Across the Atlantic: Three Crossings, Three Perspectives

Reflections on the Art of Ocean Travel

Steven Alcala | July 2026

Introduction

What happens when you trade a seven-hour flight for nearly two weeks at sea?

I first discovered the lost art of transatlantic travel in 2023, when I embarked on a voyage from Bayonne, New Jersey, to Southampton, England. Like many travelers, I had grown accustomed to modern air travel: navigating crowded terminals, removing shoes at security checkpoints, squeezing into narrow seats, and enduring overnight flights fueled by little more than caffeine and determination.

Crossing the Atlantic by ship offered something entirely different.

There were no hurried connections or cramped cabins. Instead, there were comfortable accommodations, leisurely meals, live entertainment, and endless ocean views stretching beyond the horizon. Days unfolded at a gentler pace. The pressures of daily life gradually faded with each nautical mile, replaced by a rhythm dictated not by schedules and notifications, but by the sea itself.

Since that first crossing, I have returned to the Atlantic twice more. Each voyage took place aboard a different cruise line and with a different travel companion—or, in one case, no companion at all. One journey was shared with my partner, another with family and friends, and the third undertaken entirely on my own.

What I discovered was that while the ocean remained the same, the experience of crossing it changed dramatically depending on who was beside me. Each voyage offered a unique perspective not only on travel, but on connection, reflection, and the value of slowing down.

These are the stories of three Atlantic crossings and the lessons they taught me along the way.

Part I: A Couple's First Adventure Across the Atlantic by Sea

Royal Caribbean's Anthem of the Seas

Ever since I was a child, I had been fascinated by the idea of crossing the Atlantic by ship. I romanticized the golden age of ocean liners and imagined what it must have felt like to watch one continent slowly disappear behind you while another gradually emerged on the horizon days later.

In 2023, as I approached my fortieth birthday, my partner and I decided it was finally time to make that dream a reality.

Our original plan had been to sail aboard Cunard's Queen Mary 2, perhaps the last true ocean liner still operating today. At the time, however, reliable internet connectivity was an important consideration. My partner owns a small business and needed the ability to remain connected while away. With Starlink not yet installed aboard Queen Mary 2, we ultimately chose a more familiar option: Royal Caribbean's Anthem of the Seas.

The itinerary seemed perfect. Over eleven nights, we would sail from New Jersey to England, stopping in the Azores and France along the way. It promised a balance of sea days and exploration ashore—ideal for two travelers with slightly different expectations of what a transatlantic voyage should be.

I knew I would love the days at sea.

I wasn't quite as certain about my partner.

Five consecutive sea days sounded idyllic to me, but I worried they might feel confining to someone less enamored with the ocean. Would cabin fever set in? Would boredom creep in somewhere between North America and Europe?

As it turned out, I had nothing to worry about.

Our journey began with one of the most memorable sailaways I have ever experienced. Before turning east toward Europe, Anthem of the Seas glided past the Statue of Liberty, with the New York City skyline serving as a dramatic backdrop. It felt less like the departure of a cruise and more like the beginning of an expedition.

Soon enough, the skyline faded into the distance, and life at sea began.

We quickly settled into a routine that felt remarkably natural. Mornings often started with a light breakfast followed by a walk around the ship's outdoor decks, taking in the fresh Atlantic air. Afterward, we would pursue our own interests—or, more accurately, compromise.

I would drag my partner to trivia competitions, while I patiently accompanied him to art lectures and enrichment programs. It was a fair trade.

Anthem also offered plenty of opportunities for adventure. On any given day, we could try the surf simulator, challenge each other in the bumper cars, or experience the ship's skydiving simulator. There was always something happening, yet never any pressure to participate.

Lunches were casual, afternoons relaxed. If motivation struck, I might visit the gym. More often than not, however, I found myself indulging in an afternoon nap while my partner checked in on work back home—a reminder that even in the middle of the Atlantic, reality occasionally follows us onboard.

Evenings quickly became our favorite time of day.

We would dress for dinner, enjoy a pre-dinner cocktail, and listen to live music as the sun dipped below the horizon. Having purchased a dining package, we rotated between Anthem's specialty restaurants and main dining venues throughout the voyage. It proved to be an excellent decision, offering variety and ensuring that dinner remained something we genuinely looked forward to each evening.

Afterward came the entertainment.

This is where Royal Caribbean truly excels. Whether it was a full-scale production show, live music, or simply dancing late into the evening, there was always something happening. The performances consistently rivaled those found in major theaters ashore and became a highlight of the voyage.

