JakTar
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Ah. How nice to see that, post-Covid, you're travelling again, and posting again. This might be of interest if ever you're thinking of trying a British cruising experience -
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This is the (overlong?) diary of a solo passenger’s 12-night, round-trip Iberian cruise from Southampton which may be of some interest to those contemplating a similar cruise.
Saturday 09 December 2023 - Day 1 - Southampton
Four middle-aged ladies are seated in front of me on a direct train from Manchester to Southampton. They’re going on a Xmas Markets cruise and discuss, at considerable length, the preparation of potatoes for Xmas dinner. Not surprisingly, in a group setting, one plays the part of the dominant male making the conversation more of a monologue...and she barely pauses for breath during the four-hour journey time.
My first cruise aboard a P&O vessel is to be on the (almost) 20-year-old Arcadia, the second oldest and second smallest of the fleet, and my inside cabin is so far forward on deck 5 that it’s very nearly an outside cabin.
What’s this? No queues at Reception stretching twice round the ship? And I don't even have to wait because one of the team approaches me to ask if they can help? My dining arrangements are explained - I'm on Freedom Dining which means I can eat at any time in the Meridian Restaurant’s lower level on Deck 2 or, of course, the Belvedere Restaurant’s buffet on Deck 9. I settle into a comfortable armchair by the Xmas tree to read my copy of Horizon, the daily, 4-page, what’s-on guide, whilst a brass quintet plays seasonal classics. No solos get-together is scheduled for this evening, although at 5pm there is an LGBTQRSTUVWXYZ... get-together. Would they let me attend if I was a dealer in trinkets and knick-knacks? I’d say I was buy-curios.
The Belevdere is open so I head up for lemon drizzle cake and coffee. And how do I ensure my food isn’t taken away whilst I’m away from my table? A waiter tells me that cutlery set at quarter past or quarter to the hour, or both, should do the trick.
At 5pm, whilst watching football in the comfortable Rising Sun pub, Captain Chris Bourne announces that: checks have been completed and we’re about to slip our moorings; the ship may heel as it makes 20-30 degree turns through the narrows; sea conditions may mean that the pilot can't be dropped off until after midnight at Brixham; and, wind speeds of 50 knots and 5-6 metre waves are expected tomorrow in the Bay of Biscay.
What’s this? There’s a launderette on my deck (and above and below) with three washing machines and three driers - and they’re free to use? In the corridor, my cabin steward from Goa introduces himself.
I listen to classical guitar in the Crow's Nest as we drift gently away with shore lights twinkling in the distance, then go for dinner an hour later in the Meridian. I’m happy to share a table and am seated at a table of eight as the wobbles begin in earnest. After my soup, I stagger the length of the ship back to my cabin to take an anti-wobble pill. On the way back, I pass the early evening quiz in the Spinnaker Bar where they’re going through the answers. Who wrote Chitty Chitty Bang Bang? Truth be told, I’d never have guessed the answer in a million years. Make that 007 million!
My vegetarian mains of Courgette Noodles (Fresh Coconut, Chopped Brazil Nuts and a Soft Herb Emulsion) proves to be quite the talking point. I tentatively pick at the unattractive green slime I’ve been served and discover that it actually tastes fine. Fellow diners include a couple who like dancing (there’s ballroom and sequence dancing tonight at 9.30) and another couple on Deck 8 who tell me, “The more you pay the more you sway.”
Tonight’s presentation in the 3-tier Palladium Theatre is On The Horizon. It’s a traditional, British cruise song and dance show which, like the ship, is very up and down, but kudos to the dancers from the ship’s company for coping with it.
After the 45-minute set from Craig the Busker in the Rising Sun, I go for a late-night snack in the Belvedere (open till 1am, although tea and coffee are available 24/7) where wheelchair-bound guests have to get out of their chair to reach the tap and soap if they prefer to wash their hands rather than use the hand sanitiser.
Sunday 10 December 2023 - Day 2 - At Sea
This is my first cruise where the what’s-on guide doesn't include, restaurant, bar, shop and desk times but has to print these on a separate insert.
