The luxe nomadic life aboard the exclusive residential ship The World

The size of your share depends on the size of your apartment; buying the shares allows you to occupy a unit in the co‑op building. The World runs the same way. And just like at NYC co‑ops, the residents screen and vote on whether prospective buyers can move in.

Gen Xers reading this will remember the brouhaha when certain Manhattan co‑ops famously rejected Madonna, Mariah Carey and Barbra Streisand. Similarly with The World, just having money is not enough. You need to fit in, which means that every prospective buyer goes on a test expedition so that residents can suss them out. The result, though, is a refreshingly friendly, relaxed and modest community that surprised me throughout my short stay with them.

Residents were curious, courteous and generally interested in making conversation. While I had expected to be the youngest aboard, there was a surprising range of ages represented; but when you consider how young some successful entrepreneurs have been over the past decade or so, it does make sense. Residents cheerfully greeted one another (and me) when passing in the hallways or in eating areas and, from what I could see, treated the staff with the same good spirits and a lot of genuine respect.

The staff in turn only had great things to say about the residents. I spoke with senior staff, serving staff and porters, and all repeatedly echoed two things: The World is certainly the best ship in the world on which to work, and that the loyalty of the residents to the crew during the Covid‑19 pandemic was really and truly appreciated. While other ships and commercial cruise lines retrenched thousands of workers during those difficult years, The World retained every single member of the team, on full or half salary, and guaranteed their jobs once the ship could sail again.

Residential director Andy Dinsdale shared that his daughter was just one and a half at the time, and being “forced” to be with her at home for the 18 months that the ship was not allowed to sail was unequivocally the happiest time of his life. Similarly, one of my favourite waiters on board said being able to spend the time with his family in the Philippines while still getting paid was astonishing and something he will always be grateful for. I boarded the ship in Jeju, South Korea, and was sailing with it overnight to Nagasaki, Japan. The ship would anchor there for two days before heading off to Kobe, followed by Tokyo, after which it would turn south to head down to the Philippines.

Once past the entrance and a small security desk, you enter a central lobby, akin to the lobby of a small luxury hotel. Check‑in is on one side, with concierge desks just 90 degrees away. In addition to the two permanent concierges, whenever the ship is in dock, there is a third desk, manned by a local expert who assists with local planning, reservations and recommendations. I was checked in quickly and then guided to the beautiful studio apartment where I would be staying.

Situated on the back of the starboard side of the ship and with a large wrap‑around balcony offering unfettered views of the ocean, the apartment, while described as a studio, is large, with enough space for a king‑size bed, sitting and dining areas, and a small pantry. The interiors are lovely, with a light colour scheme that accented Mediterranean greens and blues offset with warm neutral tones. Wooden elements give off nautical vibes, while Eero Saarinen Tulip chairs and a Tulip coffee table give the studio an air of old‑world sophistication.

Every resident has the option of personalising the design of their own apartment. Dinsdale gave me a quick tour of three two‑bedroom apartments, each starkly different from the other. The first belonged to a resident who has been with The World since its launch; the apartment’s interiors drew heavily from both Romanticism and the Renaissance. In complete contrast, the second is all opalescent white, while the third is a modern riot of colours.

What struck me as we visited these domiciles was the art in them and along the hallways. I spotted several Chagalls, a Picasso, a couple of Henry Moore drawings, and more. Dinsdale informed me that every resident gets to place the artwork in the hallway opposite their door. That some have placed such priceless works of art in public spaces demonstrates both the level of trust within the community and the fact that everyone on board truly has, ahem, made it.

Apartments range from about 31 to 310 square metres, and reportedly run between US$2 million and US$15 million. I am told they are technically “freehold”, but any large ship really only has a 40‑ to 60‑year lifespan. You would never know it because of how well maintained she is, but The World is 22 years old. While some residents have been with the ship from the start, I am told that many others stay for an average of five to seven years. With the ship currently circumnavigating the globe every two or three years, that means residents would have been around the world two to three times, which for some is enough. This means there is always a small number of apartments available, upon application of course.

The itinerary is designed years in advance. I had dinner on board with Mike Jensen, a charming American and former private banker who told me stories about the 1980s and ’90s, ranging across Latin America, the Middle East and Asia, that I had been sworn to never reveal, but would make for an amazing movie one day. Jensen also leads the itinerary planning committee, which tries to build a new route every two years, one that offers novelty while also revisiting some favourite places.

Because of the unique nature of The World, unlike most cruise ships that stop off in ports for quick visits, the floating condominium stops in each destination for much longer, offering its residents a host of curated and bespoke cultural, social and gastronomic experiences on land. Once satisfied, the committee suggests the route to the ship’s captain and crew, who try to work out the logistics and planning.

Life on board is akin to living in a high‑end gated community. You can retreat to your apartment when you want privacy; there is more than enough space even in the smallest studios for both relaxing and working. When you want to be out and about, there are fantastic social spaces, a charming luxe library, a world‑class spa, sports facilities, a gorgeous pool, the only full‑size tennis court at sea, a poker room, a theatre (for movies and performances) and a 72‑course golf simulator, attended to by a PGA‑certified golf instructor who also plays with residents at courses around the world.

The ship also boasts six dining options as well as various lounges and bars across its 12 decks, from casual to ultra posh. Residents can grab simple sandwiches and burgers at Fredy’s Deli, tuck into inventive Italian at Tides, or enjoy a fine‑dining menu at Portraits, renowned for its award‑winning 16,000‑bottle wine list. On my first night, I dined with Jensen and his wife Karin at East, the ship’s Asian restaurant. When I first looked at its menu online, I was a little worried; it read like a cheesy theme park‑esque coffee shop menu. Some sushi here, some Peking duck, a little butter chicken and a green curry there. But when we sat down, the menu that we were presented comprised modern Korean‑inspired dishes with fresh local ingredients picked up during the ship’s stop at Jeju.

When I met up with the ship’s senior executive chef Sebastian Gnida, he emphasised that the residents give him and his culinary team free reign to explore local markets and to innovate, freeing them of having to stick to established menus. It makes sense. If you are living on board, you do not want to be looking at the same menu every day, and given that one of the chief reasons to live on The World is to, quite literally, explore the planet, then you would naturally be open to new and wonderful flavours and ingredients.

My journey was far too short. But it was long enough to recognise how extraordinary and unique this globe‑trotting community is. If you have enough money, you can certainly travel whenever and wherever you want. But that is not the point of The World. This floating co‑op represents slow travel in the most poetic, most civilised and most social way possible. One of my favourite travel quotations comes from Paul Bowles’s beautifully penned The Sheltering Sky. In it, protagonist Port Moresby declares: “Whereas the tourist generally hurries back home at the end of a few weeks or months, the traveller belonging no more to one place than to the next, moves slowly over periods of years, from one part of the earth to another. Indeed, he would have found it difficult to tell, among the many places he had lived, precisely where it was he had felt most at home.” The World, however, solves this conundrum, offering a home for travellers as they journey together, experiencing all the world’s riches without sacrificing the comforts of home.

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