What surprised me most was how quickly the sea days passed.

The rhythm of life onboard became so comfortable that we barely noticed the passage of time. Before long, land appeared on the horizon and we arrived in Ponta Delgada, the capital of the Azores.

We spent the day doing little more than wandering.

There was no checklist of attractions to conquer and no race against the clock. We explored historic streets, admired local architecture, browsed galleries, and sampled regional food and beer. It was precisely the kind of unhurried experience that seemed to complement the voyage itself.

Two more sea days carried us closer to mainland Europe before we reached Cherbourg, France.

Feeling adventurous, we boarded a local train and traveled independently to Bayeux, a charming Norman town rich in history and character. Wandering its streets, enjoying local wine, and admiring centuries-old architecture felt worlds away from the bustle of modern tourism. Returning to Cherbourg later that afternoon still left enough time to explore the port city before rejoining the ship.

Our final stop before England was Le Havre. While many passengers chose excursions into Paris, we opted for a slower-paced day exploring Honfleur and Deauville. Both towns offered postcard-worthy scenery, but one memory stands above the rest: sitting at a local bakery with fresh croissants and coffee, watching everyday French life unfold around us.

It was simple, unhurried, and perfect.

Before we knew it, Southampton had appeared on the horizon.

Eleven nights had somehow slipped away.

Looking back, what made this crossing special wasn't simply the destinations we visited or the ship we sailed aboard. It was the opportunity to step away from our daily routines and reconnect with one another. Between sea days, shared adventures, and countless conversations, the Atlantic gave us something increasingly difficult to find in modern life: uninterrupted time together.

Royal Caribbean provided the perfect balance of activity and relaxation, but the greatest gift of the voyage wasn't the entertainment, the dining, or the ports of call.

It was the chance to share the journey.

Part II: Holland America – Sharing the Journey with Family and Newfound Friends

MS Rotterdam

One year after my first Atlantic crossing, the ocean called once again.

This time, however, the voyage would be very different.

My parents had planned a fourteen-night sailing aboard Holland America Line's Rotterdam, traveling from Fort Lauderdale to Rotterdam in the Netherlands alongside some of their closest friends. Initially, I had no plans to join them. Then my partner suggested something that immediately appealed to me: surprise them.

After coordinating quietly with their travel companions, I booked a cabin and kept the secret right up until embarkation day.

Looking back, that decision would become one of my favorite travel memories.

Before boarding, I carried a certain degree of skepticism. Not about the crossing itself—that part excited me—but about Holland America Line.

At the time, I considered myself firmly "Loyal to Royal." My previous experiences aboard Holland America dated back to my teenage years, and my memory of the brand was one of traditional cruising, perhaps even a little too traditional for my tastes. I expected a quieter experience, fewer activities, and an older demographic.

I would soon discover how wrong I was.

The moment that defined the voyage happened on the very first evening.

Dinner had already begun. My parents were seated with their friends, completely unaware that I was anywhere nearby. As I approached the table, the reactions were priceless.

My father's expression shifted from confusion to disbelief before settling into pure joy. My mother's eyes immediately filled with tears as a smile spread across her face. Around the table, their friends beamed with satisfaction, proud co-conspirators who had successfully kept the secret.

Years later, I suspect I will remember that moment long after I've forgotten many of the ports we visited.

It was the perfect beginning to a voyage that would ultimately be defined not by destinations, but by the people sharing the journey.

Where Royal Caribbean's Anthem of the Seas had emphasized activity and entertainment, Rotterdam encouraged something entirely different.

The ship itself felt more connected to the traditions of classic ocean travel. Its wraparound teak promenade deck, expansive ocean views, and elegant public spaces seemed designed to slow passengers down. Rather than rushing from one activity to the next, guests naturally settled into a more relaxed rhythm.

Holland America's slogan encourages guests to "savor the journey," and nowhere did that philosophy feel more appropriate than in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.

Days aboard Rotterdam unfolded at an unhurried pace.

Our group often began mornings with breakfast in the main dining room rather than the buffet. It was one of the first things I noticed about the Holland America experience. Meals weren't simply fuel between activities. They were events in themselves.

Service felt deliberate rather than rushed. Presentation mattered. Conversation lingered long after the last cup of coffee had been poured.

After breakfast, many mornings continued at the Dutch Café, a favorite gathering spot onboard. Over coffee and pastries, conversations stretched comfortably into late morning. There was nowhere we needed to be and nothing demanding our attention.

That simple luxury—uninterrupted time—became one of the voyage's greatest gifts.

