That’s exactly what happened to the Carnival Triumph in 2013, when the ship departed Galveston, Texas, with about 4,100 guests and crew aboard. What should have been a simple two-day cruise to Cozumel, Mexico, soon turned into an 18-day horror story. A catastrophic engine room fire put the proud ship permanently out of service. The mistake left the ship marooned on the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico. This crisis made the national news and was widely known as the “poop cruise.”
In the blink of an eye, a dream vacation turned into a nightmare fire for everyone on board. Other passengers included a bachelorette party, a nervous fiancé, and a divorced father taking his 13-year-old daughter for some quality time. With sand placed in sanitation systems making them inoperable, the conditions worsened instantly. One cook on board painted such a visceral picture of the conditions in the lavatories that he called it a “poop lasagna.” The ship had drifted aimlessly for three long days when rescuers finally towed it to Mobile, Alabama. All the while, passengers were dealing with a horrific shortage of lifesaving essentials.
CNN, grappling with how to justify its coverage amid other significant news events, found itself drawn into reporting this unfolding drama. It was the bizarre conditions, sure, but more so the people behind them that drew the public eye. James Ross directed a documentary titled “Trainwreck: Poop Cruise,” which explores the chaos of that ill-fated voyage. The documentary employs re-enactments alongside actual footage contributed by passengers and crew members, offering an intimate look at their experiences.
Passenger Devin Marble had a significant impact on saving lives during this crisis. He captured his experiences on daily vlogs, providing an up-close look into daily life on the still-stranded ship. These recordings turned out to be critical portals into the trials and tribulations endured on those horrific days. Communication with them was virtually nonexistent during the time they were adrift. Once passengers were in range, they used a sister Carnival cruise liner’s Wi-Fi to get in touch with their family and friends.
The crew were working non-stop, churning through 70-hour work weeks to keep morale up and entertain the now restless passengers. Buck Banks, a crew member, emphasized their dedication, stating, “You give them what you believe they need.” Even under these conditions, many passengers went home saying it was the best cruise they ever took. They attributed this feeling to the cast and crew’s determination and work ethic.
The aftermath of the incident was significant. The resulting clean-up efforts cost Carnival Cruise Lines an estimated $115 million. Once the ship was restored, it was relaunched under a new name: the Sunrise. Today the Carnival Triumph’s legacy is still felt throughout the cruise line. It similarly festers for those who experienced the trauma.
As James Ross told me after the event, there were bittersweet feelings about what went down that day. He explained this was due to the way many people met the idea of a “Poop Cruise” with condescending punchline. “When you hear ‘Poop Cruise’, you think ‘… OK’,” he remarked. He acknowledged the spirit of resilience and solidarity that took root in that devastating crisis.