I’m Scared of the Open Seas—This Expedition Cruise Changed My Mind

“Islands: Paradise or trap?” mused Dr. Pepper Trail, one of the world’s foremost forensic ornithologists, during a lecture on the dodo and the plight of island birds. I sipped my iced Americano in the back row of the theater, gently swaying on a boat where I’d set out to learn something similar: Are cruises paradise, or a trap?

Over a decade of whirling around the globe as a travel writer, I have gone far out of my way to avoid cruises, declining all sea-faring invites and assignments as a general rule. The fear of air travel may be better known, but I’m far more troubled by the sea, which has so much to hide. As actress Quinta Brunson recently put it, “There’s no reason for me to be in the middle of the ocean. If I want to go to a hotel, I’ll go to the Four Seasons Philadelphia.”

Beyond my suspicion of the open water, I’ve always been wary of organized travel, priding myself on my ability to design thoughtful trips independently, losing myself in new destinations rather than speed-running the most famous attractions. Then I got sick, which brought with it lingering fatigue and a new coziness with my own mortality. While I’ve been cancer-free for a little over a year, the intense regimen of high-dose chemo has left me with lifelong side effects that limit my ability to physically exert myself. No longer able to flit around the world so effortlessly, I began considering the idea of a cruise. Ideally, one that would schlep me to remote places that are impossible for me to access, let alone explore, without the expert help I’d long avoided… like, say, the teeny, lesser-known, highly protected islands of the Seychelles, where giant tortoises and red-footed boobies roam free.

“Cruising the Seychelles and Coastal Tanzania,” a 12-night voyage with the luxury travel company Abercrombie & Kent, started calling to me like a siren song. A small Ponant expedition ship called Le Bougainville, with just 148-traveler capacity, would hop between gorgeous island ecosystems while offering daily lectures from on-board naturalists, marine biologists, and conservationists. Since my diagnosis, I had developed a fear of venturing too far from major hospitals. But on board this ship, the doctors could travel with me.

The luxe accommodations didn’t hurt either; Every stateroom on Le Bougainville has a balcony, plus amenities like Diptyque bath products and a 24-7 room service menu that includes a smoked salmon platter and assortment of French cheeses. I’d been warned about cruises’ sneaky fees—”The soda package is extra! Wi-Fi is $1,000!”—but this would be truly all inclusive, with wines you actually want to drink (Ponant is French, bien sur) and daily afternoon tea. The feel would be less floating mall, more boutique hotel, with a flavor of small liberal arts college. So, I set aside my travel hubris, dropped my chihuahua off with my parents, and flew across the world.

After a sweaty but invigorating day exploring Zanzibar and a welcome dinner at the seaside Park Hyatt, I boarded the ship along with roughly 80 other passengers. I took the best shower of my life before strolling upstairs to the cozy library and bar, which extended to an open observation deck with stunning panoramic views. Then, I tracked down this ship’s impressive medical facility and immediately introduced myself to Dr. Louisa. Another lingering side effect of cancer is that I love talking shop with medical professionals–medications, procedures, infections–partly to show off, partly because it makes me feel safer. I told her that because of my cancer history, I was pretty terrified of becoming seasick—nausea was a huge trigger for me. I started crying and she gave me Dramamine. Dr. Louisa became my closest confidante on board.