the world cruise ship photos

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6,950 The World Cruise Ship Stock Photos & High-Res Pictures

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6,950 The World Cruise Ship Stock Photos & High-Res Pictures

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ms The World cabins and suites

Ms the world staterooms review, floor plans, photos.

ms The World cabins and suites review at CruiseMapper provides detailed information on cruise accommodations , including floor plans, photos, room types and categories, cabin sizes, furniture details and included by ResidenSea (Small Cruise Lines) en-suite amenities and services.

The ms The World cruise ship cabins page is conveniently interlinked with its deck plans showing deck layouts combined with a legend and review of all onboard venues.

3-Bedrooms 3-Baths Penthouse Suites

Layout (floor plan).

3-Bedrooms 3-Baths Residences 1

3-Bedrooms 3-Baths Residences 2

2-bedrooms 2-baths residences 1.

2-Bedrooms 2-Baths Residences 2

3-Rooms 2-Bedrooms 2-Baths Ocean Studio Residences

2-Rooms 1-Bedroom 1-2-Baths Ocean Studio Residences

Studio Apartments

1-room ocean studio apartments.

ms The World cabins review

MS The World ship has a total of 165x Residences ranging in types from Studios to 3-Bedroom Penthouses and 6-Bedroom Penthouse Suite (for up to 12 passengers). All staterooms have been sold, but there are a number of Residences which are available for resale and some for rental.

There are also additional annual maintenance fees based on apartments' square footage. The cruise ship provides 40x studios, 19x 1-Bedroom and 2-Bedroom Studio Apartments, 106x 2-Bedroom and 3-Bedroom Apartments, 88x Suites. Prices vary and are based on size, deck location, decor, market conditions.

Four of the world's most renowned interior design companies have been contracted to shape styles and design The World ship's 2- and 3-bedroom apartments and public rooms. Names list includes Nina Campbell (UK), Juan Pablo Molyneux (JP Molyneux Studio), Di Pilla (TMT Design), Yran & Storbraaten (maritime design).

Cabins prices (apartment cost, rentals, fees)

First of all, this is a modern big-sized cruise liner you can actually live on. Celebrities like Arnold Schwarzenegger and Madonna, for example, own suites on the vessel. So if you can afford the below apartment prices, you'll buy yourself the pleasure to enjoy a celebrity company - once and awhile. Apartments sizes vary from 1350 ft2 (125 m2) to 3000 ft2 (280 m2) "cruise ship mansions".

Short-term rentals - you can rent some of MS The World's apartments (depending on category) for between ~USD 550 Studio (per person per night, min for 5 days) and ~USD 20,000 (Suite rentals, per month). Some Ocean Residences are also available for rent at ~USD 2100 a day. Discounts are available for repeat customers.

Future apartment owners on The World should also know that ship service fees (depending on the property) start from USD 60,000 and go up to USD 300,000 a year. These fees cover onboard service staff/crew, fuel, maintenance (including drydocking ), port charges, food and beverages. USD 8 million is the entry fee. This amount of money buys you a lease expiring in the distant 2052. As to the maintenance fees mentioned above - they are ~5-6% of the Apartment's sale price. As to the ship's occupancy - it rarely goes above 200 passengers (owners and their guests).

Next table shows ResidenSea brochure (source) pricing on apartments for sale in 2016-2018 and the property's annual maintenance fee.

Nest are shown rental prices (per night in USD, rates 2018) for:

• Studio (sized 290-330 ft2 / 27-31 m2) - $1850
• Studio (sized 330-335 ft2 / 31 m2) - $1800
• Studio (sized 620-845 ft2 / 58-79 m2) - $2400
• 1-bedroom apartment (sized 580-675 ft2 / 54-63 m2) - $2,200
• 2-bedroom apartment (sized 870-1010 ft2 / 81-94 m2) - $2,800
• 2-bedroom apartment (sized 1105 ft2 / 103 m2) - $3100
• 2-bedroom apartment (sized 1135-1390 ft2 / 105-129 m2) - $3300
• Penthouse Suite (sized 2470-3240 ft2 / 229-301 m2) - $6,100

Keep in mind that the owners actually purchase a property with a finite lifetime (the projected lifespan for passenger ships is between 30-40 years) and eventually, this vessel will be dismantled ( scrapped ). This means that The World ship's apartments are in reality leased for 30-40 years.