As the days passed, we settled into a comfortable routine. Some members of our group gravitated toward the fitness center, while others preferred leisurely walks around the promenade deck. I often found myself at the aft pool, enjoying surprisingly warm weather and watching Rotterdam's wake stretch endlessly toward the horizon.

Afternoons frequently brought our group back together for games of Rummikub.

Those gatherings remain among my favorite memories of the voyage. Between my parents, their friends, and the stories that inevitably emerged, the laughter seemed endless. Hours passed in what felt like minutes.

The Atlantic has a unique way of creating space for conversations that everyday life rarely allows.

Evenings revolved around dinner.

As someone who enjoys food, I found Holland America's culinary program particularly impressive. Over fourteen nights, menus remained creative and varied while maintaining a level of quality and presentation that consistently exceeded expectations.

More importantly, dinner became an extension of the day's experiences. It was another opportunity to gather, share stories, and enjoy each other's company.

Afterward, I often gravitated toward Rotterdam's music venues—another pleasant surprise.

BB King's Blues Club quickly became a favorite, featuring talented musicians and vocalists who energized the room night after night. Nearby, dueling pianos entertained enthusiastic crowds before giving way to the Rolling Stone Lounge's rock performances. Together, the venues created an atmosphere far livelier than I ever expected.

It challenged nearly every assumption I had brought onboard.

Eventually, our sea days gave way to ports of call.

There was Ponta Delgada in the Azores, where we once again enjoyed the city's relaxed charm. Brest provided an opportunity to rent a car and explore the French countryside, including the picturesque towns of Quimper and Locronan. Weymouth offered a quieter day of exploration along England's southern coast, while Honfleur proved just as enchanting during a return visit with my parents as it had during my previous crossing.

Our final stop before Rotterdam was Dover.

A small-group excursion took us to Canterbury, its magnificent cathedral, a traditional English pub, and ultimately the iconic White Cliffs of Dover. Standing atop those cliffs, looking out over the English Channel, felt like a fitting conclusion to a voyage that had already delivered so many memorable moments.

Soon enough, Rotterdam appeared on the horizon.

As I enjoyed one final breakfast onboard before disembarkation, I realized how quickly two weeks had passed.

I boarded this voyage expecting a crossing of the Atlantic.

What I found instead was something far more meaningful.

Holland America taught me that travel is not always about adventure or discovery. Sometimes it is about connection. It is about creating space for family, strengthening friendships, sharing meals, telling stories, and appreciating the people around you.

More than any destination we visited, that is what I carried home with me.

The Atlantic crossing simply provided the setting.

Part III: Celebrity Cruises – Discovering the Joy of Solo Travel

Celebrity Apex

By the spring of 2026, I unexpectedly found myself with two weeks off and no travel plans.

As luck would have it, a last-minute fare aboard Celebrity Apex appeared at exactly the right moment. The itinerary was irresistible: a thirteen-night transatlantic crossing from Port Canaveral, Florida, to Southampton, England.

There was just one catch.

I would be traveling alone.

My partner has always been incredibly supportive of my love for travel and exploration, but unlike me, he does not enjoy the same amount of vacation time. While he couldn't join me on this particular adventure, he encouraged me to go anyway.

At first, the idea didn't concern me.

I travel solo for work regularly. Airports, hotels, rental cars, and business dinners are all familiar territory. But leisure travel felt different. This wasn't a two-night work trip. This was nearly two weeks at sea.

Alone.

The reality of that didn't truly sink in until embarkation day.

As I arrived at the cruise terminal in Port Canaveral, I was surrounded by couples excitedly beginning vacations together, families gathering for photos, and groups of friends eager to start their journey.

Then there was me.

For a brief moment, I wondered if I had made a mistake.

Would I be bored?

Would I feel isolated?

Would thirteen nights be too long?

There was only one way to find out.

After boarding, I dropped off my bags, grabbed my Kindle, and headed to lunch.

Almost immediately, my concerns began to fade.

The crew's warmth and enthusiasm were evident from the start. Several members of the waitstaff took the time to engage in conversation, asking about my plans and sharing their own excitement about returning to Europe. Their kindness struck a perfect balance—friendly without being intrusive—and helped ease any lingering apprehension.

By the time lunch ended, I felt surprisingly comfortable.

In many ways, solo travel forces you to become comfortable with your own company.

Meals are quieter. Decisions are simpler. There are no compromises about where to eat, when to wake up, or what activities to pursue. Every choice becomes entirely your own.

