+18,000km on the Maiden Voyage and Inaugural Sailing from Eemshaven to Hong Kong
When I signed my cruise ship contract in September 2017, I imagined myself joining the ship in Papenburg, Germany, where it was being constructed.
But as with many things in cruise ship life, reality showed up with its own itinerary.
I was given a ticket to fly from Kuala Lumpur to Schiphol Airport. My flight was delayed twice from 12.40 a.m. – first to 1.35 a.m., then again to 4.00 a.m. – and by the time I landed in Amsterdam, I was running on autopilot.
I waited at the airport for other crew members to arrive before we were all shuttled to the port in what I vaguely remember as a van or a minibus.
I slept most of the way, occasionally opening my eyes to read signboards that said nothing of Papenburg or Bremerhaven, both names mentioned in the onboarding flyer. I don’t know Dutch or German well enough to guess where I was.
It wasn’t until two or three days later, during a brief shore leave to a nearby seafarers’ centre, that I realised something odd. I asked the man working there if they sold German SIM cards. He laughed. “You’re not in Germany,” he said. “You’re in the Netherlands.”
*waits for someone to read this post and tell me that I was absolutely dumb AF*
That was how I found out the ship had already left the German shipyard and was now docked in Eemshaven, Netherlands, for its final stage of preparation.
What Is a Maiden Voyage or Inaugural Sailing?
In cruise ship speak, a maiden voyage typically refers to the first journey a ship makes after being built, usually with a lot of fanfare. The inaugural sailing is usually the first official cruise with passengers, or sometimes the launch of a ship’s first season.
In our case, things overlapped. There were no clear markers.
I didn’t board at the ship’s ‘birthplace’ or wave off media teams. But I was there for the test runs, the quiet rehearsals, the early crossings before the world saw the show. That felt like an inaugural season, from final preparations in Eemshaven to the start of operations out of Hong Kong.
Port Days in Eemshaven
The ship was docked in Eemshaven for about a month before sailing. Those days were a blur of training, familiarisation, and figuring out how not to get lost onboard.
Eemshaven itself was quiet. Wind turbines spun in the cold air, sheep grazed nearby, and there wasn’t much around aside from the seafarers’ centre. On my off-hours, I’d walk along the roads and grassy fields in the crisp autumn breeze. I’d stand on the top deck to watch the wind turbines in the distance – their massive blades spinning slowly against a bluish-grey sky.
A couple of times, I ventured into Delfzijl, a nearby town with charmingly quiet streets where people seemed to move at a slower pace, either walking or riding bicycles. The shops closed early – early enough to remind me I was no longer in a big city – but there was something peaceful about the simplicity of it all.
One of those times was during a “blackout party” when all 800 of us crew were sent into town to unwind. I think the name came from the fact that the ship was nearly emptied out. For one evening, we weren’t crew – we were just people with dinner plans.
I also managed a quick day trip to Groningen, where the streets felt more alive. Coincidentally, it was Saudi Arabia’s National Day – which doesn’t really matter, but the memory stuck.
Preparing a cruise ship before its first guests arrive is like building a hotel while living inside it. The hours were long, the tasks endless, and everything smelled faintly of industrial glue and new carpets.
At one point, someone reported a missing sofa from a cabin. It turned out the sofa had been offloaded. Whether that was intentional, a mistake, or part of some grand sofa heist, I’ll never know. But it kept us entertained between safety drills and soul-crushing inventories.
During sea trials, we tested the ship’s systems. Some days, the decks felt like construction zones – cables snaking everywhere, tools left on benches, people rushing past with clipboards. Still, there were moments of quiet: standing at the railing, watching the open water, wondering what came next.
Crossing Continents by Sea
When the ship finally left port, we began our journey to Hong Kong. We stopped first in Gibraltar, where I got a rare shore leave. It wasn’t long – just enough time to breathe in something other than ship air.
Next came the Suez Canal. We had another stop at Port Said. We weren’t allowed to disembark for security reasons, and I was on duty, so there was no romantic moment of watching the desert drift by.
Still, the canal left an impression. On the map, it looks narrow, almost fragile. But sailing through it – flanked by sand and distant cranes – felt surreal. The ship moved quietly, as if gliding through a man-made river stitched between two continents.
As we entered the high-risk areas in Red Sea and Gulf of Aden, the mood changed. All windows were blacked out, curtains drawn, deck lights switched off. British (or at least British-sounding) security guards joined us for three days. The ship, stripped of its glow, became a ghost – silent, careful, and slow in the azure blue waters.
We stopped in Colombo, Sri Lanka, though I didn’t get to step off again. More crew embarked to get familiarised with the new ship.
Then came Singapore, where the ship paused briefly before the final leg to Hong Kong. We picked up some of passengers – possibly VIPs, media, or guests from a last-minute deal. It wasn’t the official start of operations, but it felt like the prelude.
Most days, I wasn’t connected. The ship had limited free wifi, and I hadn’t started using international SIM cards or eSIMs. I didn’t have a live map to track where we were or where we stopped. My cabin TV probably showed our location, but I rarely turned it on. I pieced together the journey from memory, scattered notes, and whatever I could find later online.
The ship also adjusted time onboard as we crossed time zones. One day you’d wake up and the clock had skipped forward an hour. It made everything feel a little warped, like we were chasing the sun.
Hong Kong, Here We Go
Hong Kong was where the ship’s regular cruising would begin, operating itineraries out of both Hong Kong and Nansha, Guangzhou. It felt like the ship finally woke up. The silence broke. Music played. Guests arrived. We were officially... open.
We were constantly working – cleaning, organising, running drills, smiling through long hours. I didn’t get shore leave again until Manila. It had been three weeks since Gibraltar, and the contrast hit me hard. Land felt louder, brighter, fuller. I had forgotten what it was like to walk without swaying (just kidding).
I Crossed Continents Without Much Travel
I’ve been to Europe, Africa, and South Asia. I passed North Atlantic Ocean and Indian Ocean.
But I didn’t step off the ship in most places, and I couldn’t tell you how long it takes to walk up the rock of Gibraltar, or what the weather is like in Egypt.
What I remember is the sheep by the wind turbines, grey Dutch skies, nothing to see at sea. What I carry is a crew ID and a blurred sense of distance.
Maybe it counts as travel. Maybe I just earned a few bragging rights. Either way, I crossed continents and mostly just got lost – and that’s something too. I guess.
