If you saw me in line waiting for cruise embarkation you might momentarily mistaken me for the dorky, naively sanguine Sue Heck from “The Middle” as I hop around like I need to pee, peppering my fellow cruisers with overexcited questions: “where are you eating lunch?” “wanna wear one of these matching shirts depicting a cruise ship at the end of a rainbow for sail away? I brought enough for all 3,000 of us!”
You might smack your husband on the arm for a second time and whisper, “I think that’s really her.” To which he’ll reply, “you realize the characters on your little programs are fictional, right?” To which you’ll reply, “of course. No, I think it’s that Prof. Cruise. The one who writes the overly wordy cruise blog and reminds me of Sue Heck due to her social awkwardness and refusal to give up despite her obvious lack of talent.”
Yeap, it’s me, Prof. Cruise! And I won’t apologize for being excited! But I will apologize for the blog. Sorry, it’s the best I can do. And it’s about to get even worse, because this post is about the crappiest part of a cruise: debarkation.
For anyone who doesn’t know what debarkation means, it means getting off the boat at the end of your cruise. And having done it 14 times now, I can tell you, unequivocally, it sucks.
That woman from embarkation would no longer recognize me as the same person in the debarkation line. In fact, she wouldn’t recognize me as a person at all, but rather a furry, moss green monster with googly eyes, a sullen unibrow longing for an aggressive tweeze, a conspicuously missing nose, and a smell suggesting I live in the refuge of a fictional New York City street.
But she’ll whack her husband in the arm again and say, “is that who I think it is? Oscar?” And her husband will sigh and query the rest of the line: “anyone know if there’s a bar still open somewhere?” To which the green grouch in question, me, will answer, “yeah, I could use one too.”
I was particularly morose standing in the eerily dead casino of the Golden Princess waiting in line for my latest debarkation because I’d only been onboard for 3 nights – a tie for my shortest cruise ever. It had been a quick Mother’s Day escape from the one I mother, and now I was headed back home to Seattle from Vancouver on the Greyhound.
As a brief aside, I would be joined on the bus by a needy older woman and her equally frisky dog who were clearly being shipped from one child to another because, “it’s only fair!” I wondered who my son, as an only child, would be shipping me off to in a few years and recalled an earlier conversation I’d enthusiastically participated in, à la Sue Heck: “cruising is cheaper than a nursing home.” And that was the first thing out of my mouth upon arriving home: “cruising is cheaper than a nursing home!” “Oh, hi mom.”
Anyway, the previous day my room steward had played the roll of killjoy, “there goes your extra tip, Martin,” and dropped off the following documents to my cabin:
Along with this gangway pass that looked very official, but that I use for a makeshift bookmark to this day because no one ever asked for it.
Counter to my usual dramatic exit, being hauled off kicking and screaming by security as the last person to leave the ship, I needed to get off as early as possible. If I waited until “Self Help 16,” my bus would’ve been approaching the border and that lady’s dog would have tried to hump the leg of our driver two times already. So I stopped by guest services to inquire about joining an earlier group. “Those times are just suggestions for self help passengers to help with flow. Get off with whichever group you want.”
It was further explained that if I had an organized disembarkation tour or a transfer purchased through Princess or if I was claiming tagged luggage after leaving the ship, I should stick with my assigned group and meeting location.
So at 7:30am, I joined “Self Help 1” in the Explorer’s Lounge expecting to be led in a “cognitive reframing exercise” to help myself adjust to life back on dry land. But instead I was quickly shepherded to a seat and asked if I had all my bags with me. It turns out “self help” within the context of disembarkation means you independently carry off all your luggage. It’s also sometimes called “express walk off,” which is less confusing to my weird brain.
I almost couldn’t type “disembark quickly.” The little devil on my shoulder kept jabbing me in the hand with his trident. But as I waited in the Explorer’s Lounge, the little angel on my other shoulder kept encouraging me to go home to my adult responsibilities. And she guided me forward from the front of the Explorer’s Lounge toward the Casino where people would be ushered off the ship as soon as disembarkation began. There was a line of about 20 people in front of me, but once general passengers were given the okay to disembark at 8:15am, I was off very quickly with a last sad “beep” of my ship card and greeted with no wait at Canadian customs.
Note: no one ever asked for my “gangway pass” which, according to the pass, I was to “have in hand as you disembark.”
If you have luggage to collect in Vancouver, it will be grouped by tag color and you will pick it up prior to passing through customs. There were many friendly terminal employees present to direct passengers and provide help in locating bags.
I turned in my declaration card (provided by my room steward along with the other debarkation documents) to the agent and was asked where I was from and how I was getting home. I was tempted to throw a tantrum and answer with “do I have to go home?” but instead sighed and said “the bus” at which point I was ushered through. Surprisingly, I did not have to show my passport.
Follow the appropriate sign for your desired form of transportation. Proceed through Door A for the taxi line.
Note on taxis: although I didn’t take a taxi on this occasion, I have taken taxis at the Vancouver terminal in the past and, having disembarked later, the line was very, very long and took nearly an hour. If you have tight travel plans and require a taxi, I strongly suggest you get off the ship as early as possible.
As for me, I made good time and decided to walk to Pacific Central Station so I could see a bit of the city and burn off <1 of the roughly 40 desserts I’d eaten in the past three days. I veered right and took the escalator up to “exit to city.”
Extra Credit Tip: If you aren’t in a rush, exit to the city for beautiful views and a chance to snap some photos of your ship docked in Vancouver.
Although I always take the train or bus home to Seattle from Vancouver, my research suggests that a taxi to the airport will cost roughly $35 and take around 30 minutes.
The subway is another great option if you want to save money or if the taxi line is long. The Canada Line can be accessed less than 100 yards from the Cruise terminal and also takes around 30 minutes to reach the airport. You can use a credit card to purchase your ticket, so don’t worry about changing money. A one-way ticket is currently $4.20, but prices are set to increase July 1, 2019, so check here if you’re traveling after that date.
Go here for other transportation options from the cruise terminal to the airport in Vancouver.
Except for the long wait from my chosen meeting time of 7:30am to actually disembarking well after 8 o’clock, the process went very smoothly. Getting off early was key to avoiding lines for customs and transportation.
And with that, I wish you all a very smooth, yet very unhappy disembarkation. Because if you’re unhappy upon disembarking, it means you were happy cruising. And a happy cruise is what I wish for everyone because:
Class dismissed.
*Check out my Alaska port posts here. And don’t forget to subscribe to the blog (scroll up to the top right if on a computer and keep scrolling if on a mobile devise) and follow me on social media:
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