Dawn’s pink glow has been the only wakeup call I need. I’m on my verandah, coffee in hand. Room with a view? Sydney born and bred, I’ve had plenty, but this is different, startling: the ocean, the sky, us. Nothing but. A first-time cruiser, I’m awed, humbled, and already, I realise, a little hooked. During this, our first ‘at sea’ day on the Viking Venus, we’ll cross the watery point the Tasman meets the Coral Sea, then navigate on through the channels of the Great Barrier Reef to Cairns. From there we’ll continue north to the Torres Strait, the Arafura Sea and to Darwin, our penultimate port then Bali’s Benoa.
We only sailed through Sydney heads two nights earlier, but gentle routines have quickly taken hold. Yesterday, docked in Newcastle, our first port, room service granola and fresh fruit sufficed. A coach was waiting to whisk us to the Hunter, where in Polkabin, out among the vines, a veteran vigneron gave a rollicking account of the region’s long viticultural history, its varietals and terroir. All familiar territory for me, but the enthusiasm of our international group proved infectious, the Hunter semillions a bonding excerise. Today, reflecting a sea day’s languid pace, I decide to head to World Café, the killer chicken and shiitake congee a tip off from Polkabin tasting buddies from Singapore.
At embarkation, staring up at the ship’s impressive lines, I’d wondered at the ‘small ship experience’ tag. Carryon still in hand, the airy calm of the Living Room, Viking Venus’ atrium heart, was all the reassurance I needed. Within days, sometimes hours, crew know my name, how I like my flat whites, and, come apéro hour, that yes, please, I do fancy a glass of that Roero Arneis. Disembarkation runs with relaxed precision, whatever the port. At both pools, there’s always a free sun bed and towel, a carafe of sparkling water soon on its way. Queues, if you can forgive the post-dinner line at the gelato station, don’t exist. In the Explorers’ Lounge, as in the Living Room, music softly rises and falls: a Hugo Alfvén symphony floats over me one afternoon, Per Störby Jutbring’s ambient textures another.
Down in the ship’s LivNordic Spa, where I head after breakfast, I have the snow grotto and steam room all to myself. Just a handful of us luxuriate in the low-lit thalasso pool’s surge of bubbles, our hushed hot–cold–rest cycles communal, somehow falling in sync. I make a mental note to book a ‘Nordic Restart’, a signature scrub and detox treatment, after a changeroom tip that it includes the best deep tissue massage I may ever have. Emerging into the light, I’m pink-cheeked, serene, ready to tackle a day of doing, I gleefully realise, as little or as much as I please.
We drop anchor off Mooloolaba early next morning, Australia Zoo the port’s popular draw. My shore plans are however less emblematic: a resort-wear browse up in Noosa, maybe a dip at Little Cove. It’s not to be. At 7.30am, Captain Torbjorn makes an announcement: due to a fast-building swell, he won’t risk launching our tenders. I’m grabbing coffee at Mamsen’s bar, the ship’s causal Norwegian café, when the news comes. A Perth couple promptly add Bloody Marys, extra spicy, to their cappuccino order. ‘Unexpected sea days mean all rules are off,’ they laugh. I briefly consider day drinking too, but decide to try Mamsen’s morning specialty instead. Waffles, berries, sour cream, served on Fijjo tableware, its cheery mid-century pattern as much of a Norwegian classic as the dish itself. The Sunshine Coast’s missed sights are forgotten by the time ship pulls anchor.
From my stateroom’s wool throw and leather door handles to the reindeer skins tumbling over each Explorers’ Lounge sofa, every design decision on board feels cohesive, authentic. The Wintergarden’s larch lattice ceiling, even the scent of chamomile and tweets of birdsong in the ladies’ room, are transporting, evocative. The Nordic element at work is, of course, no mere aesthetic. Viking’s founder, Torstein Hagen, is Norwegian, a heritage that’s foundational. This morning, the vast expanses of glass before me in the Explorers’ Lounge, a 270-degree sweep, brings to mind friluftsliv – a Henrik Ibsen-coined term that hints at nature’s transformative power. Later, after a fish BBQ lunch out on deck, I’ve pencilled in nothing but poolside reading and a spot of horizon-gazing. But first, I indulge my Nordic yearning a little longer. I’d already clocked the Edvard Munch etchings in the Living Room, sourced from the Hagen family’s private cache, and the sublime fjordscapes gracing The Restaurant by Astrid Nondal. With the Voyager app’s art guide in hand, I set off to explore the ship’s contemporary Norwegian collection, and what such deep national reverence for the natural world inspires.
