on a cruise tells me again. “Some people are here for bad reasons—the drinkers and the gamblers. Some people are here for medical reasons.” I have seen more than a few oxygen tanks and at least one woman clearly undergoing very serious chemo. Some T-shirts celebrate good news about a cancer diagnosis. This might be someone’s last cruise or week on Earth. For these women, who have spent months, if not years, at sea, cruising is a ritual as well as a life cycle: first love, last love, marriage, divorce, death.

Read: The last place on Earth any tourist should go

I have talked with these women for so long, tonight I promise myself that after a sad solitary dinner I will not try to seek out company at the bars in the mall or the adult-themed Hideaway. I have enough material to fulfill my duties to this publication. As I approach my orphaned suite, I run into the aggro young people who stole Mr. and Mrs. Rand away from me the night before. The tattooed apparitions pass me without a glance. She is singing something violent about “Stuttering Stanley” (a character in a popular horror movie, as I discover with my complimentary VOOM SM Surf & Stream Internet at Sea) and he’s loudly shouting about “all the money I’ve lost,” presumably at the casino in the bowels of the ship.

So these bent psychos out of a Cormac McCarthy novel are angrily inhabiting my deck. As I mewl myself to sleep, I envision a limited series for HBO or some other streamer, a kind of low-rent White Lotus , where several aggressive couples conspire to throw a shy intellectual interloper overboard. I type the scenario into my phone. As I fall asleep, I think of what the woman who recently divorced her husband and whose son became a man through the good offices of the Irish Republic told me while I was hoisting myself out of the infinity pool. “I’m here because I’m an explorer. I’m here because I’m trying something new.” What if I allowed myself to believe in her fantasy?

“YOU REALLY STARTED AT THE TOP,” they tell me. I’m at the Coastal Kitchen for my eggs and corned-beef hash, and the maître d’ has slotted me in between two couples. Fueled by coffee or perhaps intrigued by my relative youth, they strike up a conversation with me. As always, people are shocked that this is my first cruise. They contrast the Icon favorably with all the preceding liners in the Royal Caribbean fleet, usually commenting on the efficiency of the elevators that hurl us from deck to deck (as in many large corporate buildings, the elevators ask you to choose a floor and then direct you to one of many lifts). The couple to my right, from Palo Alto—he refers to his “porn mustache” and calls his wife “my cougar” because she is two years older—tell me they are “Pandemic Pinnacles.”

This is the day that my eyes will be opened. Pinnacles , it is explained to me over translucent cantaloupe, have sailed with Royal Caribbean for 700 ungodly nights. Pandemic Pinnacles took advantage of the two-for-one accrual rate of Pinnacle points during the pandemic, when sailing on a cruise ship was even more ill-advised, to catapult themselves into Pinnacle status.

Because of the importance of the inaugural voyage of the world’s largest cruise liner, more than 200 Pinnacles are on this ship, a startling number, it seems. Mrs. Palo Alto takes out a golden badge that I have seen affixed over many a breast, which reads CROWN AND ANCHOR SOCIETY along with her name. This is the coveted badge of the Pinnacle. “You should hear all the whining in Guest Services,” her husband tells me. Apparently, the Pinnacles who are not also Suites like us are all trying to use their status to get into Coastal Kitchen, our elite restaurant. Even a Pinnacle needs to be a Suite to access this level of corned-beef hash.

“We’re just baby Pinnacles,” Mrs. Palo Alto tells me, describing a kind of internal class struggle among the Pinnacle elite for ever higher status.

And now I understand what the maître d’ was saying to me on the first day of my cruise. He wasn’t saying “ pendejo .” He was saying “Pinnacle.” The dining room was for Pinnacles only, all those older people rolling in like the tide on their motorized scooters.

