The Jury is Still at Sea: A Cynic’s Guide to Cruising

 My in-laws have clocked up hundreds of cruises, spending decades assuring me I'd be instantly converted. Four voyages in, and the jury isn't just still deliberating; it's wandered off into the maze of corridors in search of a quiet corner.

Don't get me wrong. There is undeniable value here, especially for families. The ships are spectacular floating playgrounds, the included dinners let you pretend to be sophisticated without consequence, and you inevitably stumble across places you might never have considered. Before last week, I couldn't even have pointed to Valletta on a map. Now it's sitting comfortably on my travel bucket list.

Yet something stubbornly refuses to click. Port visits often feel like starring in the trailer for a destination without ever getting to watch the full documentary. Then there are the surreal formal nights. Why, exactly, am I squeezing into a tuxedo while on holiday? And don't get me started on the baffling midnight luggage ritual. Leaving your suitcase outside your cabin the night before disembarking feels like a high-stakes game of chance, daring you to make it to the airport wearing nothing but your pyjamas.

The biggest drawback, though, is the sheer lack of privacy. Outside your cabin, every quiet corner already has someone sitting in it. Allison and I spend half our evenings wandering the ship in search of somewhere peaceful to enjoy a drink, while hundreds of other passengers appear to be conducting exactly the same expedition.

I can absolutely see why cruising inspires such loyalty. It's wonderfully easy, remarkably good value, and perfect if you want someone else to take care of the logistics. The irony is that I actually enjoy the planning. I like poring over maps, comparing train routes, finding quirky hotels, and slowly piecing a journey together long before I leave home.

Will I go on another cruise? Almost certainly. But if you gave me the choice between another floating city and a carefully researched rail journey through the Alps, I'd be packing my Interrail pass before you could say, "All aboard."