The ResidenSea company has the policy of not revealing who the clients/buyers are, but they assure that MS The World doesn't have residents with criminal records. Latest news confirms that all the ship's Studios and 3-Bedroom apartments are sold out. But there's always a chance some owner to decide to sell, right? And to sweeten the deal, they advertise that you can enjoy on The World ship - for absolutely free - Spa treatments at "Clinique La Prairie", to shop at the Graff's Boutique or to leisurely play at the ship's Mini-Golf Course. If you are a prospective buyer, you also must submit a list of your assets, which will be duly verified by the ResidenSea's accountants and lawyers.

ms The World cabin and suite plans are property of ResidenSea (Small Cruise Lines) . All floor plans are for informational purposes only and CruiseMapper is not responsible for their accuracy.

The World's Largest Cruise Ship Is Coming in January—Here's What It's Like Inside

By Jessica Puckett

The biggest thing to ever hit cruising is coming in January 2024, when Royal Caribbean’s Icon of the Seas —which will be the largest cruise ship in the world —will debut to passengers for the first time.

With capacity for nearly 10,000 passengers and crew, Icon of the Seas is billed as part all-inclusive resort, part theme park, and a massive destination unto itself . Clocking in at 250,380 gross tons and measuring nearly a quarter mile long (1,198 feet to be exact), the vast ship will sport a total of 20 decks, 18 of which will be accessible to guests.

The ship will be divided into eight different “neighborhoods,” each with their own distinct atmospheres, dining options, and activities. “ Icon of the Seas is truly what we call a white paper ship,” Anna Drescher, manager of architectural design, new building and innovation for Royal Caribbean group, said in a video statement . “The reason that we call it that is we start with a blank sheet of sketch paper, so it truly is starting fresh.”

In June 2023, the ship hit a major milestone when it completed its first sea trials outside the shipyard in Turku, Finland. Next up is the colossal new ship’s first voyage, slated to depart on January 27, 2024. It will sail roundtrip from Miami to the Caribbean islands of St. Kitts, St. Thomas, and the Bahamas.

The ship's typical seven-day itineraries include three at-sea days, so passengers have time to fully enjoy the endless choices of amenities on board. “We want guests to walk up to the ship and just have this moment of: I can’t believe that’s where I’m going ,” said Jennifer Goswami, the line’s senior manager of product development.

Here's a look at the enormous scale of the new ship and what to expect on board.

When it begins sailing, the Icon of the Seas will offer a total of 2,805 staterooms that can hold 5,610 passengers at double occupancy, or a maximum of 7,600 guests. Passengers can choose from a whopping 28 different room types, including Sunset Suites with wraparound balconies and Family Infinite Balcony staterooms with bunkbeds fit for a family of up to six.

The largest suite on board will be the three-story, 1,772-square-foot “Ultimate Family Townhouse,” which comes with its own movie theater, ping-pong table, karaoke, and a slide between floors. It can sleep up to eight people and costs approximately $75,000 per week.

Among the eight "neighborhoods," or sections of the ship with distinct ambiance, are Central Park, which offers greenery and sidewalk cafes, and The Hideaway, which aims for a European beach club aesthetic. There's also The Suite Neighborhood, Surfside, Thrill Island, Chill Island, The Royal Promenade, and the Aquadome.

The ship's 2,350 crew members will also get their own neighborhood, complete with amenities like a gaming room and hair salon.

Another superlative for Icon will be sporting the largest waterpark at sea. The park, called Category 6, features six different record-breaking waterslides, including the tallest onboard waterslide. There will also be a free-fall slide, plus a raft-style slide for four passengers to ride together.

Jessica Puckett

Matt Ortile

Olivia Morelli

Alex Van Buren

Seven pools and nine whirlpools will be located throughout the ship, including the first infinity pool on a cruise ship to be suspended in the air. The Royal Bay pool, located on the 15th deck, will break the record for largest pool at sea, holding an astounding 40,000 gallons of water.

Across the towering vessel, there'll be more than 20 food venues and 15 bars and nightlife experiences, including a sweeping three-level main dining room.

Among the options for grabbing a drink will be the line's first onboard swim-up bar, a walk-up Champagne bar, and a bar specializing in coffee cocktails like espresso martinis.

On the entertainment front, Royal Caribbean has hired 75 performers to titillate guests across three cavernous theaters. The Absolute Zero ice arena will feature shows with Olympic-level skaters, while the AquaTheater will combine the talents of divers, robots, and skateboarders.

In the Royal Theater, a 16-piece orchestra (the largest one at sea), will accompany shows like the Wizard of Oz.

In smaller venues throughout the ship, like the dueling piano bar, 50 live musicians and comedians will perform each night, making it possible for every type of passenger to find something that fits their style.

Watch CBS News

A look inside the Icon of the Seas, the world's biggest cruise ship, as it prepares for voyage

By Kris Van Cleave , Analisa Novak

January 18, 2024 / 12:14 PM EST / CBS News

Royal Caribbean is redefining the cruise industry with its latest ship, the Icon of the Seas. This $2 billion floating resort is largely booked until 2026.