That freedom was both unfamiliar and refreshing.

After lunch, I began exploring Celebrity Apex, and one thing became immediately clear: Celebrity understands design.

The ship is stunning.

From the public spaces to the smallest architectural details, every corner feels intentionally crafted. Modern without being cold. Sophisticated without being intimidating. Walking through the ship felt less like exploring a cruise vessel and more like discovering a floating boutique hotel.

As I wandered through the various venues, I began to appreciate one of solo travel's greatest advantages.

I could move entirely at my own pace.

When traveling with a partner, family, or friends, there is always a natural desire to ensure everyone is enjoying themselves. That often means compromise. Solo travel removes that equation entirely. Every moment can be spent exactly as you choose.

For me, that meant focusing on wellness.

I missed the solo traveler meetup on embarkation day because I chose to visit the gym instead. Looking back, that decision perfectly set the tone for the rest of the voyage.

This crossing would become a form of self-care.

Afternoons often began with a workout, followed by time in the thermal spa before getting ready for dinner. It was a routine that quickly became one of my favorite parts of the day.

Dining aboard Apex was equally enjoyable.

Instead of one traditional main dining room, Celebrity offers four distinct restaurants, each featuring a rotating menu alongside specialty dishes unique to that venue. The concept created a sense of variety throughout the voyage and helped make each evening feel slightly different from the last.

Dinner was typically followed by one of Celebrity's production shows.

These performances exceeded every expectation I had. The quality of the music, choreography, staging, and technology rivaled many productions I have seen ashore. On evenings when there wasn't a show, I often found myself in Eden or one of the ship's lounges enjoying live music and watching fellow passengers dance late into the evening.

Over time, familiar faces began to emerge.

The same people appeared at trivia competitions, coffee bars, evening performances, and poolside loungers. While I rarely initiated long conversations, there was comfort in the quiet recognition that developed. A smile. A nod. A brief exchange in passing.

As an introvert, it was exactly the level of social interaction I needed.

Days at sea settled into an easy rhythm.

Mornings typically involved a leisurely breakfast, a cup of coffee, and a quick check-in with family back home. Unlike my previous crossings, I appreciated having internet access throughout the voyage. While I generally enjoy disconnecting, staying connected offered reassurance and helped eliminate any sense of isolation.

Between trivia, walks around the ship, reading, and people-watching, the sea days seemed to pass effortlessly.

Soon enough, Bermuda appeared on the horizon.

At King's Wharf, I chose a different kind of exploration. Rather than heading to the beaches, I took a ferry to Hamilton and spent the morning visiting the Bermuda Underwater Exploration Institute before wandering through the city at my own pace. It was the sort of day that perfectly suited solo travel—unstructured, spontaneous, and entirely my own.

Four more sea days brought us to a familiar destination: Ponta Delgada in the Azores.

Having explored the city during my previous crossings, I decided it was time to venture farther afield. Not wanting the rigidity of a large cruise excursion yet hesitant to explore too remotely on my own, I joined a small-group cycling tour around Sete Cidades.

It proved to be one of the highlights of the voyage.

Cycling through volcanic landscapes and overlooking the region's famous crater lakes offered a completely different perspective of the Azores. The experience felt active, immersive, and deeply connected to nature. Better still, there was still time afterward to enjoy the city itself before returning to the ship.

The next major stop was Lisbon.

Of all the ports on this crossing, Lisbon may have left the strongest impression.

Its steep hills, colorful neighborhoods, and vibrant atmosphere immediately captivated me. In some ways, the city reminded me of San Francisco, yet with a distinctly European character all its own.

As I wandered through winding streets lined with cafés, galleries, and historic architecture, I found myself wishing my partner were there to experience it alongside me.

Travel has a way of revealing both what you enjoy and who you miss.

Lisbon did both.

Eventually, two final sea days carried us toward Southampton.

Unlike many itineraries that become increasingly port-intensive near the end, this crossing allowed time to unwind and reflect before arrival. The additional sea days also eased the gradual transition across time zones. Each evening, clocks moved forward another hour—a gentle adjustment compared to the abrupt shock of transatlantic air travel.

Then, just as it had on my previous crossings, the journey seemed to end almost as quickly as it had begun.

Southampton appeared on the horizon.

The Atlantic was behind me once again.

Looking back, some of my favorite memories from this voyage were not found in ports or onboard activities.

They were found in the quiet moments.

Watching the ocean pass endlessly beyond the ship's railings.

Reading for hours without distraction.

Enjoying a sunrise while most passengers were still asleep.

