Sleep on a cruise ship can come in a variety of forms. Level 0 would be no movement at all: you and your bed would easily stay in the same position the entire night. Level 0 is never actually experienced on a cruise ship, unless you are sleeping in one that has been dry-docked for repairs. 

Level 1 would be sleeping overnight tied up to a pier or in a large cove. We might refer to this as “gentle rocking” — the kind your mother would do to calm you into slumber. Our first few nights on the Queen Mary 2 were Level 1. I can only presume that’s because 1) the weather was calm and 2) we were traveling up the eastern coast of the US and Canada. 

Then we took a right turn out into the open ocean.

And all hell broke loose.

Well, maybe not all of hell. But a good three-fourths of it, let’s say. 

To be fair, the captain warned us we were in for some “rough seas.” But in his slow-paced, even-toned, British-accented voice, he made it seem like nothing to be too worried about. “It’s what this ship was built for,” he assured us. 

We were, in fact, traveling on the only “ocean liner” still in service. No other passenger ship can be defined as such.

A chart comparing the differences between an ocean liner and a cruise ship talked about things like the hull thickness (on the QM2 it’s twice as thick as any cruise ship), the shape (the QM2 sits lower on the water), and the fact that cruise ships will detour to avoid bad weather, but an ocean liner doesn’t need to do that. 

Like the captain said: it’s built for this. 

Once the rough seas overtook us, in his daily noontime announcements the captain started including Beaufort Scale ratings. We were at a 9-10. Which, having no idea what the Beaufort Scale was, I could only presume is defined as, “When walking, all passengers and staff appear drunk.”

I wondered: how high does this Beaufort Scale go? Is level 12, “Passengers will be so sick they will be confined to their rooms; those that venture out may fall and vomit?” 

Turns out Level 12 is as high as Mr. Beaufort dared to go—defined as hurricane force winds (greater than 73 miles per hour). But back in Mr. Beaufort’s day, the scale was based on visual observation of the wind’s effects on a boat’s sails–a bit subjective. 

Level 10 on Rebecca’s Scale is defined as “sufficient enough to prevent passengers from venturing onto the outside decks for fear of slipping through the railings into the turbulent sea.” As that’s exactly how I felt. 

I did venture onto Deck 7 for a walk on our first “rough” day. I got down one side of the ship, now wet with sea water, but as I rounded the end of the ship, the winds were so strong I decided it best to turn around.

I, thankfully, met another woman brave enough to walk on the outside deck that day. She welcomed the company. At least if I slide through the railings, they’ll be someone to call for help, I thought as we paced one side of the boat in just-a-little-quieter-than-hurricane-force winds. 

The next two days I didn’t even venture out. 

In addition to the Beaufort scale, another thing-I-never-needed-to-know-but-learned-about-anyway: stabilizers. 

From the start, I liked the name. Yes, please keep the boat stable. I would very much appreciate that. Thank you. 

Turns out most cruise ships have stabilizers these days. They control the side-to-side motion of the ship, but not the front to back. Which explains why sometimes when Michael and I were walking to dinner, it felt like the floor came up to meet us. 

Down on Deck 2, the windows are just above sea level, which gives one a fascinating/terrifying view. Ultimately, I’d say for what the seas looked like, the ship was much more stable than I thought it would be. 

Until Saturday night. When the sound of the wind, water, and some sort of loud shaking thing kept me awake all night. “That’s the stabilizers,” Michael informed me the next morning. “They make that sound when they’re in use.”

Well, if I had known that, maybe I could have slept a little better instead of staying awake wondering if I was hearing the ship breaking apart.

A few days later, I read the draft of this blog post to Michael. “It wasn’t that bad,” he said.

But in my eyes? It was like the early Beaufort scale: a bit subjective.