Where the boats actually go.
A hundred and eighty kilometres of orchard-covered cliffs, waterfalls you can walk behind, and water deep enough to make anchoring a navigation exercise — the fjord cruise is the anti-Mediterranean, and it is magnificent.
A dozen pine-walled anchorages inside one gulf, restaurants that run their own jetties, and weather that mostly declines to participate — the blue cruise's home water.
Gilded-age harbours, a race island, a vineyard, and a sandbank town at the end of it — the American summer's most civilised week runs on moorings, fog charts and lobster rolls.
Three islands, three temperaments, one honest constraint — the distances are real, the anchorages are regulated, and the week that respects both is the week that works.
Forty nautical miles of the most famous coastline in the world — and the boat is the only way to see it that doesn't involve a queue.
A thousand islands, a chain of professional marinas, water like the Caribbean's colder cousin — and exactly one month when the coast runs out of space. Here's how a week actually works.