As the scents of a lemongrass and eucalyptus waft their way through my nasal passages and I begin to check in with my prone body, I’m simultaneously marvelling at my masseuse.
Somehow, she’s just delivered one of the best Swedish deep tissue massages I’ve had while the therapy room tilted like a pendulum loose on its moorings. It’s an unexpected sensation in a space designed for relaxation, but then, I’m accustomed to treatment rooms which aren’t having their walls smashed by four-metre waves with unrelenting regularity.
I’ve been having my muscles melted in the LivNordic Spa aboard the Viking Vesta, the luxury cruise company’s newest ship, which is valiantly ploughing its way through a rageful Mediterranean at a cautious 10 knots. All over the vessel, walls are creaking, floors are sloping and guests are sporting a universally wonky walk. It should all be feeling somewhat Titanic, yet for the last hour or so, I couldn’t have felt more serene, cocooned in a treatment room on Deck 1, hot water bottle for a pillow, firm, sensuous hands softening gym-sore muscles. The sea is a problem for another day.
My sense of wellbeing is especially surprising considering I’d come to this trip with a heavy heart. Some weeks before embarking in Barcelona, my mum died. As for many people, losing a parent was an emotionally challenging and traumatising event. It hit me hard – and differently than I’d imagined.Â
The cruise had already been booked, and although I considered cancelling, amid the sudden stress of managing her estate, I wondered if getting away from it all wasn’t the worst idea (at least for a bit). Don’t worry, this isn’t a story about how taking a cruise eased the grief of loss (I’d be heartily surprised if anything can do that) but it is about how having the day-to-day responsibilities of life temporarily removed lifted a weight I didn’t know I was carrying.
So here I am, on day six of sixteen, on an itinerary that circuitously sails the Med via historically epic cities including Barcelona, Valletta, Tunis, Cádiz and Casablanca. We’re sailing in early 2026, the idea being that off-season cruising comes with fewer crowds and, to be frank, fewer cruise ships. It’s apparent early on that this is very much the case; the Vesta has been claiming the best docking spots in every port and has more often than not been the only ship there.
It was also soon evident that my Deluxe Veranda stateroom was the best ‘hotel’ room I’ve ever stayed in (and as a travel writer, I’ve stayed in a few). For the first week I was convinced the rooms either side of me were uninhabited, until I bumped into my neighbours leaving for dinner one evening. In the more-than-two week trip I didn’t hear a toilet flush, a shower system whirr, footfalls on the ceiling or even a murmuring TV. As a light sleeper, this was more than I could hope for. Add to that a bathroom with underfloor heating and shower pressure to put Vinnufossen to shame – plus my own private veranda – and it became of utmost importance to return to this sanctuary ASAP after each day’s excursions.
When not ensconced in my Stateroom catching up on Port Talks or guest lectures, I was languishing in the spa’s communal spaces – though communal is somewhat of a misnomer. The bath-warm swimming pool, steam room, snow grotto and Jacuzzi were all but uninhabited around 6pm, so I was often alone to enjoy their healing powers while others hustled to what I considered to be an early mealtime. It was one of many occasions when I was astounded by how, with nearly 1,000 other guests on board, it never felt loud or cramped or busy.Â
Wherever I wandered, whether watching the retreating Sardinian coastline from a sun lounger in the Pool Bar on Deck 8, learning mahjong in the Atrium (and inevitably giving up and playing Scrabble) or sipping a Bear Fight in the Explorer’s Lounge while the sun set over Valletta, I never felt any of the cruise concerns my ignorance had warned me of: claustrophobia, boredom, feeling infantilised by being so swaddled.
And while I sampled dishes from around the continent on each excursion – spiced couscous in Tunisia, salted padron peppers in Malaga, stewed courgette in Cádiz – it was the restaurants on board which made a truly lasting impression. As a vegan, dining is rarely a highlight of my travels, my self-imposed limits often antagonising an otherwise enjoyable holiday experience. I was nervous I’d eat repetitively and that by day seven the obligatory plant-based options would have numbed my tastebuds beyond appreciation. I was, once again, incorrect.
The menu in the extensive World Cafe buffet changed daily, often in line with the flavours of wherever we were docked, though I was spoilt by the chef of the always-on sushi bar who’d decided there should be vegan futomaki rolls available every day – just in case I fancied them.
The menus at Manfredi’s Italian and The Restaurant offered delightful dishes such as southern corn soup and sweetcorn faro with asparagus and mushrooms, but most pleasing was The Chef’s Table, a haute cuisine dining experience providing globally inspired culinary journeys accompanied by tailored wine pairings. I booked in for ‘Yumi’s Corner: Voyage to Korean Cuisine’. While others dug into seafood platters, pork belly soup pots and beef short ribs, I enjoyed sumptuous vegan alternatives including barbecued tofu and yuzu ice cream. Dairy-free ice cream, muffins and apple crumble kept my snack needs sated, and if there was ever anything missing, the dedicated dietary server, Ariel, was somehow always close-by to assist.
The Vesta truly became my safe haven. I socialised as much or as little as I desired, ruminated over the revelations laid out by professors in on-board lectures or screenings of Nat Geo’s ‘Drain the Oceans’, or simply appreciated the talents of in-house pianist Enrico’s ivory tinkling.
Our daily excursions around Europe – which included exploring 2500-year-old Etruscan tombs, getting lost in Tunis’s UNESCO-listed medina and visiting Chopin’s old hillside haunt in Valldemossa – worked to distract me at the very least, and educate, enlighten and inspire me at the most. Between wandering along lesser-treaded harboursides in Cádiz and Cagliari, wishing my mum could be with me admiring the ruins of Carthage (she’d always wanted to go but never made it) or simply letting the reflection of the clouds upon the ocean hypnotise me as we sailed, I found the space to breathe.
I didn’t cook, I didn’t clean, I didn’t work. I just let my mind roam and appreciate the wonder of waking to a different part of the world every day. Even when I had to sit at my Stateroom desk and design invitations to my mum’s memorial, my grief pressing down into my chest, I could turn my head and see the sun sparkling off the sea outside the window, or take a break and pop on an Audrey Hepburn film (my mum’s favourite) and find peace in knowing this was an adventure she’d want me to be on.
All image credits: Viking CruisesÂ
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