Is 5 days long enough for a cruise?

What happens on cruise disembarkation day?

Disembarkation. The end.

Everyone leaves. Almost.

• Last breakfast. Stale coffee.
• Luggage claim. Chaotic ballet.
• Customs. Perfunctory glances.
• Then…gone.

Ship prepped. New fools arrive.

Repeat cycle. . Then is the cleaning of the ship.

• Sanitized. Every crevice.
• Refueled. Thirsty giant.
• Restocked. Endless buffet.

Ships are never empty long. This year’s destinations: Alaska, Caribbean, Mediterranean. My uncle sailed the Baltic. Said it was alright. “Meh”. The cruise staff must be happy. Or jaded? Who knows. Back to the sea and new seas. Cruise ships are floating cities but smaller. You know what I mean?

What is a day at sea on a cruise?

A sea day… it’s strange, really. Empty. The ocean stretches out, endless. I watched it once, from my balcony, sipping lukewarm coffee at 3 AM. Felt small, insignificant. The ship, a metal beast cutting through the waves, felt… safe, I guess. But also confining.

The pool. Yeah, the pool. Overcrowded, loud, chlorine stinging your eyes. Kids screaming. Not my scene. I preferred the quiet decks, honestly. The wind, the spray. The solitude.

There’s a hollowness to sea days. A weird mix of freedom and boredom. You could do anything. But nothing compels you. It’s a peculiar kind of emptiness. I remember that specific day. July 2023. The air hung heavy with humidity.

The shows at night… they’re a blur. Overproduced, cheesy, the kind of thing you forget by morning. Except the one magician. He was good. I’ll remember the trick with the doves for a while.

Here’s what I remember:

• The endless expanse of the sea. It’s something you can’t escape.
• The relentless sun, baking the deck.
• The forced cheerfulness of the cruise staff, smiling even when it seemed they weren’t happy.
• The monotony of the routine: sleep, eat, wander, repeat.
• That damn magician’s doves.
• The taste of cheap champagne.
• The feeling of being both incredibly free and strangely trapped.
• My cabin, 723, smelled faintly of chlorine.
• The unsettling silence in the early morning hours.

What counts as a day at sea?

Okay, so a “day at sea,” right? It’s kinda tricky. Eight hours of work, that’s the official deal. Watch-standing, or whatever your job is, doesn’t count overtime, though. That’s total BS, IMO. Unless your boat’s tiny—less than 100 gross registered tons—then four hours gets you a whole day’s credit. It’s in those maritime rules, 46 CFR 10.107, I think I saw it last year when I was looking up stuff for my uncle’s boat. Crazy, huh?

Key Points:

• 8 hours = 1 day at sea (generally)
• Smaller vessels (
• Overtime doesn’t count towards the daily total.
• Check 46 CFR 10.107 for the full lowdown.

My cousin, Mark, he’s a deckhand, he complains about this all the time. He says it’s rediculous. He’s always working more than eight hours, sometimes twelve, even fourteen! Man, that’s tough. He’s on a big cargo ship, so it’s the eight-hour rule for him. He’s been wanting to switch to a smaller fishing trawler, those might be easier. He’s also considering applying for that apprenticeship with a cruise line, though the pay is terrible compared to what he’s making now.

The whole thing is really about the rules and regulations. I’m pretty sure it’s to do with sailor’s rights, like making sure they get paid properly. Its complicated stuff. Makes my head spin, frankly.

How do you count the days of a cruise?

Ugh, cruises. Seven days, seven credits. Duh. So simple, right? Except… what about embarkation day? Does that count? I’m pretty sure it doesn’t. It’s just getting on the boat, you know? All that pre-boarding stuff. Total waste of time, really.

Then there’s the disembarkation. Another non-credit day. Seriously? It’s the same thing, but in reverse. You’re just getting off.

Holland America, right? I did that Alaskan cruise in 2023. Stunning scenery. Absolutely breathtaking. Glaciers, mountains… but the food was…okay. Nothing special.

• Seven-day cruise = seven credits.
• Embarkation and disembarkation days? Zero credits.
• My Alaskan trip was amazing, except for the food.

So, yeah. That’s how it works. I hate those “cruise day credits”. Sounds so official. Who needs credits? It’s a vacation, not a points system. It should just be days, plain and simple. Stupid marketing jargon. Seven days = seven days. Next!

What happens on the last day of the cruise?

Okay, so disembarkation day, right? That’s when they kick you off the ship. No, not literally, unless you, uh, maybe stole the captain’s parrot or something?

It’s more like a highly organized, slightly panicked, “get-your-stuff-and-get-out” kind of a deal. Forget leisurely strolls! It ain’t checkout at the Motel 6, thats for sure.

Think of it as the running of the bulls, but instead of bulls, it’s tourists wielding oversized suitcases. Oh boy!

• Early wake-up call: Expect an ungodly hour. I’m talking sunrise-before-coffee levels of early. My grandma complains less about her bunions.
• Breakfast Blitz: Everyone’s cramming in one last buffet meal, like it’s the culinary apocalypse. Imagine squirrels stockpiling nuts, but with waffles.
• Luggage Limbo: They tell you to put your bags out the night before. It feels wrong! Like sending your kids off to college (if college involved a baggage carousel).
• The Big Line: Prepare to queue. And queue. And queue some more. It’s a beautiful thing, really. A testament to human patience. (Not really).
• Passport Panic: Suddenly, everyone forgets where they put their passport. Cue frantic rummaging and near-heart attacks. I swear, I saw one guy almost wear his!
• Freedom (Finally!): You’re OFF the ship! Congrats! Now, where’s the nearest taxi?

It’s a glorious, chaotic mess. Just embrace it. And maybe pack some earplugs. Trust me.

What is day at sea?

The vast, endless blue… a day at sea. Drifting… adrift. Sun bleeds gold onto the waves.

Just…breathe.

Empty horizon. Iced drink sweating in my hand. Pure bliss.

The sun…it calls. Gym? Nah. Maybe…spa?

Lunch. Always lunch. The pool glitters. Later. Cocktails? Yes.

• Relaxation redefined.
• Endless horizon.
• Sun-drenched decks.
• Iced cocktails.
• Spa treatments.
• Poolside lounging.
• Gourmet dining.

Days bleed into each other. Sea and sky. Is it Tuesday? It simply doesn’t matter. The ship, a world unto itself. A floating paradise. A day at sea, mine.

Did I sunscreen? Oops.

Later, much later maybe a show? Doubt it. More cocktails. More sun, more sea.

I just remembered, did I turn off the oven back home? Crap. No service. Whatever.