Spanning nearly 1,200 feet, the cruise ship has 20 decks, which makes the Icon of the Seas the world's largest cruise ship.

It's a city at sea, accommodating up to 7,600 passengers in 2,805 staterooms and nearly 10,000 people, including the crew. The ship offers different experiences that include seven pools — one is the largest on any ship — the world's first onboard water park with six water slides, theaters, a casino and over 40 dining and drinking spots.

Jay Schneider, Royal Caribbean's Chief Product Innovation Officer, says the cruise ship is more than just its amenities.

"It's really about iconic experiences," he said.

And despite its massive size, Schneider said the ship is designed to avoid feeling overcrowded.

"We have purposely designed the ship to give more space for people," he said. "We believe, even at 7,500 guests, it won't feel to you like your entire hometown has joined the ship," said Schneider.    

Luxury comes at a price on the Icon. A weeklong Caribbean cruise costs about $3,500 for two people in an average stateroom. For those seeking more luxury, the Ultimate Family Townhouse – a three-story suite complete with touchscreen tables and a slide – can go for up to $100,000 per trip. The Royal Loft, aimed at high-rolling adults, offers two bedrooms, a private hot tub, and a spacious balcony starting at $40,000.

Colleen McDaniel, editor-in-chief at Cruise Critic, said that bigger ships benefit both passengers and cruise lines.

"It means more people can experience something. It means that there's a lot more amenities and activities onboard the cruise ship," McDaniel said. "The more people they can put on a cruise ship, of course, the better business they do, the more money they make."

Kevin Curran says the Icon took his breath away. Having followed the ship's construction for over a year, the Oregon resident said he's thrilled to be on its inaugural cruise from Miami.

"The more I watched the videos, the more I understood this was something special," he said.

Cruising is surging in popularity. Last year, passenger volume outpaced pre-pandemic numbers, and this year is expected to hit a new high of 36 million as spending on experiences has climbed 65% since 2019.

From the bridge, Captain Hendrik Loy is overseeing what amounts to a three-day test drive to the Bahamas.

"There is still fine-tuning that needs to take place," said Loy.

The Icon also champions environmental responsibility. It's powered by liquefied natural gas, treats its own waste, and produces its own water.

Emmy Award-winning journalist Kris Van Cleave is the senior transportation correspondent for CBS News based in Phoenix, Arizona, where he also serves as a national correspondent reporting for all CBS News broadcasts and platforms.

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The world’s largest cruise ship has 20 decks, 7 pools and would cover almost 4 city blocks

The ship is the size of almost four city blocks and runs nearly 1,200 feet (365 meters) from bow to stern. AP Video by Daniel Kozin.

FILE - The Icon of the Seas, the world’s largest cruise ship, sits docked after arriving to its home port in Miami, Wednesday, Jan. 10, 2024. Royal Caribbean’s Icon of the Seas is leaving South Florida on Saturday, Jan. 27, for its first seven-day island-hopping voyage through the tropics. (AP Photo/Rebecca Blackwell, File)

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FILE - Icon of the Seas, the world’s largest cruise ship, sits at dock as it prepares for its inaugural public voyage later this month, Thursday, Jan. 11, 2024, at PortMiami in Miami. Royal Caribbean’s Icon of the Seas is leaving South Florida on Saturday, Jan. 27, for its first seven-day island-hopping voyage through the tropics. (AP Photo/Rebecca Blackwell, File)

FILE - Waterslides are seen atop a deck overlooking floors of rooms aboard Icon of the Seas, the world’s largest cruise ship, during a media day preview as it prepares for its inaugural public voyage later this month, Thursday, Jan. 11, 2024, in Miami. Royal Caribbean’s Icon of the Seas is leaving South Florida on Saturday, Jan. 27, for its first seven-day island-hopping voyage through the tropics. (AP Photo/Rebecca Blackwell, File)

FILE - Employees and visitors walk in the Royal Promenade area of Icon of the Seas, the world’s largest cruise ship, during a media day preview as it prepares for its inaugural public voyage later this month, Thursday, Jan. 11, 2024, at PortMiami in Miami. Royal Caribbean’s Icon of the Seas is leaving South Florida on Saturday, Jan. 27, for its first seven-day island-hopping voyage through the tropics.(AP Photo/Rebecca Blackwell, File)

Inter Miami soccer player Lionel Messi, center, bumps fists with a member of the Red Hot Chilli Pipers bagpipe band, left, during a naming ceremony for Royal Caribbean International’s new cruise ship, Icon of the Seas, Tuesday, Jan. 23, 2024, in Miami. Inter Miami CF has formed a partnership with the cruise line Royal Caribbean International. At right is Jason Liberty, president and CEO of the Royal Caribbean Group. (AP Photo/Lynne Sladky)

MIAMI (AP) — The world’s largest cruise ship — the size of almost four city blocks — is set to begin its maiden voyage Saturday as it leaves from the Port of Miami.