And now I understand something else: This whole thing is a cult. And like most cults, it can’t help but mirror the endless American fight for status. Like Keith Raniere’s NXIVM, where different-colored sashes were given out to connote rank among Raniere’s branded acolytes, this is an endless competition among Pinnacles, Suites, Diamond-Plusers, and facing-the-mall, no-balcony purple SeaPass Card peasants, not to mention the many distinctions within each category. The more you cruise, the higher your status. No wonder a section of the Royal Promenade is devoted to getting passengers to book their next cruise during the one they should be enjoying now. No wonder desperate Royal Caribbean offers (“FINAL HOURS”) crowded my email account weeks before I set sail. No wonder the ship’s jewelry store, the Royal Bling, is selling a $100,000 golden chalice that will entitle its owner to drink free on Royal Caribbean cruises for life. (One passenger was already gaming out whether her 28-year-old son was young enough to “just about earn out” on the chalice or if that ship had sailed.) No wonder this ship was sold out months before departure , and we had to pay $19,000 for a horrid suite away from the Suite Neighborhood. No wonder the most mythical hero of Royal Caribbean lore is someone named Super Mario, who has cruised so often, he now has his own working desk on many ships. This whole experience is part cult, part nautical pyramid scheme.

From the June 2014 issue: Ship of wonks

“The toilets are amazing,” the Palo Altos are telling me. “One flush and you’re done.” “They don’t understand how energy-efficient these ships are,” the husband of the other couple is telling me. “They got the LNG”—liquefied natural gas, which is supposed to make the Icon a boon to the environment (a concept widely disputed and sometimes ridiculed by environmentalists).

But I’m thinking along a different line of attack as I spear my last pallid slice of melon. For my streaming limited series, a Pinnacle would have to get killed by either an outright peasant or a Suite without an ocean view. I tell my breakfast companions my idea.

“Oh, for sure a Pinnacle would have to be killed,” Mr. Palo Alto, the Pandemic Pinnacle, says, touching his porn mustache thoughtfully as his wife nods.

“THAT’S RIGHT, IT’S your time, buddy!” Hubert, my fun-loving Panamanian cabin attendant, shouts as I step out of my suite in a robe. “Take it easy, buddy!”

I have come up with a new dressing strategy. Instead of trying to impress with my choice of T-shirts, I have decided to start wearing a robe, as one does at a resort property on land, with a proper spa and hammam. The response among my fellow cruisers has been ecstatic. “Look at you in the robe!” Mr. Rand cries out as we pass each other by the Thrill Island aqua park. “You’re living the cruise life! You know, you really drank me under the table that night.” I laugh as we part ways, but my soul cries out, Please spend more time with me, Mr. and Mrs. Rand; I so need the company .

In my white robe, I am a stately presence, a refugee from a better limited series, a one-man crossover episode. (Only Suites are granted these robes to begin with.) Today, I will try many of the activities these ships have on offer to provide their clientele with a sense of never-ceasing motion. Because I am already at Thrill Island, I decide to climb the staircase to what looks like a mast on an old-fashioned ship (terrified, because I am afraid of heights) to try a ride called “Storm Chasers,” which is part of the “Category 6” water park, named in honor of one of the storms that may someday do away with the Port of Miami entirely. Storm Chasers consists of falling from the “mast” down a long, twisting neon tube filled with water, like being the camera inside your own colonoscopy, as you hold on to the handles of a mat, hoping not to die. The tube then flops you down headfirst into a trough of water, a Royal Caribbean baptism. It both knocks my breath out and makes me sad.

In keeping with the aquatic theme, I attend a show at the AquaDome. To the sound of “Live and Let Die,” a man in a harness gyrates to and fro in the sultry air. I saw something very similar in the back rooms of the famed Berghain club in early-aughts Berlin. Soon another harnessed man is gyrating next to the first. Ja , I think to myself, I know how this ends. Now will come the fisting , natürlich . But the show soon devolves into the usual Marvel-film-grade nonsense, with too much light and sound signifying nichts . If any fisting is happening, it is probably in the Suite Neighborhood, inside a cabin marked with an upside-down pineapple, which I understand means a couple are ready to swing, and I will see none of it.

I go to the ice show, which is a kind of homage—if that’s possible—to the periodic table, done with the style and pomp and masterful precision that would please the likes of Kim Jong Un, if only he could afford Royal Caribbean talent. At one point, the dancers skate to the theme song of Succession . “See that!” I want to say to my fellow Suites—at “cultural” events, we have a special section reserved for us away from the commoners—“ Succession ! It’s even better than the zombie show! Open your minds!”