I had little sleep last night with the constant creaking and groaning. It might have been the ship or it might have been me. On my way up to breakfast I tell my cabin steward not to bother making up the cabin - just empty the bins, please.
I start the day with a coffee and a jam doughnut as the captain tells us the wind speed was 60 knots last night. It’s currently 30 knots and there’s a 3 metre swell, but that's expected to increase to 6 metres during the day. In preparation, I've already taken a second anti-wobble pill.
A Solos Travellers Sea Day Get Together has been scheduled for 9.30am up in the Crow’s Nest. By the time I arrive there are already about thirty solos chatting in small groups, mostly elderly (not that I’m a spring (or even, summer) chicken) although there’s one, young, pretty Asian girl who, unsurprisingly, proves popular. The get-together isn’t really hosted: one of the staff introduces herself to tell us - same time, same place, every day. Tea and coffee is offered, and cruise prices are compared. I listen in and am not surprised to learn that better cabins at cheaper prices were obtained by those who booked later than me.
The rest of the morning is spent at the crowded line dance lesson, the busy social foxtrot lesson and browsing in the shops. What’s this? No seasickness pills on sale? I’m told they’re available for free from Reception! And how does our shop assistant cope with the wobbles? When he first started he drank water and ate green apples whilst trying to look at the horizon. Pills were only required when sailing through the Drake Passage.
After looking in on the well-stocked library on Deck 3 where the window seats are taken by jigsaw enthusiasts, I grab a quick lunch in the Belvedere before going to The Palladium for a lecture about Johnny Walker RN - The Scourge of the U-Boats. Tony Green may not be as charismatic a storyteller as Ben McIntyre (a guest speaker when I was last on the QM2), but he probably has better credentials, being an ex-Marine who served in Belfast and the Falklands War. It’s an eye-opening account of the most successful anti-submarine warfare commander during the Battle of the Atlantic, tragically worked to death, in July 1944 at the age of 48!
The social foxtrot lesson part 2 then afternoon tea is followed by a standing-room-only Classical Recital with Jorge Carlo Mariani (tenor) and Varvara Tarasova (pianist) in The Globe at 5pm. It features a variety of genres including a Mexican shepherd's song which requires Jorge to switch between tenor and falsetto.
At 5.30pm in the Spinnaker Bar there’s an individual quiz, i.e. no teams. I listen in having missed the start. Which US state is known as VA in the postal service? Apparently, the answer isn’t Vashington! I’m seated at the bar where one of the barmen mutters his answers. I suggest he might do so more quietly. A further suggestion follows from the captain: regarding the rough seas - passengers are advised, “… not to leave anything to roll around in your drawers in case it disturbs you in the night.”
Thankfully, I’m sat at a more centrally-located table for tonight’s black tie dinner (I wear a dark suit) in the Meridian. I chat with an ex-policewoman who dreams of visiting a rhino sanctuary, and an NHS ambulance coordinator and preacher who lost his sense of taste during COVID.
Tonight’s headline act in The Palladium is William Caulfield, “one of Ireland’s best loved comedians” apparently. Unfortunately, the lazy telling of interminable stories that I first heard decades ago means that I don’t have any love to give.
I watch the dancing at the Gala Ball in The Globe because it’s too wobbly for me to even think of joining in. Late night, The Globe becomes the nightclub and tonight five people are in attendance, including the barmen and the DJ.
Monday 11 December 2023 - Day 3 - At Sea
I took half a sleeping aid last night after two mugs crashing to the cabin floor woke me up so, yes, we’re still bouncing through Biscay Bay. The captain tells us that we hit a couple of potholes last night (I felt them) and we're caught in between two swells: one from the southwest and one from the northwest but, as we round Cape Finisterre heading towards Lisbon, the swells will lessen.
Large queues sometimes form at the poolside entrances to the buffet as there are only two wash basins which many, like me, prefer to hand sanitiser. After a coffee and a doughnut I take photos of the sea through one of the glass lifts then head for the solos get-together which is so busy it's spilled out of its designated corner in the Crow’s Nest.
Our dance instructor at this morning’s cha-cha class is at pains to explain that her husband is her dance assistant and not a teacher. Maybe so, but he ought to notice that his partner for the lesson keeps placing her outside rather than inside leg forward for the New Yorker and hand-to-hand.