Royal Caribbean’s Icon of the Seas runs nearly 1,200 feet (365 meters) from bow to stern.

The ship, which is leaving South Florida for its first seven-day island-hopping voyage through the tropics, was officially christened Tuesday with help from soccer legend Lionel Messi and his Inter Miami teammates.

At a glance

The Icon of the Seas:

• can carry up to 7,600 passengers and 2,350 crew members

The ship has:

• six waterslides
• seven swimming pools
• an ice-skating rink
• more than 40 restaurants, bars and lounges

“Icon of the Seas is the culmination of more than 50 years of dreaming, innovating and living our mission – to deliver the world’s best vacation experiences responsibly,” Royal Caribbean Group President and CEO Jason Liberty said earlier this week. “She is the ultimate multigenerational family vacation, forever changing the status quo in family travel and fulfilling vacation dreams for all ages on board.”

The ship sets sail as Royal Caribbean’s cruises are having a moment online. Since December, the company’s 9-month “Ultimate World Cruise” has captivated — and confused — a following of avid watchers on social media.

Millions are following the journey through the eyes of the passengers, as they live and post their lives aboard a vessel they’ll be on for nearly a year. If it sounds like a reality show, that’s exactly what some watchers have turned it into.

When the Icon of the Seas was first revealed in October 2022, the ship spurred the single largest booking day and the highest volume booking week in Royal Caribbean’s then 53-year history, according to the cruise line.

A dancer performs in front of Inter Miami soccer player Lionel Messi, second from left, seated, during an event on the world’s largest cruise ship Icon of the Seas, Tuesday, Jan. 23, 2024, in Miami. The MLS soccer team Inter Miami CF has formed a partnership with the cruise line Royal Caribbean International. (AP Photo/Lynne Sladky)

The Icon of the Seas is divided into eight neighborhoods across 20 decks. The ship includes six waterslides, seven swimming pools, an ice skating rink, a theater and more than 40 restaurants, bars and lounges. The ship can carry up to 7,600 passengers at maximum capacity, along with 2,350 crew members.

It is powered by six dual-fuel engines, which can be powered by liquefied natural gas (LNG), a fuel alternative that the Cruise Lines International Association says reduces sulfur and greenhouse gas emissions. However, some environmentalists worry LNG-powered ships increase methane emissions . Other say that vacationers generate eight times more carbon on a cruise than they do on land.

Royal Caribbean says every kilowatt used on the Icon of the Seas “is scrutinized for energy efficiencies and emission reductions.”

You can live at sea from $38,500 a year on this cruise ship that will circle the globe for three years — see inside

• Life at Sea Cruises will operate a three-year cruise around the world starting in November.
• The cruise starts at a little over $38,500 per person per year for a 145-square-foot interior stateroom.
• See what life will be like aboard the roughly 30-year-old MV Gemini.

Travelers who have dreamt of living at sea can finally do so this November.

Life at Sea Cruises will give travelers the opportunity to spend three years on a cruise ship while sailing around the world. Pricing starts at a little over $231,000 per person for the full three-year itinerary.

The vessel will begin its globetrotting affair in Istanbul on November 1, but will also pick up guests in Barcelona and Miami.

The ship has 627 cabins to accommodate up to 1,074 travelers. Throughout the three years, these seafarers will travel over 130,000 miles to 375 ports in 135 countries.

Along the way, they'll see all seven continents while visiting destinations like several of the Wonders of the World; Half Moon Island, Antarctica; Rio de Janeiro, Brazil; and Seoul, South Korea.

Most around-the-world cruises spend several hours or up to two nights at ports of call.

But industry veteran Mike Petterson, the managing director of Life at Sea Cruises and the brainpower behind the new brand, said this isn't enough time to explore larger destinations like Beijing, China.

So instead, the Gemini will dock for up to seven nights in one destination.

This includes one week each in Shanghai and Singapore, which will also double as wet docks. If the ship has to head into a dry dock for repairs, Life at Sea passengers will be put up in a hotel.

Petterson conceived of Life at Sea before the COVID-19 pandemic and partnered with Miray International's Miray Cruises in late 2022 to turn this concept into a reality.

The new company will use Miray's cruise ship workers and the Gemini, one of its three ships.

Throughout the three years at sea, the Gemini will spend 288 overnights at different ports, averaging about two nights per destination.