Finally, I visit a comedy revue in an enormous and too brightly lit version of an “intimate,” per Royal Caribbean literature, “Manhattan comedy club.” Many of the jokes are about the cruising life. “I’ve lived on ships for 20 years,” one of the middle-aged comedians says. “I can only see so many Filipino homosexuals dressed as a taco.” He pauses while the audience laughs. “I am so fired tonight,” he says. He segues into a Trump impression and then Biden falling asleep at the microphone, which gets the most laughs. “Anyone here from Fort Leonard Wood?” another comedian asks. Half the crowd seems to cheer. As I fall asleep that night, I realize another connection I have failed to make, and one that may explain some of the diversity on this vessel—many of its passengers have served in the military.

As a coddled passenger with a suite, I feel like I am starting to understand what it means to have a rank and be constantly reminded of it. There are many espresso makers , I think as I look across the expanse of my officer-grade quarters before closing my eyes, but this one is mine .

A shocking sight greets me beyond the pools of Deck 17 as I saunter over to the Coastal Kitchen for my morning intake of slightly sour Americanos. A tiny city beneath a series of perfectly pressed green mountains. Land! We have docked for a brief respite in Basseterre, the capital of St. Kitts and Nevis. I wolf down my egg scramble to be one of the first passengers off the ship. Once past the gangway, I barely refrain from kissing the ground. I rush into the sights and sounds of this scruffy island city, sampling incredible conch curry and buckets of non-Starbucks coffee. How wonderful it is to be where God intended humans to be: on land. After all, I am neither a fish nor a mall rat. This is my natural environment. Basseterre may not be Havana, but there are signs of human ingenuity and desire everywhere you look. The Black Table Grill Has been Relocated to Soho Village, Market Street, Directly Behind of, Gary’s Fruits and Flower Shop. Signed. THE PORK MAN reads a sign stuck to a wall. Now, that is how you write a sign. A real sign, not the come-ons for overpriced Rolexes that blink across the screens of the Royal Promenade.

“Hey, tie your shoestring!” a pair of laughing ladies shout to me across the street.

“Thank you!” I shout back. Shoestring! “Thank you very much.”

A man in Independence Square Park comes by and asks if I want to play with his monkey. I haven’t heard that pickup line since the Penn Station of the 1980s. But then he pulls a real monkey out of a bag. The monkey is wearing a diaper and looks insane. Wonderful , I think, just wonderful! There is so much life here. I email my editor asking if I can remain on St. Kitts and allow the Icon to sail off into the horizon without me. I have even priced a flight home at less than $300, and I have enough material from the first four days on the cruise to write the entire story. “It would be funny …” my editor replies. “Now get on the boat.”

As I slink back to the ship after my brief jailbreak, the locals stand under umbrellas to gaze at and photograph the boat that towers over their small capital city. The limousines of the prime minister and his lackeys are parked beside the gangway. St. Kitts, I’ve been told, is one of the few islands that would allow a ship of this size to dock.

“We hear about all the waterslides,” a sweet young server in one of the cafés told me. “We wish we could go on the ship, but we have to work.”

“I want to stay on your island,” I replied. “I love it here.”

But she didn’t understand how I could possibly mean that.

“WASHY, WASHY, so you don’t get stinky, stinky!” kids are singing outside the AquaDome, while their adult minders look on in disapproval, perhaps worried that Mr. Washy Washy is grooming them into a life of gayness. I heard a southern couple skip the buffet entirely out of fear of Mr. Washy Washy.

Meanwhile, I have found a new watering hole for myself, the Swim & Tonic, the biggest swim-up bar on any cruise ship in the world. Drinking next to full-size, nearly naked Americans takes away one’s own self-consciousness. The men have curvaceous mom bodies. The women are equally un-shy about their sprawling physiques.

