You’re in the Gateway to the Americas. The 305. Magic City. Vice City. The land where the line between palm trees and the gorgeous Atlantic Ocean is separated only by warm sand and Cuban sandwiches. A city that cradles its people the way a melting pot holds different ingredients from various countries. In the words of the great Will Smith: welcome to Miami.
After a weekend spent immersing yourself in Haitian food and culture, walking nowhere under the city’s neon glow and burying your toes under sand, you decide you need a change of pace. Miami is everything it was chalked up to be, but it’s called Vice City for a reason. Coming from the Garden City you’ve voyaged so far from, you suddenly crave control and structure.
Then you hear it—one long blast. It’s a sound only a horn could make. It’s coming from a cruise ship anchored in the distance at a port. An idea reveals itself in your mind, and you toy with it.
By the time Thursday rolls around, the idea is no longer a thought, but a reality. You’re at PortMiami, waiting to board the 18-deck tall, 1,188 feet long ship (that’s longer than the Eiffel Tower, by the way). The words “Wonder of the Seas” are plastered across its stern, directly beneath a large logo of a crown and anchor—Royal Caribbean.
You glance upward, trying to get a glimpse of what awaits above, but you already know. You had read the brochure before booking. The top deck is where you’ll find sweeping ocean views and the breeze of the ocean at its full prowess. It’s also home to the tallest slide at sea, along with ziplining, surf simulators, and a sprawl of pools leading to even more waterslides.
You decide early on that these are all fun activities, but you’re not here to physically exert yourself. You do enough of that twice a week after work at the neighbourhood gym. No, you’re here to do the opposite.
You pull out the Royal Caribbean app on your phone and scroll down to “Dining”. Dinner tonight will be at The Mason Jar, the first Southern restaurant established at sea. Here, you chow down on seafood gumbo, hickory baby back ribs, and an oyster po’ boy sandwich while a live band plays the blues. The next day, you head to Hooked, a seafood restaurant serving up New-England-style clam chowder, golden crab cakes, and your favourite bite of the cruise: a Maine lobster tail dunked in melted butter.
The most distinct dining experience you had, however, came during your time in Central Park. You read that right—the folks at Royal Caribbean quite impressively recreated Central Park in the middle of the ship. Lined with trees, shrubbery, streetlamps and the occasional park bench, it almost feels as if you’re in the set of a sitcom set in ‘90s New York.
Nestled quietly within this landscape is 150 Central Park, a part-bistro, part-steakhouse that specialises in all things meat. Here, you find another standout bite: braised short rib. Thick and rich, yet it surrenders completely to the push of a fork. For dessert, fried cheesecake left an equally deep impression—served between strokes on Nutella, whipped cream, and bits of caramelised popcorn.
Yet, what you remember most about the cruise isn’t the food.
There’s always something happening on the ship. You could sip cocktails to a live jazz band, then wander down the hallway to find people dancing to a stranger putting on a karaoke performance. You could watch contestants duke it out in a live game show on Deck 5, then laugh your guts out at a stand-up comedy set one deck above.
On your third day at sea, the ship finally finds land—but something’s different. As you prepare to disembark, the announcer repeats the same line: “Have a perfect day at CocoCay.” Stepping onto the island, you notice that the tallest structure on the island isn’t a building or skyscraper—it’s a 41-metre-high water slide. Below it are freshwater pools and beaches, bars and open-air lounges designed to embody the essence of summer. You sneak in bites of mozzarella sticks and pizzas under a parasol, gazing into the turquoise sheen of the Atlantic. Your heart needed a break after screaming your lungs out on eight of the fourteen waterslides on offer.
This is the suite life, you tell yourself. But as you’ll soon come to find out, the island you’re experiencing at the moment is simply a precursor, an appetiser. What awaited the next day was the main course.
As the sun rises, the ship arrives in new lands. Except this time, the island has a name that sounds like people actually live here. You’re in Nassau, The Bahamas. You try to observe and absorb Bahamian culture as best you can, at a port where souvenir shops are aplenty. But between the “Welcome to the Bahamas” printed cotton t-shirts and snippets of conversations you can fully understand, you know you’re nowhere close to experiencing the country the way you want to.
For a little monetary bump, you’re transported to the Royal Beach Club Paradise Island, on a short ferry. As Royal Caribbean’s latest private destination exclusive to its guests, everything not only feels fresh but also premium. The island is split across three zones: chill, party, and family—each catering to specific needs.
After the sensory overload at CocoCay, you start with the chill zone. At Paradise Grill, you refuel with unlimited bites of chicken tenders, burgers, and lobster BLT wraps, which come inclusive with entry. With four pockets full, you settle into an unsheltered sunbed. The sun appears to be scorching, but you don’t sense its usual searing nature. It’s soft, it’s comforting. It contrasts nicely against the cool breeze of a near-approaching spring.
In the distance, you hear the echoes of live music mingle in your ear among crashing waves. Dancers in traditional Bahamian costumes sway to the strumming of guitars and the rhythm of drums.
You get up to satiate your curiosity, but your ears perk up at something new. There are sounds of electronic beats pulsing deeper in the island. Soon, you find its source—a sprawling pool overlooking the Atlantic Ocean with a long bar planted in the middle. A DJ spins music from a second-storey booth above the pool while guests drift below with cocktails in hand. Later, you learn it’s the world’s largest swim-up bar called The Floating Flamingo.
Your family isn’t with you, but the energy of the island pulls you in further, so you wander into the final zone anyway. Family Beach is exactly what you’d expect: shallow pools, takeaway bars serving hot dogs and shrimp on sticks, and the shrill laughter of kids running over each other. There’s even a games area parked with spikeball, ring toss and jumbo Jenga.
Before you know it, you’re back on board, tucked nicely under the duvet as the Wonder of the Seas traces its route back to Miami. As you queue to disembark the next day, you’re left with a seemingly perpetually full belly, tanner skin, and a gallery peppered with random pictures of the ocean. You think to yourself, if there were ever a way to attach an experience to define a word, the past few days would be the closest thing to the essence of a vacation in every sense of the word.