A trip to any of these locations could cost the typical globetrotter hundreds or thousands of dollars in travel and accommodation fees.

However, passage on Life at Sea's Gemini will alleviate upfront costs for travelers by giving them the option to spread payments out over the course of three years.

But don't expect a glittering new hotel at sea with all the bells and whistles of a novel mega ship.

The upper-premium, 30-year-old vessel was refurbished last year. And the team is now spending an additional $10 million renovating the interior.

Think of the Gemini as a floating city with its own security, medical center, and offices with Starlink WiFi.

Source: Life at Sea Cruises

No city would be complete without a jail and a morgue. Luckily (or unluckily) the Gemini has both.

Cruise lines like Royal Caribbean have seen record-breaking demand for giant cruise ships that can accommodate thousands of travelers.

Source: Insider

But Life at Sea is taking a more scaled-down approach to the floating hotel.

Seafarers will have access to typical cruise ship amenities, which include four lounges, a golf simulator, and a sundeck with a pool.

For meals at sea, passengers can dine at one of the two primary dining rooms, the restaurant on the pool deck, or order food anywhere on the ship using its app.

But unlike the average cruise vessel, the Gemini will also have amenities like a robust business center and a hospital with a pharmacy and dentist.

Like any all-inclusive cruise, these extras — including hospital visits — won't come at an additional cost.

These around-the-world cruises are often booked by retirees.

But Petterson says Life at Sea is targeting an incrementally younger demographic: pre-retirees, generally people between 55 to 65 years of age.

To accommodate the remote workers, the business center — which will replace the ship's casino — will have meeting rooms, offices, and a library.

Days at sea with no land in sight is inevitable for transoceanic itineraries: Travelers on the Gemini will have at least 300 of these sailing days.

To stave off boredom, travelers can spend their days around the ship's lounges, attending seminars and shows, or resting in their cabins.

Source: Life at Sea

The cheapest and smallest stateroom measures 130 square feet and starts at $90,000 per person for the three-year trip.

Like any cruise ship, interior staterooms can feel dingy.

To prevent this, these cabins will come with screens that will display a live view of the ocean, creating a virtual "window."

For those looking to spend more cash, the most expensive cabin — a suite with a balcony — will run travelers nearly $330,000 in total.

Source: Life At Sea Cruises

These staterooms pale in comparison to the over 1,000-square-foot suites on several modern cruise ships.

But according to Petterson, at least they're more affordable: "It's meant more for the mass market and retirees as opposed to doctors with trophy wives."

Travelers can either pay monthly or pay the entire three years upfront with the option to finance the payment.

However, they can't book shorter legs of the trip. It's all three years or nothing.

For those with commitment issues, there's also the option to divide travel with another passenger, taking turns spending time on the ship.

Three years without seeing friends and family can be a long time. Luckily, they're welcome as well.

They can either crash on a roll-in bed in a resident's stateroom, stay in a guest cabin, or stay in a passenger's stateroom while they are off the ship.

Reservations for Life at Sea's Gemini open on March 1.

Petterson says the company already has about 20 people who are ready to book.

Launching sales seven months ahead of the journey may seem risky for an industry that often relies on bookings a year in advance.

Source: Insider  

However, Petterson, a self-described "optimist," expects the ship will sail at an over 55% occupancy rate at any given time as world cruises have skyrocketed in popularity over the last two years.

Over the last few years, around-the-world sailings have been booking well despite the long-term commitment.

For travelers like retirees and remote workers, this extended life at sea promises peaceful afternoons and the opportunity to slowly travel the world with minimal planning.

Monthslong around-the-world cruises have been selling in record time in 2021 and 2022.

Source: Insider , Insider

But for travelers who'd rather spend years vacationing at sea, there's also Storylines, Victoria Cruises Line, and now Life at Sea.

Source: Insider , Insider  

Victoria Cruises Line's Victoria Majestic, a former Holland America Line vessel, will begin sailing around the world indefinitely in May…

…while Storylines' residential cruise ship, the MV Narrative, will begin its own nonstop circumnavigation in 2025.

Some floor plans on the Narrative are already sold out, a testament to the rising success of these floating condominiums.

• Main content

Frequently Asked Questions

Is The World a cruise ship? 

The World is not a cruise ship. It is the largest, privately owned residential yacht on earth. Although it may resemble a cruise ship from the exterior, that is where the similarity ends. This exclusive community offers the ultimate combination of luxury travel with world-class dining, an award-winning wine program, destination experiences and expeditions to remote parts of the globe, health and wellness services, and enriching cultural events. It is the embodiment of a distinctive lifestyle experience.

Is The World a timeshare? 