Today I’ve befriended a bald man with many children who tells me that all of the little trinkets that Royal Caribbean has left us in our staterooms and suites are worth a fortune on eBay. “Eighty dollars for the water bottle, 60 for the lanyard,” the man says. “This is a cult.”

“Tell me about it,” I say. There is, however, a clientele for whom this cruise makes perfect sense. For a large middle-class family (he works in “supply chains”), seven days in a lower-tier cabin—which starts at $1,800 a person—allow the parents to drop off their children in Surfside, where I imagine many young Filipina crew members will take care of them, while the parents are free to get drunk at a swim-up bar and maybe even get intimate in their cabin. Cruise ships have become, for a certain kind of hardworking family, a form of subsidized child care.

There is another man I would like to befriend at the Swim & Tonic, a tall, bald fellow who is perpetually inebriated and who wears a necklace studded with little rubber duckies in sunglasses, which, I am told, is a sort of secret handshake for cruise aficionados. Tomorrow, I will spend more time with him, but first the ship docks at St. Thomas, in the U.S. Virgin Islands. Charlotte Amalie, the capital, is more charming in name than in presence, but I still all but jump off the ship to score a juicy oxtail and plantains at the well-known Petite Pump Room, overlooking the harbor. From one of the highest points in the small city, the Icon of the Seas appears bigger than the surrounding hills.

I usually tan very evenly, but something about the discombobulation of life at sea makes me forget the regular application of sunscreen. As I walk down the streets of Charlotte Amalie in my fluorescent Icon of the Seas cap, an old Rastafarian stares me down. “Redneck,” he hisses.

“No,” I want to tell him, as I bring a hand up to my red neck, “that’s not who I am at all. On my island, Mannahatta, as Whitman would have it, I am an interesting person living within an engaging artistic milieu. I do not wish to use the Caribbean as a dumping ground for the cruise-ship industry. I love the work of Derek Walcott. You don’t understand. I am not a redneck. And if I am, they did this to me.” They meaning Royal Caribbean? Its passengers? The Rands?

“They did this to me!”

Back on the Icon, some older matrons are muttering about a run-in with passengers from the Celebrity cruise ship docked next to us, the Celebrity Apex. Although Celebrity Cruises is also owned by Royal Caribbean, I am made to understand that there is a deep fratricidal beef between passengers of the two lines. “We met a woman from the Apex,” one matron says, “and she says it was a small ship and there was nothing to do. Her face was as tight as a 19-year-old’s, she had so much surgery.” With those words, and beneath a cloudy sky, humidity shrouding our weathered faces and red necks, we set sail once again, hopefully in the direction of home.

THERE ARE BARELY 48 HOURS LEFT to the cruise, and the Icon of the Seas’ passengers are salty. They know how to work the elevators. They know the Washy Washy song by heart. They understand that the chicken gyro at “Feta Mediterranean,” in the AquaDome Market, is the least problematic form of chicken on the ship.

The passengers have shed their INAUGURAL CRUISE T-shirts and are now starting to evince political opinions. There are caps pledging to make America great again and T-shirts that celebrate words sometimes attributed to Patrick Henry: “The Constitution is not an instrument for the government to restrain the people; it is an instrument for the people to restrain the government.” With their preponderance of FAMILY FLAG FAITH FRIENDS FIREARMS T-shirts, the tables by the crepe station sometimes resemble the Capitol Rotunda on January 6. The Real Anthony Fauci , by Robert F. Kennedy Jr., appears to be a popular form of literature, especially among young men with very complicated versions of the American flag on their T-shirts. Other opinions blend the personal and the political. “Someone needs to kill Washy guy, right?” a well-dressed man in the elevator tells me, his gray eyes radiating nothing. “Just beat him to death. Am I right?” I overhear the male member of a young couple whisper, “There goes that freak” as I saunter by in my white spa robe, and I decide to retire it for the rest of the cruise.

I visit the Royal Bling to see up close the $100,000 golden chalice that entitles you to free drinks on Royal Caribbean forever. The pleasant Serbian saleslady explains that the chalice is actually gold-plated and covered in white zirconia instead of diamonds, as it would otherwise cost $1 million. “If you already have everything,” she explains, “this is one more thing you can get.”

