April 30, 2026. Harumi, Tokyo. Silver Moon lay alongside the Harumi cruise terminal, fully awake and waiting for her guests. Ahead of us: a grand voyage of 15 days and 14 nights — out of Tokyo, across the Pacific, and north to Alaska. Silver Moon entered service in 2020, at 40,700 gross tons with just 596 guests and all-suite accommodation. But numbers can wait. Embarkation day has only one real theme: excitement. This is the first chapter of the voyage; the rest of the 15 days will follow, in instalments.
Harumi Pier: The Ship Is Waiting
The first thing to do at the terminal is simply stand on the pier for a while. Silver Moon's white hull stretched along the berth, mooring lines made fast, under the pale grey of a Tokyo spring sky that made her look brighter still. We hadn't checked in, hadn't crossed the gangway — and already our hearts were beating a little faster.
Inside the terminal, a welcome wall made entirely of cherry blossoms spelled out WELCOME TOKYO HARUMI. It was the end of April; sakura season had just passed in the city, but the terminal had kept spring on its wall. On another wall, the HARUMI CRUISE TERMINAL sign was shaped as a world map — ships leave this port for everywhere, and ours was heading to the upper right of that map.
A Welcome in Paper Cranes
While we waited to board, the welcome began with paper cranes. The ship's daily programme, Chronicles, was being handed out in the hall, its front page reading Welcome aboard Silver Moon! above photographs of the captain and senior officers — we met the ship's "family" before we even stepped aboard. On the tables and in baskets nearby were origami works prepared by the terminal: cranes, flowers and little folded boxes, with a sign inviting guests to take one. We chose a paper crane to bring aboard — the first souvenir of the voyage, acquired before we had even boarded.
Walking out toward the gangway, we looked back at the stern once more. Stores were still being loaded, forklifts busy on the quay, and Silver Moon's name stood on the stern — from that moment, that name was our address for the next 15 days.
Boarding: Chilled Towels and a Grand Staircase
The first second aboard brought a chilled towel. A crew member offered rolled white towels with tongs, one by one — cool, faintly scented, and half the journey's tiredness simply fell away. In the corridor, crew smiled, greeted us and pointed the way. That feeling of being genuinely expected is where a luxury ship parts company with the big mainstream vessels — and it starts from the very first minute.
The atrium staircase is Silver Moon's heart: twin flights sweeping up and down, carpet and handrails in quiet tones, nothing showy. We would climb it many times over the next 14 days, but the first impression stays sharpest — we were really aboard.
The First Champagne, and the First Lunch
Our suite was still being finished, so we settled into Dolce Vita first. The welcome champagne arrived quickly, with a single-bite caviar canapé, and Tokyo's harbour beyond the window. We opened the cocktail list — Penicillin, Old Cuban, French 75 — and surrendered embarkation-day noon to champagne. Correct decision.
Lunch was at The Grill, and embarkation day called for restraint: a club sandwich with sweet-potato fries, the bread properly crisp, the fries a handsome orange. Eating slowly, watching the harbour — the ship hadn't sailed, but the holiday had begun.
Champagne on Deck, Desserts at the Café
After lunch, a walk on deck. Beside the pool deck stood a champagne station: Duval-Leroy on ice, flutes in neat rows, towels and amenities alongside. The ship understands embarkation day — every corner of it should involve champagne.
Afternoon tea found us at the Arts Café, part coffee house, part small gallery, with orange armchairs, a long bar and shelves of bottles — a lighter mood than the main restaurant. Desserts first: a lemon meringue tart, a tiramisu, a macaron; then two lattes with proper art and a plate of petits fours. Embarkation day's itinerary is simple: eat, drink, explore the ship, then something sweet.
Home for the Next 14 Nights
Then the suite was ready. The living room first: sofa, round table and desk in a row, the harbour beyond the sliding doors, the balcony open and the smell of the sea already inside. The bedroom sits apart, with a walk-in wardrobe between — hangers, drawers and bathrobes all in place, ready for the luggage to disappear into order. This would be home for 14 nights, and the first impression was simple: we would be comfortable here.
On the living-room table, a champagne bucket was already standing by, two flutes beside it and an orchid to finish the picture. There were also two water bottles and a small card: A REFRESHING WELCOME. A welcome, done properly, is not a slogan — it is everything prepared before you walk through the door.
An Afternoon Walk Around the Whole Ship
Settled in, it was time for embarkation day's favourite ritual: exploring the ship. We started at the staircase beneath the atrium skylight and walked her deck by deck. Daylight pours down through the glass roof and the stairs turn in the light; the public rooms are quieter than expected — less cruise ship, more boutique hotel that happens to float.
The aft deck lounge has the best view: deep-blue sofas facing Harumi's harbour and the city skyline across the water. A white Japan Coast Guard patrol vessel lay berthed on the far shore, and beyond the towers, Tokyo Tower showed itself. The ship hadn't left port, but the air on deck was already holiday air.
Indoors, we went room by room: the Silver Note jazz club's entrance lit by a flower-petal ceiling light; the Venetian Lounge theatre with its stage ready for the evening; Kaiseki's quiet wooden door; Atlantide's round tables all set; another restaurant screened by an etched-glass face, champagne and wine gift boxes displayed alongside. Eight restaurants and all those lounges — fifteen days is just enough to take them one at a time.
The Butler's Champagne
In the early evening, back at the suite, our butler arrived. In our room, a white towel over his arm, bottle in one hand and the glass steadied in the other, he poured the champagne for us himself — opening a bottle in the suite is simply how this ship says welcome. No queueing at a bar, no waving for service: the champagne walks into your room, and the bubbles rise slowly in the glass.
The bottle was a Duval-Leroy, its cork resting beside the glass. We drank slowly in the room, the television murmuring, the light outside the window dimming by degrees. By then, embarkation day's excitement had settled into something steadier: the feeling that for the next 14 days, we would be looked after exactly like this.
Night Falls on Day One
Before dinner we passed the restaurant again: every table set, the lights half a shade lower, the whole ship wearing its evening expression. Back on deck, the house flag streamed in the evening breeze off Harumi as the shore lights came on one by one.
Embarkation day scores 90. The missing points leave room for the comparisons to come; the points earned are easy to explain. From the paper cranes at the terminal and the chilled towel at the gangway to the bottle our butler opened in our room, this ship spent a whole day telling us: you were expected, and you are welcome. Fifteen days, fourteen nights — and this was only day one. The sea days, the ports and Alaska's glaciers will follow, one chapter at a time.