No. Every home is fully owned by a Resident(s). Together, the Residents own the Ship.

Who is the average Resident living on board The World ? 

Residents are very active, entrepreneurial and philanthropic, and they have a thirst for knowledge, adventure and travel.

Where are the Residents from? 

The Resident community is comprised of approximately 150 families who hail from 20 countries throughout North America (U.S. and Canada), Europe, Asia, Australia, South America and South Africa.

Do people live on the Ship year-round? 

There are some Residents who live on the Ship year-round, with the majority continuing to be active in their professional lives and spending three to four months on board. The average occupancy at one time is approximately 150 to 200 Residents so the atmosphere is quite intimate.

How is The World ’s itinerary decided upon? 

The World continuously circumnavigates the globe on an itinerary selected by the Resident community through a voting process. Itineraries are determined approximately three years in advance by a team comprised of a Resident Itinerary Committee, the two Captains and the Director, Itinerary Planning. Every corner of the globe is a possibility. The Ship visits more than 100 ports of call annually. Longer stays in port average three days and allow Residents to explore these destinations, all of which are chosen for their individuality, authenticity and allure.

What are some of the unique and thrilling experiences Residents have enjoyed? 

Hiking in Grenada’s Grand Etang rainforest. Riding in a sunset camel safari in Australia. Diving in St. Barts. Golfing at Scotland’s Kingsbarns. Watching the running of the bulls from a private Pamplona apartment. Kayaking among icebergs. Befriending penguins in Antarctica. Savoring a meal at the three-Michelin-star restaurant elBulli in Spain. Gazing at a Papua New Guinea tribe’s dance ritual.

How much do Residences cost? 

There are 165 Residences on The World ranging from studios to expansive three-bedroom units and a luxurious penthouse. Prices vary based on size, décor, location and market conditions. Details are provided at the time of enquiry.

Are there annual ownership costs to pay? 

Yes, annual ownership costs are additional and are based on the square footage of the apartments. These fees include a Resident’s share of Ship preservation, operations, crew compensation, and food and beverage onboard.

Is The World sold out? 

The original inventory of Residences was sold out in June 2006, however there are currently a select number of Residences available for resale.

Is there a rental program? 

A Guest Stay Program is in place as a service to Residents, however it is not intended to drive revenue or occupancy. The “by invitation” program exists to provide potential Residents with the opportunity to experience the lifestyle prior to making a purchase decision and joining the community.

About The World

Launched in 2002, The World ® is the largest privately owned, residential yacht on earth with 165 luxury Residences. A diverse group of Residents from 20 countries own the homes onboard and share interests in world cultures, history and adventure, and exploring fascinating destinations. They circumnavigate the globe every two to three years following an extraordinary itinerary that they select. In-depth expeditions and one-of-a-kind experiences are complemented by world-class amenities and impeccable service. To learn more about this unique lifestyle call 954-538-8449 or visit www.aboardtheworld.com .

Media Contacts: For additional information or to request images of The World , please contact:

Jayne Alexander, +44 (0)20 3709 7809, [email protected] . Joanna Merredew, +44 (0)20 3709 7809, [email protected] .

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November 2020

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• Cruise News

Authorities Drop Probe on Cruise Ship Reportedly Sailing Near Shoreline

• June 3, 2024

Celebrity Cruises has escaped legal action after being accused of breaking Hawaii state law.

Last month, Celebrity Edge was reported to authorities after several residents noticed the ship was suspiciously close to the shore of the Na Pali coast on Kauai. The cruise line was investigated but this was halted as officials “failed to find evidence.” 

Celebrity ship reported by concerned residents

An existing state law bans ships carrying 50 or more passengers from sailing within 3,000 feet of the Na Pali Coast shore. The 2,908-passenger Celebrity Edge was reported by several local people and recorded on video .

Pressure mounted to take action against the cruise line after it was documented on social media posts . Based on video and photos, Kauai community leaders said the ship appeared to be in shallow waters around 1,000 feet from the coast.

Residents alerted Division of Conservation and Resources Enforcement (DOCARE) officials. The agency dispatched a team to Honolulu, where the Celebrity Edge later docked. Officials boarded the ship and interviewed the captain and ship’s master. 

Distance from the shoreline “inconclusive’

The captain said the vessel remained at least 30 meters deep water but could not confirm the exact distance from the shoreline.

DOCARE then interviewed several witnesses on Kauai who had seen it from land. None could say with certainty that the ship had violated the 3,000-foot rule. Members of the Hawaii Tourism Authority also assisted in the investigation. 

“DOCARE determined there is insufficient evidence that supports probable cause or that there is clear and convincing evidence to pursue any criminal or civil action,” the agency said. 