As we slept that night, the ship tracked the first cays, reefs and islands of the Great Barrier Reef. I’ve gone to beg with my balcony doors flung open; as I stir, the fragrant, humid air hits, as does the stillness. Ship at anchor, we’re circled by deep green peaks and calm waters cerulean one minute, jade the next. The Whitsundays’ unmistakable beauty >>. I’m booked on a small group trip today, a fast, salt-stung RIB ride to Whitehaven Beach, a strip of sand so lovely it’s regularly named the world’s most beautiful. Gear stowed, our local larrikan hosts introduced, we slap across the waves, Fleetwood Mac and Elton John blasting over the engine’s roar. By the time Whitsunday Island appears, we’re exhilarated, soaked to the skin, all definitely guilty of singing along. Ashore, a hoop pine canopy shades our path up to Hill Inlet lookout, where the island’s famed swirl of turquoise water and silica-white sand draws sighs all round as we emerge from the bush. Next up, Whitehaven’s southern shore, where we picnic on the exquisitely soft, uncannily cool silica sand. A giant blue tongue lizard dawdles out from our bush backdrop, sniffs the breeze, then scoots away. A few of us don stinger suits to swim, a necessary precaution during the summer months. As we bob in the balmy shallows, a couple from Leeds wonder out load if their next shore excursion, an outback station tour from Townsville, will top this. We all doubt it will, and no one wants to leave. Back at Shute Harbour though, when I spot the Norwegian flag flying proudly over our idling tender, it feels like coming home.
Shipbound, I ask my tender seatmates, Florida-born friends and repeat Viking guests, what keeps them coming back. Without a beat, they reply: ‘It’s the books!’ I confess to them I’ve been dreaming of taking an Atlantic crossing, a circumnavigation even, just to read everything I’ve so far spied. The Hagens, it turns out, are fellow bibliophiles. The shelves I’ve covetously poured over are stocked by venerable Mayfair bookseller Heywood Hall, curators of the world’s finest private libraries. Like Viking’s enrichment program, the libraries are there not just to pass time, but to nurture guest’s inner journey, one that mirrors the ship’s physical voyage. Later, I nab one of the last seats in the Star Theater for Captain Bruce Victor’s talk, our recently boarded Barrier Reef pilot. He’ll help steer us safely through the often treacherous reef to Thursday Island, but also proves a fine, erudite storyteller. I learn packed houses are the norm in the theatre, whether its lectures by crew, ship’s resident historian or other guest academics.
Book down, dress pressed, beach hair tamed: sunset drinks on Aquavit’s terrace beckon. As each of our party joins, there’s the usual banter and gentle conviviality. Everyone’s shore stories tumble out, trivia tips from today’s tournament are exchanged. Plenty of anticipation of tonight’s Korean degustation at Chef’s Table too, and the dancefloor hijinks at Torvshavn bar to follow. Still, conversation keeps circling back to the view, our once-in-a-lifetime aerie here at ship’s aft. We linger until the last minute, then grow briefly silent as each island’s outline fades into the inky sky, as land and sea merge.
There are ports ahead to discover, to revisit. But already, I feel I’ve travelled way further than our itinerary, the east coast’s points on map. There’s the intrinsic encounter with Nordic culture, the fascinating, free-roaming food and wine offerings and newfound connections from far and wide. But it’s what’s unfolding below the surface, the inner journey Viking’s founder so champions, that’s proving the most surprising. As we head down to dinner, I wonder if it’s the sea itself that’s conjured such lucid calm, my renewed sense of wonder. Perhaps. I suspect though, those daily spa rituals, the remarkable art works I’ve encountered and the vast treasures of the ship’s library may well have something to do with it too.
Selector magazine (Issue 95, July-August 2025, print only)