Walking the jogging track early in the morning with nothing but sea and sky surrounding me.

Those moments taught me something unexpected.

Solitude and loneliness are not the same thing.

In fact, given the right environment, solitude can be restorative.

Would I travel solo again?

Absolutely.

That said, I will always prefer sharing these experiences with my partner. No solo journey can replace that.

But if circumstances present an opportunity to travel on your own, don't let fear hold you back.

You may discover new destinations.

More importantly, you may discover something about yourself.

I know I did.

What Three Crossings Taught Me

If there is one lesson I have taken away from three Atlantic crossings, it is that the journey itself matters just as much as the destination.

Modern travel often emphasizes efficiency. We rush through airports, count down the hours until arrival, and view transportation as little more than a means to an end. Crossing an ocean by ship turns that philosophy upside down. The voyage becomes the destination, and somewhere between one continent and another, time begins to move differently.

My first crossing aboard Royal Caribbean taught me the joy of sharing an adventure with someone I love. Between sea days, evening shows, and quiet moments watching the horizon disappear into the distance, I was reminded that travel is often less about where you go and more about who is standing beside you when you get there.

A year later, aboard Holland America's Rotterdam, the focus shifted from adventure to connection. Long breakfasts, afternoon games of Rummikub, leisurely dinners, and conversations that stretched far beyond what everyday life normally allows reminded me how valuable uninterrupted time with family and friends can be. In a world that constantly competes for our attention, the Atlantic provided a rare opportunity to simply be present with the people around me.

My most recent crossing aboard Celebrity Apex revealed something entirely different. Traveling solo challenged me to become comfortable with stillness and solitude. Without familiar companions nearby, I discovered a renewed appreciation for quiet moments: a sunrise over an empty ocean, a morning coffee enjoyed without an agenda, an evening walk around the ship while the rest of the world seemed far away. Those moments taught me that solitude and loneliness are not the same thing. Given the space to slow down, solitude can be restorative.

Each voyage offered a different perspective, yet they all shared a common thread. Whether traveling with a partner, surrounded by family and friends, or entirely on my own, the Atlantic created something that modern life rarely provides: space to think, connect, reflect, and appreciate the present moment.

Perhaps that is the true art of ocean travel. It is not simply about crossing from one shore to another. It is about allowing yourself the time to experience the journey in between.

Conclusion

As I stepped ashore at the end of my third Atlantic crossing, I found myself reflecting on what had drawn me back to the ocean again and again.

At first glance, these voyages appeared very different. One was a celebration shared with my partner. Another was filled with family, old friends, and new friendships formed at sea. The third was a solo journey that pushed me beyond my comfort zone and taught me to embrace my own company. Different ships, different cruise lines, and different travel companions—all connected by the same vast ocean.

Yet each crossing offered something increasingly rare in our modern world: time.

Time to disconnect from the constant demands of daily life. Time to have conversations that weren't rushed. Time to watch a sunrise without immediately reaching for a phone. Time to reflect, recharge, and reconnect—with others and with myself.

The Atlantic has a way of putting life into perspective. Surrounded by nothing but sea and sky, the urgency of everyday routines begins to fade. In its place comes a renewed appreciation for simple pleasures: a leisurely breakfast, a good book, a meaningful conversation, or the quiet beauty of watching the horizon stretch endlessly in every direction.

Looking back, I realize that the destinations were never the sole reason for these journeys. The ports were wonderful, and the experiences ashore were memorable, but the true magic happened during the days in between. It happened during the sea days, when life slowed to the rhythm of the ocean and the journey itself became the destination.

Perhaps that is why transatlantic crossings continue to captivate me. They are more than a way to travel from one continent to another. They are an invitation to step away from the noise of the world, embrace a slower pace, and rediscover the joy of simply being present.

Three crossings. Three perspectives. One enduring lesson: sometimes the most meaningful journeys are not measured by how quickly we arrive, but by how fully we experience the voyage itself.

For Carlos Chao

This article is dedicated to Carlos Chao, whom I had the privilege of meeting aboard Holland America Line's Rotterdam during my second Atlantic crossing.

Carlos possessed a genuine love of travel, an endless curiosity about the world, and a remarkable ability to connect with those around him. Though our time together was brief, his kindness, warmth, and adventurous spirit left a lasting impression on me.

As I reflect on the journeys described in these pages, I am reminded that some of the most meaningful parts of travel are the people we meet along the way. Carlos was one of those people.

This article is dedicated to his memory. Fair winds and following seas, my friend.