Celebrity Edge sailed along the Na Pali coast, as it could not call at Maui because of devastating wildfires that had destroyed the town of Lahaina.

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Tragic End for Passenger Who Leaped From the Top of the World’s Largest Cruise Ship

A tragedy occurred aboard the world’s most massive cruise ship when a passenger plummeted into the sea on the initial leg of a week-long journey, resulting in his death, according to authorities.

The man, whose identity remains undisclosed, leaped from the Royal Caribbean’s 1,200-foot behemoth, the Icon of the Seas, shortly after its departure from Florida towards Honduras early Sunday, the Coast Guard reported to The Post.

“The cruise ship immediately deployed a rescue boat, successfully located the individual, and retrieved him onto the vessel,” the Coast Guard stated.

“He was declared dead subsequently. The US Coast Guard’s role was mainly limited to aiding the search operation,” the agency further noted.

The Post has solicited a response from Royal Caribbean regarding this incident.

Reports from CruiseHive indicate the vessel was around 300 miles from PortMiami when the incident occurred.

The cruise ship was stalled for approximately two hours while the monumental 2,350-person crew aided the Coast Guard in the search and rescue operation.

The man was retrieved in critical condition but ultimately succumbed to his injuries, according to the report.

Passengers of the ship, which can accommodate up to 7,600 guests, uploaded videos documenting the rescue efforts, with some voicing their astonishment at his initial survival.

Videos circulated online show the cruise’s rescue boats swiftly departing to reach the overboard passenger.

The gargantuan Icon of the Seas, which embarked on its maiden voyage this January, holds the title of the world’s largest cruise ship.

With a staggering 20 decks, this towering vessel, equivalent to the length of four city blocks, houses a 17,000-square-foot aquatic park featuring six slides and seven swimming areas — with the Royal Bay reigning as the largest pool at sea. Absolute Zero is also unveiled as the grandest ice skating rink to be found on the ocean.

Additionally, the ship offers a theater, a carousel, and over 40 distinct dining and lounge settings.

**Q: What ship was involved in the incident?**

A: Royal Caribbean’s Icon of the Seas was the ship involved in the incident.

**Q: Where was the ship headed?**

A: The ship was headed towards Honduras from Florida when the incident occurred.

**Q: How many people can the Icon of the Seas accommodate?**

A: The Icon of the Seas can accommodate 7,600 passengers and 2,350 crew members.

**Q: How long did the ship halt following the incident?**

A: The ship stopped for about 2 hours to facilitate the search and rescue mission.

**Q: Has the passenger been identified?**

A: The passenger’s identity has not been disclosed in the reports.

**Q: Did the US Coast Guard participate in the rescue?**

A: Yes, the US Coast Guard assisted in the search but the rescue boat deployed by the cruise ship retrieved the passenger.

**Q: Did the passenger survive the initial fall?**

A: Yes, the passenger was initially found alive but later pronounced deceased.

**Q: What are some of the features of the Icon of the Seas?**

A: The ship is known for its 20 decks, a 17,000-square-foot water park, the largest pool at sea, the largest ice skating rink at sea, a theater, a carousel, and more than 40 restaurants, bars, and lounges.

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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Travel agent explains why scammer cancelled woman's $15,000 cruise vacation after she made brutal mistake on social media

A kentucky woman's dream carnival cruise holiday was cancelled at the last minute.

Lucy Devine

A travel agent has explained why a scammer would cancel a $15,000 cruise after one woman made a devastating mistake on social media.

Mom Tiffany Banks, from Kentucky, had planned a Carnival Cruise vacation with her husband and four children.

But what was expected to be the trip of a lifetime turned into a disaster after Tiffany found out her booking had been cancelled at the last minute .

Tiffany was confused when two days before the trip - which had already been paid in full - she received an email about the cruise, explaining her excursions had been cancelled.

She called the company to find out why this had happened, and was told that she had cancelled the $12,000 reservation for the ship’s largest room, the Excel Presidential Suite, through the online system.

Totally bewildered over what could have happened, Tiffany went into panic mode, wracking her brains trying to figure out what had happened.

Speaking on her TikTok page, @thathippiedoc , she said she and her kids broke down in tears when they discovered what had happened.

“We have nearly $15,000 tied up in for this vacation, including excursions. The room itself was I think $12,000 or $13,000, and then we’ve got a few grand tied up in excursions, and actually with almost $2,000 for flights," she explained in TikTok videos.

Carnival explained that the room had already been reserved by another customer and although they offered her another room, Banks said she didn't feel it was an adequate replacement.

She also claims the company refused to issue a refund and insisted it was against their cancellation policy.

