I Went on a Wellness Cruise and It Was Actually Pretty Awesome
I’d never thought much about cruise ships until last year, when I noticed that wellness had become a serious focus for an industry better known for all-you-can-eat buffets. As the editor of Bon Appétit’s sister brand Healthyish, I spend a lot of time thinking about the lifestyle these cruise lines promise—filled with vegan grain bowls and therapeutic massages—but embarrassingly little time actually living it. In other words: I’m stressed. And the idea of spending a week on a floating health spa started sounding pretty good. So last fall I boarded Oceania’s Riviera with my boyfriend, José, and about 1,200 other passengers for a Mediterranean “wellness tour”—the cruise line’s collaboration with the health-resort company Canyon Ranch. I decided to keep a journal along the way so I could remember what true relaxation felt like when I returned to my landlocked desk in NYC.
Photo by Laura Murray1/6Day 1—Barcelona
We’re supposed to be on a bus tour of the Catalonian coast, but we sleep through our alarm. I’m stressed already. I decide we should fight the feeling with a couples’ massage at the Canyon Ranch spa on an upper deck. While most of the Riviera is a proper luxury cruise line—chandeliered restaurants, well-appointed bars, roulette tables—this level is an oasis of health. I wrap myself in a bathrobe and down five glasses of orange-infused water. If I act calm, I’ll feel calm, I tell myself. In the massage room, José is snoring within minutes; I worry that the pressure from the face rest is damaging my vocal cords. My masseuse, Liezel, finds a spot where it feels like a demon has latched on to my spine. “We have a lot of work to do this week,” she says, and I sigh. She’s right.
Photo by Laura Murray2/6Day 2—Aix-en-Provence
Today we manage to get up in time for a market tour, and I somehow stumble upon a café called Juice Lab, which looks to have been airlifted from Venice (California) and dropped in southern France. It’s all going great until I get back on board and meet Michal, the ship’s personal trainer. “Do you want me to be nice or honest?” he asks. “Honest,” I tell him, but I’m lying. He makes me do push-ups and sit-ups and run on the treadmill. He puts sticky pads with wires on my hands and attaches the wires to a little machine. Suddenly he knows things about me I’ve never known before: muscle-to-fat ratios, caloric needs, the amount of water in and outside of my cells. All this new information is making me, well, anxious. So I bury the printouts he gives me in my suitcase and go to Martinis, my favorite onboard bar, to play trivia with strangers. The cocktails here are extra-big and extra-cold, and they come with a sidecar. I love them more than I love the orange water at the spa. “I didn’t come on a cruise to change my body’s cellular makeup,” I explain to my new friends, who don’t care. Secretly I resolve to do the workout Michal gave me at least two more times this week.
Photo by Laura Murray3/6Day 3—Nice
After breakfast on the boat—the smoked salmon from the buffet has become my go-to—it’s on to Nice, where we stroll through a market, sampling grapes that taste like candy and slices of hot socca (chickpea pancakes) made right in front of us. We nibble on figs, walnut-studded bread, and a sheep’s-milk cheese that we’re promised is the best in France. Then we’re back on the tour bus to Château Eza, a Michelin-starred restaurant, perched on a cliff overlooking the Nice coastline. It’s a four-course lunch, but the dishes are delicate: a bite of beef tataki; a single slow-roasted tomato with goat cheese, swimming in a shallow bowl of soup. As I marvel at the calm, blue water, I realize that I’ve been eating all day but have never felt too full. The best way to eat on a cruise, I decide, is to treat it like a tasting menu—one small, perfect bite at a time.
Photo by Laura Murray4/6Day 4—Tuscany
Our farmhouse lunch in Lucca is canceled because a comics festival has brought a million costumed superfans to the town. Part of me—a very small part—wants to witness furry suits romping through vineyards. Instead, after a delicate buckwheat pancake in the Riviera’s Grand Dining Room, we decide to go it alone. The cruise concierge is happy to help us rent a little Fiat, which we drive down the coast to Bolgheri, a weekend retreat for people with much, much nicer cars. We find Ristorante da Ugo in nearby Castagneto Carducci. We walk in, and a man who was dozing just outside the door ambles in behind us: He’s the owner. In the kitchen, three women make us lunch. Between glorious bites of wild boar pappardelle and contorni of deeply roasted onions, carrots, and peppers, José and I laugh at the fact that we’re supposedly on a health cruise. We’ve come to see the boat as a floating hotel, a jumping-off point to adventures on land, ready with a massage and dinner when we return.
Photo by Laura Murray5/6Day 5—Rome
José, who scrambles his eggs in a quarter stick of butter at home, has discovered that he loves egg-white-and-spinach omelets: He’s eaten one every day. I’ve taken a liking to the cashew chia pudding at Waves Grill, the onboard juice bar. Today we split up—I’m taking a guided excursion to thermal baths north of Rome. Like most things around here, the baths are ancient: Michelangelo was a patron; so was Dante. I sit in a 140-degree grotto, then I float in a giant pool with a hundred people speaking a language I don’t understand. It’s bliss. Back on the boat, I realize for the first time that I feel truly at ease. Before dinner, I get a facial in which oxygen is literally blasted into my pores, and I take a run around the track at sunset. What I expect to be a gut-busting meal at the steakhouse turns out to involve excellent skewered shrimp. For dessert, I drink a whiskey on the rocks while we play board games in the library. The Riviera feels like home.
Photo by Laura Murray6/6Day 6—Palermo
Have I found wellness on my cruise? Absolutely, and off it too. I haven’t looked at the news in a week; I’ve barely used the internet aside from bragging about my trip on Instagram. I decide to seal in all the good vibes with something called a “naturally nourishing ritual”—a six-part treatment based on Finnish traditions. Liezel welcomes me back to the spa. She cleanses my skin with organic milk, exfoliates me with peat enzymes and arctic cloudberries, covers me in mushroom lotion, then wraps me in a sheet and leaves me to marinate. I feel both ridiculous and glorious. After I shower, she spritzes some kind of high-oxygen water on me before going in for one more crack at the spot on my back. It hurts like hell but in an Exorcist-y way. When it’s over, I feel reborn.
That night, in our Palermo hotel, I close my eyes and still feel the boat rocking. We have an early flight in the morning. We sleep through our alarms.