I believe that anyone who works for Royal Caribbean should be entitled to immediate American citizenship. They already speak English better than most of the passengers and, per the Serbian lady’s sales pitch above, better understand what America is as well. Crew members like my Panamanian cabin attendant seem to work 24 hours a day. A waiter from New Delhi tells me that his contract is six months and three weeks long. After a cruise ends, he says, “in a few hours, we start again for the next cruise.” At the end of the half a year at sea, he is allowed a two-to-three-month stay at home with his family. As of 2019, the median income for crew members was somewhere in the vicinity of $20,000, according to a major business publication. Royal Caribbean would not share the current median salary for its crew members, but I am certain that it amounts to a fraction of the cost of a Royal Bling gold-plated, zirconia-studded chalice.

And because most of the Icon’s hyper-sanitized spaces are just a frittata away from being a Delta lounge, one forgets that there are actual sailors on this ship, charged with the herculean task of docking it in port. “Having driven 100,000-ton aircraft carriers throughout my career,” retired Admiral James G. Stavridis, the former NATO Supreme Allied Commander Europe, writes to me, “I’m not sure I would even know where to begin with trying to control a sea monster like this one nearly three times the size.” (I first met Stavridis while touring Army bases in Germany more than a decade ago.)

Today, I decide to head to the hot tub near Swim & Tonic, where some of the ship’s drunkest reprobates seem to gather (the other tubs are filled with families and couples). The talk here, like everywhere else on the ship, concerns football, a sport about which I know nothing. It is apparent that four teams have recently competed in some kind of finals for the year, and that two of them will now face off in the championship. Often when people on the Icon speak, I will try to repeat the last thing they said with a laugh or a nod of disbelief. “Yes, 20-yard line! Ha!” “Oh my God, of course, scrimmage.”

Soon we are joined in the hot tub by the late-middle-age drunk guy with the duck necklace. He is wearing a bucket hat with the legend HAWKEYES , which, I soon gather, is yet another football team. “All right, who turned me in?” Duck Necklace says as he plops into the tub beside us. “I get a call in the morning,” he says. “It’s security. Can you come down to the dining room by 10 a.m.? You need to stay away from the members of this religious family.” Apparently, the gregarious Duck Necklace had photobombed the wrong people. There are several families who present as evangelical Christians or practicing Muslims on the ship. One man, evidently, was not happy that Duck Necklace had made contact with his relatives. “It’s because of religious stuff; he was offended. I put my arm around 20 people a day.”

Everyone laughs. “They asked me three times if I needed medication,” he says of the security people who apparently interrogated him in full view of others having breakfast.

Another hot-tub denizen suggests that he should have asked for fentanyl. After a few more drinks, Duck Necklace begins to muse about what it would be like to fall off the ship. “I’m 62 and I’m ready to go,” he says. “I just don’t want a shark to eat me. I’m a huge God guy. I’m a Bible guy. There’s some Mayan theory squaring science stuff with religion. There is so much more to life on Earth.” We all nod into our Red Stripes.

“I never get off the ship when we dock,” he says. He tells us he lost $6,000 in the casino the other day. Later, I look him up, and it appears that on land, he’s a financial adviser in a crisp gray suit, probably a pillar of his North Chicago community.

THE OCEAN IS TEEMING with fascinating life, but on the surface it has little to teach us. The waves come and go. The horizon remains ever far away.

I am constantly told by my fellow passengers that “everybody here has a story.” Yes, I want to reply, but everybody everywhere has a story. You, the reader of this essay, have a story, and yet you’re not inclined to jump on a cruise ship and, like Duck Necklace, tell your story to others at great pitch and volume. Maybe what they’re saying is that everybody on this ship wants to have a bigger, more coherent, more interesting story than the one they’ve been given. Maybe that’s why there’s so much signage on the doors around me attesting to marriages spent on the sea. Maybe that’s why the Royal Caribbean newsletter slipped under my door tells me that “this isn’t a vacation day spent—it’s bragging rights earned.” Maybe that’s why I’m so lonely.

