Set sail for a Mediterranean cruise

The itinerary slipped under the cabin door seemed innocent enough. The next day, it read, we would be simply "at sea."

Sigh. Bobbing on the open waters of the Mediterranean aboard a real four-masted clipper ship - how relaxing, how fresh, how dreamy.

How wrong. A more apt description might have been: "At sea, where the ship will be bouncing up and down like a kangaroo on a trampoline."

The cabin crew and the dining-room wait staff had a polite, slightly bemused attitude toward the discomfited passengers, and they clucked over us in much the way new grandparents do over toddlers. They made gracious attempts to assure us that we were not weak-stomached wimps - but their words were not as comforting as they intended.

"If the winds blow any harder, we'll be in a squall," said one waiter, with a grin so big I couldn't help but wonder if he looked forward to it.

By the end of the week-long voyage, my wondering had given way to certainty. This fun-loving crew indeed enjoys nothing more than a good adventure. If adventure comes via adversity - such as the time they sailed through a Caribbean hurricane (with passengers, mind you) - so be it. If our relatively paltry 40-knot winds caused no fewer than four sails to rip on our first day out, well, get out the sewing machine and sail on!

Such is a trip aboard the Star Clipper, a vessel built to recall the 1800s grand era of sail, when the fleetest ships ever to hoist canvas plied the waters of the world. This particular tall ship, one of three the cruise line owns, ferries its guests to various Mediterranean ports of call all summer and then crosses to the Caribbean for the winter.

With not more than 170 passengers, the Star Clipper offers an intimate, more casual alternative to the "floating hotels" that make up most of the industry - and these "barefoot" cruises are an increasingly popular subset of cruising. Here, dinner jackets are not required, but flexibility and a zest for adventure are.

The passengers, it turned out, were up to the test. By the time the sun sank behind the island of Corsica on that first day, most of us were off our lounge chairs, on our sea legs, and looking forward to the next day of on-shore exploration. Because of the rough seas, Capt. Marek Marzec decided not to try to navigate the narrow, cliff-lined entrance to Corsica's port of Bonifacio, our official destination. Instead, the Star Clipper put in at the quiet Porto Vecchio nearby. No one complained.

Dinner that night was notable for the elegant six-course meal and the hubbub of conversation, as voyagers began a strange and remarkable bonding process. Most of us were Americans, mixed with a contingent of Germans and a smattering of English, Belgians, and Italians.

Maybe because we were a relatively small group, or maybe because the day "at sea" had made us know we were all in this together (come what may), an esprit de corps sprang up almost from the start.

Quipped one passenger a few days later: "It's like being on a very large private yacht with 150 of your closest friends."

By Day 4, the voyagers were settled into the Star Clipper's rhythm: Sail all night, dock in the morning, spend five to 12 hours on land, then set course for the next stop.

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