This isn’t the summer for a cruise

If you needed a sign that the universe wants you to skip a cruise this summer, here it is.

There’s the MV Hondius, the Dutch expedition ship that limped into Tenerife last week after a hantavirus outbreak killed three people and infected at least eight more. The Andes virus strain responsible is the only hantavirus known to spread person to person.

There’s the Caribbean Princess, which arrived in Port Canaveral, Fla., carrying a different souvenir: norovirus. The CDC reports that 102 passengers and 13 crew members fell ill on the 13-day Caribbean voyage out of Fort Lauderdale. It’s the fourth gastrointestinal outbreak on a cruise ship this year.

U.S. Customs and Border Protection (CBP) confirmed last week that federal agents had boarded eight cruise ships at the Port of San Diego and detained 28 crew members. CBP said 27 of them were involved in the receipt, possession, transportation, distribution, or viewing of child sexual abuse material.

Even if you survive the viruses and scandals, you might still run out of luck. This week, an 88-year-old passenger reportedly died after losing control of her mobility scooter on the pier at Carnival’s private island, Celebration Key in the Bahamas, and plunging into the water.

Zoom out, and the picture gets even worse. 

The problems plaguing the cruise industry, from viral outbreaks and accidents to scandals, are compounded by ships sailing under flags of convenience, which ensure minimal regulation and maximum profit through a fine-tuned system designed to siphon more money from your wallet.

A regulated industry, mostly in theory

These ships do not, in any meaningful sense, sail under U.S. law. The Caribbean Princess flies the flag of Bermuda. Most of the Carnival fleet flies Panama or the Bahamas. Royal Caribbean prefers the Bahamas and Liberia. They’re called flags of convenience, and the convenience belongs to the operator, not to you. It means a company headquartered in Miami can pay crew wages set by Honduran labor norms, follow safety standards written in Nassau, and route disputes through courts outside the United States.

The one U.S. agency with real authority over sanitation on ships that call at American ports is the CDC’s Vessel Sanitation Program. One year ago, the administration laid off the program’s full-time civilian staff, including the epidemiologist who led the outbreak response on cruise ships (12 U.S. Public Health Service officers remained). The program chief announced his retirement last week, in the middle of the hantavirus outbreak.

What it looks like when something goes wrong

The headlines describe outbreaks and arrests, but most cruises fall short in smaller ways.

Shari Lunsford, a receptionist from Livingston, Tenn., paid $1,500 for a Carnival cruise last month from New Orleans to Cozumel. Nothing in her cabin worked. She says the sinks and showers would not drain. She stood in two inches of water every time she bathed. Her toilet stopped working twice, sending her in search of a public restroom several decks up. Her stateroom thermostat would not go below 73 degrees, which the ship’s cabin crew told her is within company policy. Her room steward eventually brought a fan. She slept on an ice pack.

Lunsford complained at guest services on board, which sent her a cheap bottle of champagne and a cheese plate. Off the ship, she escalated her complaint. A representative from the cruise line’s office of the president called her, listened to her story, and offered the final compensation: a future cruise credit of $99 per person, plus a $150 onboard credit, both redeemable within a year.

That’s right, the remedy for a $1,500 trip Lunsford describes as a nightmare is a small discount on a second trip with the same company. 

What are you getting when you cruise?

Suppose you decide none of that bothers you, and you just like being on a ship.

Here’s what you need to know: In addition to being loosely regulated and sometimes dangerous, a cruise ship is a carefully calibrated machine designed to extract more money from your wallet.

Cruises are filled with annoying and not always avoidable upsells and fees. There’s the upsell from the buffet to the specialty restaurant. There’s the push for the drink package at the bar. And, of course, there’s the overpriced shore excursion.

Gratuities that used to be discretionary are now line items added to your folio “for your convenience.” Passengers rarely question them because they feel guilty about the substandard wages the crew receives. 

The art auction, the photo package, the casino, the spa upsell, the Wi-Fi, it all adds to your bill.

So in addition to the danger, you also get dinged for extras. If you want to know how that feels, just grab a coffee on the last day of a cruise and sit at the reception desk, where passengers are trying to settle their bill. Yes, there’s a reason those security guys are standing there, too. Get ready for fireworks.

Don’t take a cruise this summer

There’s only one sane conclusion: This isn’t the summer for a cruise. A vacation at sea is a dangerous, deregulated disaster-in-the-making designed to drain money from your bank account. You can’t forecast the next viral outbreak, but the cruise experience itself is predictable. 

Cruise lines, for the most part, care more about monetizing passengers than serving them. They care more about upselling them than keeping them safe. 

Stay on land this summer. It’s a vacation you might actually survive.