Hoping for the absolute best, the family flew to Miami anyway hoping to board the ship - but unfortunately it left without them.

It wasn’t until later that Banks discovered she had been a victim of a type of identity theft after she and her husband accidentally shared their cruise booking reference number on Facebook.

The same day that it was posted, someone made a Carnival account and added the number to their profile. Then, two days before the cruise departed, the person cancelled the entire booking.

Ever since Tiffany shared the news, people have been flooding social media with questions about what happened.

Why would a scammer cancel their booking? What would be to gain from doing so?

Well, one travel agent has weighed in on Reddit - and the reason why makes a lot of sense.

They said: "I can shed some light on this. I used to be a travel agent, and had a client who posted his airline reservation on social media.

"Scammers were able to cancel the reservation, and also obtain their phone number. They called the person, pretending to be United, and advised them that the reservation was canceled.

"The person checked online, and sure enough, it was canceled. The scammer told the guy that he could rebook the family on the same flight, but they had to sit in business class, and they had to pay with an Apple gift card."

The travel agent explained they had received a phone call from the man's wife, who was concerned about what had happened.

"I got a call from the guy's wife, who found this suspicious," they continued.

"When she told me, I immediately told her to call her husband, who was already at CVS buying Apple gift cards. While she called her husband to stop him, I called United, explained the situation, and they reinstated the family's booking. Same flight, same price, no extra payment needed.

"Not saying this cruise situation is necessarily the same scam, but just wanted to give an example of an angle scammers can use."

The travel agent explained that a booking number should always be treated as confidential.

"Always treat booking number like a password. Never ever post them on social media," they added.

A Carnival Cruise spokesperson told LADbible Group: "While we are not going to comment on any specific guest complaint or incident, it is never a good idea to post personal information about your travel plans, including a confirmation number for a booking, which could allow a bad actor or identify thief to use that information in inappropriate or even illegal ways."

Topics:  Crime , Money , Travel , Cruise ship

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Passenger describes scene on board world’s largest cruise ship after man died jumping from ship

Zachary normandin says it is back to business as usual for the majority of passengers on the icon of the seas.

Olivia Burke

Passengers travelling on the world's largest cruise ship have told of the 'dystopian' experience onboard after a man reportedly jumped off of the vessel and died.

The unidentified victim is said to have plunged from the 1,200-foot-long Royal Caribbean ship Icon of the Seas on the first night of the week-long voyage which began in Florida on Sunday (26 May).

Reports claim the cruise liner was just 300 miles from PortMiami when the tragic incident occurred.

The Icon of the Seas - which can accommodate a whopping 7,600 passengers and 2,350 crew - had set sail to explore the Gulf of Mexico before the alarm was raised that a traveller had gone overboard .

The vessel came to a halt for around two hours as the Coast Guard and Royal Caribbean conducted a search for the man, before it was announced that he had passed away.

"The cruise ship deployed one of their rescue boats, located the man and brought him back aboard,” the Coast Guard told the New York Post. "He was pronounced deceased.

"Beyond assisting in the search, the US Coast Guard did not have much involvement in this incident."

Now, those onboard the Icon of the Seas have spoken out about the 'dystopian' scenes which have unfolded on the ship since the man reportedly jumped off.

Zachary Normandin, 31, said that hundreds of passengers were eating dinner in one of the ship's restaurants when the captain made an announcement informing them that the missing holidaymaker had been located.

However, tourists mistakenly presumed that the man 'was fine' and initially burst into celebration.

Normandin told the Post: "Everyone in the dining room clapped and we’re like, 'yeah!' We assumed that the guy was fine."

The dad-of-one, from Connecticut, said that he felt somewhat uncomfortable with those onboard the Icon of the Seas just carrying on as normal despite the death of a passenger.

"I don’t think everyone knows about the guy dying. I think it’s kind of purposely silenced," Normandin said.

"I think people we’re just trying not to think about it, maybe, I don’t know.

"It just seemed like more people would have been like ‘oh my gosh, what’s going on,’ but no, people were just going about their day. It’s just kind of dystopian."

He recalled how the captain informed people that the Icon of the Seas was turning around in the hopes of finding the man overboard and presumed 'that was it' for his holiday.

"But no, everything just kept on going," Normandin said.

He also paid tribute to the man who lost his life and said he hopes his loved ones 'get through this'.

LADbible have contacted Royal Caribbean for comment.

Topics:  Cruise Ship , News , Travel , World News , US News

Olivia is a journalist at LADbible Group with more than five years of experience and has worked for a number of top publishers, including News UK. She also enjoys writing food reviews (as well as the eating part). She is a stereotypical reality TV addict, but still finds time for a serious documentary.

@ livburke_

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