Today is a big day for Icon passengers. Today the ship docks at Royal Caribbean’s own Bahamian island, the Perfect Day at CocoCay. (This appears to be the actual name of the island.) A comedian at the nightclub opined on what his perfect day at CocoCay would look like—receiving oral sex while learning that his ex-wife had been killed in a car crash (big laughter). But the reality of the island is far less humorous than that.

One of the ethnic tristate ladies in the infinity pool told me that she loved CocoCay because it had exactly the same things that could be found on the ship itself. This proves to be correct. It is like the Icon, but with sand. The same tired burgers, the same colorful tubes conveying children and water from Point A to B. The same swim-up bar at its Hideaway ($140 for admittance, no children allowed; Royal Caribbean must be printing money off its clientele). “There was almost a fight at The Wizard of Oz ,” I overhear an elderly woman tell her companion on a chaise lounge. Apparently one of the passengers began recording Royal Caribbean’s intellectual property and “three guys came after him.”

I walk down a pathway to the center of the island, where a sign reads DO NOT ENTER: YOU HAVE REACHED THE BOUNDARY OF ADVENTURE . I hear an animal scampering in the bushes. A Royal Caribbean worker in an enormous golf cart soon chases me down and takes me back to the Hideaway, where I run into Mrs. Rand in a bikini. She becomes livid telling me about an altercation she had the other day with a woman over a towel and a deck chair. We Suites have special towel privileges; we do not have to hand over our SeaPass Card to score a towel. But the Rands are not Suites. “People are so entitled here,” Mrs. Rand says. “It’s like the airport with all its classes.” “You see,” I want to say, “this is where your husband’s love of Ayn Rand runs into the cruelties and arbitrary indignities of unbridled capitalism.” Instead we make plans to meet for a final drink in the Schooner Bar tonight (the Rands will stand me up).

Back on the ship, I try to do laps, but the pool (the largest on any cruise ship, naturally) is fully trashed with the detritus of American life: candy wrappers, a slowly dissolving tortilla chip, napkins. I take an extra-long shower in my suite, then walk around the perimeter of the ship on a kind of exercise track, past all the alluring lifeboats in their yellow-and-white livery. Maybe there is a dystopian angle to the HBO series that I will surely end up pitching, one with shades of WALL-E or Snowpiercer . In a collapsed world, a Royal Caribbean–like cruise liner sails from port to port, collecting new shipmates and supplies in exchange for the precious energy it has on board. (The actual Icon features a new technology that converts passengers’ poop into enough energy to power the waterslides . In the series, this shitty technology would be greatly expanded.) A very young woman (18? 19?), smart and lonely, who has only known life on the ship, walks along the same track as I do now, contemplating jumping off into the surf left by its wake. I picture reusing Duck Necklace’s words in the opening shot of the pilot. The girl is walking around the track, her eyes on the horizon; maybe she’s highborn—a Suite—and we hear the voice-over: “I’m 19 and I’m ready to go. I just don’t want a shark to eat me.”

Before the cruise is finished, I talk to Mr. Washy Washy, or Nielbert of the Philippines. He is a sweet, gentle man, and I thank him for the earworm of a song he has given me and for keeping us safe from the dreaded norovirus. “This is very important to me, getting people to wash their hands,” he tells me in his burger getup. He has dreams, as an artist and a performer, but they are limited in scope. One day he wants to dress up as a piece of bacon for the morning shift.

THE MAIDEN VOYAGE OF THE TITANIC (the Icon of the Seas is five times as large as that doomed vessel) at least offered its passengers an exciting ending to their cruise, but when I wake up on the eighth day, all I see are the gray ghosts that populate Miami’s condo skyline. Throughout my voyage, my writer friends wrote in to commiserate with me. Sloane Crosley, who once covered a three-day spa mini-cruise for Vogue , tells me she felt “so very alone … I found it very untethering.” Gideon Lewis-Kraus writes in an Instagram comment: “When Gary is done I think it’s time this genre was taken out back and shot.” And he is right. To badly paraphrase Adorno: After this, no more cruise stories. It is unfair to put a thinking person on a cruise ship. Writers typically have difficult childhoods, and it is cruel to remind them of the inherent loneliness that drove them to writing in the first place. It is also unseemly to write about the kind of people who go on cruises. Our country does not provide the education and upbringing that allow its citizens an interior life. For the creative class to point fingers at the large, breasty gentlemen adrift in tortilla-chip-laden pools of water is to gather a sour harvest of low-hanging fruit.

