This Luxury Cruise Ship Is Now Sailing to Stunning Harbors in Southeast Asia

I like to think of myself as adventurous. I’ve traveled on assignment to meet gorillas in Gabon, and into the hidden alleyways of my hometown, Bangkok. So when T+L asked if I would take a luxury cruise, I blanched. Me? The photojournalist who just came back from dancing with retired headhunters in a remote corner of northeastern India (page 108)? I’d never even considered a cruise—least of all one through my metaphorical backyard of Southeast Asia.

I said yes—hey, why not try something different?—but planned to fill my notebook with snark, my own wry contribution to the long literary tradition of fish-out-of-water cruise narratives.

But Luminara, the 226-suite Ritz-Carlton Yacht Collection ship that I boarded last fall, had several surprises in store for me. Arriving at the port of Laem Chabang, near Bangkok, I marveled at the boat’s intimate scale. This was no hulking megaship but rather a chic and inviting vessel with a gleaming midnight-blue hull. No wonder the company insists on calling its vessels “yachts,” even though, at 790 feet long, Luminara is a fair bit bigger than even the grandest private boat.

After a smooth check-in, I was escorted to my room by the suite ambassador looking after my plush accommodations, which were done up with flashes of crystal and chrome and trimmed in buttery leather. In the bedroom I had two walk-in closets; my bathroom featured a tub ensconced in dramatically veined marble and a rain shower stocked with toiletries by Bulgari and Diptyque. Floor-to-ceiling windows in my living room opened onto a balcony furnished with both a padded lounger and armchairs, one of which soon became my favorite spot for morning coffee.

From Bangkok, we cut through the Gulf of Thailand to Koh Samui. We dropped anchor, and had the seas been calmer, the crew would’ve unfolded the marina, a floating complex stocked with kayaks, stand-up paddleboards, and a netted seawater pool for plunges. Unfortunately, the conditions had conspired against us—but the crew did shuttle guests between ship and shore by tender. For me watching them from the top deck, G&T in hand, sufficed.

I did alight in Vietnam for a vintage car tour through the hot, honking madness of Ho Chi Minh City. We zoomed past cafés spilling onto sidewalks, as people on tiny plastic chairs slurped noodles from giant bowls balanced on equally tiny tables. There were stops at the famed 19th-century post office and the 1960s-era Reunification Hall, where our excellent guide shared many sobering nuggets from the country’s complex history.

A day later, in Da Nang, we docked in a harbor buzzing with fishing boats painted in primary colors, like oversize bath toys. I joined a Spanish couple on a guided excursion to the ancient capital of Hué, where we spent the day meandering past sherbet-colored shrines with ceramic dragons dancing across their roofs, and watching women fish for oysters in shimmery lagoons.

To me, these were just glimpses of the place—a sampler rather than a full meal. The journalist in me would’ve loved to spend more time on the ground. But when I asked my Spanish companions if they felt the same way, they shrugged. The chance to get a brief look at so many places—with zero stress about border formalities, travel arrangements, or repacking their luggage every few days—was exactly why they had chosen this cruise.

And so I began to appreciate just how coddled I was on Luminara, which is really more of a floating resort than a ship, and a very nice one at that. I’d start most days with breakfast in the sun on the terrace at Azur on Luminara, where the staff, hailing from Bali to Brussels, had soon memorized both my name and my standing order of an iced coffee with regular milk and no sugar. One morning I slipped into the spa, where a hot-stone massage left my skin smooth and smelling like a menthol lozenge; another day, I curled up with a book on a lounger by one of the two pools. I’d often stop for lunch at Beach House, a shipboard restaurant with a menu of meze and kebabs devised by the celebrity chef Michael Mina.

Occasionally, when I didn’t go ashore, I’d wander over to Art Bar for a nice loose-leaf tea. And I would often pass through the serene Living Room, on Deck 5, so I could stop and grab a gelato. Much has been made of the fine dining at Seta Su Luminara, an Italian-inflected restaurant from another celeb chef, Fabio Trabocchi. (I certainly enjoyed the saffron risotto, white-peach gazpacho, and heavenly wine pairings with selections from Piedmont.) But I preferred dinner at Azur, where the menus nodded to our journey with zingy Thai beef skewers, Singapore black-pepper prawns, and Vietnamese pork meatballs with nuoc mam relish.

By my final morning aboard, when I opened my suite’s curtains to the skyscrapers of Hong Kong’s Victoria Harbour, I had to admit traveling by ship was far more enjoyable than I’d imagined. In fact, I may just do it again.

Similar 11-day Bangkok–Hong Kong sailings from $14,900 per person.

A version of this story first appeared in the December 2026/January 2027 issue of Travel + Leisure, under the headline “Easy Does It.”

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