A day or two before I got off the ship, I decided to make use of my balcony, which I had avoided because I thought the view would only depress me further. What I found shocked me. My suite did not look out on Central Park after all. This entire time, I had been living in the ship’s Disneyland, Surfside, the neighborhood full of screaming toddlers consuming milkshakes and candy. And as I leaned out over my balcony, I beheld a slight vista of the sea and surf that I thought I had been missing. It had been there all along. The sea was frothy and infinite and blue-green beneath the span of a seagull’s wing. And though it had been trod hard by the world’s largest cruise ship, it remained.

This article appears in the May 2024 print edition with the headline “A Meatball at Sea.” When you buy a book using a link on this page, we receive a commission. Thank you for supporting The Atlantic.

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• Human Interest

South Carolina Man with Dementia Goes Missing in Mexico During Royal Caribbean Cruise with Family

Edmund Solomon disappeared Wednesday afternoon in the area of Passion Island in Mexico, according to local authorities

Abigail Adams is a Human Interest Writer and Reporter for PEOPLE. She has been working in journalism for seven years.

• A South Carolina man has gone missing in Mexico while on a Royal Caribbean cruise with family
• Police said Edmund Solomon, 66, was reported missing Wednesday after disappearing in the area of Passion Island that afternoon
• Solomon reportedly has frontotemporal dementia, which is said to impact behavior more than memory

An American tourist with dementia has gone missing in Mexico, triggering a multi-day search.

Edmund Solomon, 66, was reported missing at 8:17 p.m. local time on Wednesday, April 3, according to a Facebook post from Cozumel Civil Protection .

The man’s wife said her husband, who has “advanced dementia,” was wearing a collar with a GPS device to monitor his location when he disappeared in the area of Passion Island, per the Facebook post.

Solomon, who also goes by the name Brad, was “vacationing with family on a Royal Caribbean” cruise when he “wandered off by himself” around 1 p.m., Marissa Aldridge, who has worked with Solomon's wife, wrote in the description of a GoFundMe campaign she started for the couple.

Savannah Miller, the South Carolina man's daughter, said Brad had gone to the restroom at the cruise ship’s terminal when he disappeared, according to NBC affiliate WCBD-TV and ABC affiliate WCIV .

“When my stepmom, Mimi, came out, he wasn’t there,” Miller explained. “She thought he might still be in the bathroom so she waited for him for a few minutes. He didn’t come out.”

Miller said Brad was recently diagnosed with frontotemporal dementia, which impacts behavior more than memory, according to WCBD-TV.

“He sometimes says odd things and behaves erratically — or oddly — because he’s just doing what he knows how to do,” Miller noted. “He can’t process the same way you or I can.”

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Authorities said a taxi driver called 911 and reported picking up a foreign tourist who matched Brad’s description on the road to La Pasión island, according to Mexico News Daily .

Brad is believed to have entered the taxi on 65th Avenue around 2:30 p.m., asked to be dropped off at a road with access to the beach and later paid with a wristwatch.

Both Brad and his wife Mimi are nurses who “dedicated their lives and careers to helping others,” Aldridge said on GoFundMe. Mimi, who works at the local VA Hospital, is also a recent breast cancer survivor. 

“Between cancer and dementia, they have been through so much in the last few years,” Aldridge wrote, “and yet Mimi still shows up everyday to take care of others.”

In a statement, Royal Caribbean said they are “working closely with local law enforcement, who is continuing the search” for Brad, according to WCIV.

“Our care team is providing support and assistance to the guest’s family during this difficult time,” the cruise line added.

Royal Caribbean did not immediately respond to PEOPLE’s request for comment.

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