On the way to lunch in the Belvedere, after listening in on the ship's choir who will probably put on a performance at the end of the cruise, others in the glass lift opine that the crossing of the Bay of Biscay has been the worst they've ever experienced. I have very tasty mushroom strudel, chickpea masala and rice, then go and listen to an interesting art gallery talk on Jack Vettriano and Fabian Perez given in The Globe.
This afternoon’s naval lecture in The Palladium is entitled The Battle of Drobak Sound, where the German invasion of Norway was confounded by, “50 year old guns and 35 year old torpedoes in a 100 year old fort commanded by a 65 year old.” I’m also confounded - by the convoluted nature of the talk, so leave early for more strudel, chickpea masala and rice by a picture window looking out to a (now, relatively) calm sea.
After a fine mid-afternoon classical concert ending with Nessun Dorma, a rather over-baked aria these days, I go for afternoon tea only to find that today's scones are rather under-baked. Afterwards, I relax in the quiet of the East Bar on Sky Deck 11 midships which affords fine views out to sea and also to the great rust holes in the vast, retractable roof covering the Lido Deck pool below.
A busy early evening includes: the Singles Mingle in the East Bar, the individual quiz in The Rising Sun (the winner got 19 out of 20! I barely got half that!) and listening to cocktail pianist Hannah Gerendas’ 45-minute set in the Piano Bar.
It's 70s night in The Globe with Pulse, the resident pop band, whilst tonight’s headline show in The Palladium is Killer Queen. It’s standing room only and I find myself next to the pretty Asian girl from the first solos get-together. Surely she’s too young to remember Queen? Maybe so, but she’s still a fan.
During the cocktail pianist’s final set of the night she's unexpectedly joined by Chris from Pulse for her last song - My Girl. It’s impromptu excellence and a lot of fun.
Tuesday 12 December 2023 - Day 4 - Lisbon
The ship docks at 8am and my breakfast is to the accompaniment of non-stop coughing behind me. The day is cloudy but dry, and warm, and how nice it is to be able to walk in a straight line. The all-aboard time is 4.30pm so I’ll re-acquaint myself with the city rather than venture further afield.
It feels good to be back on solid ground except, it isn’t - the earthquake of 1755 all but destroyed the city. A tourist information guy at the cruise terminal tells me I can get an all-day travel ticket at the nearby Santa Apolónia railway station where I buy an all-day travel card for €7.10 then take bus 728 (though any 7xx bus should be fine) to the Praca do Comercio. It’s only three or four stops to the grand plaza with its centrepiece equestrian statue of King José I, surrounded on three sides by native, neo-classical Pombaline architecture and looking out over the Tagus river. Ah, yes. I remember.
I walk through the grand Rua Augusta Arch along the pedestrianised shopping street with its beautifully decorated paving tiles, passing almost irresistible pastelarias, to the historic, wrought-iron, Santa Justa elevator which transports users up to the square and historic buildings of Largo Do Carmo. The queue is too long so I continue on to the Praca Dos Restauradores which is where the ship’s shuttle (£4 each way) would be dropping passengers off. The Horizon quotes a journey time of approximately 45 minutes - that’s very approximate because it isn’t even half that. At the centre of the plaza, with its Xmas market and wavy paving tiles, is an obelisk commemorating Portugal’s independence from Spain.
I backtrack towards the tram stop by Igreja Maria Madalena, on Rua Conceicao, passing the Bastardo Fish Bar which advertises itself as, “the illegitimate son of the portuguese cuisine” and the Armazens Do Chiado shopping centre which, conveniently, has conveniences on the top floor in the food court.
I take the no. 28(E - electrico, i.e. tram. The no. 12 has a similar route) trundling up and down narrow twisting streets all the way to its terminus at Martim Moniz discovering that, from a tourism perspective, there isn’t really anything worth seeing after the (Largo Da) Graca stop with its pleasant-looking neighbourhood shops and cafes.
On the return trip, I get off at one of the city’s famous viewpoints - the terraces and green spaces of the Miradouro de Santa Luzia which overlooks the historic Alfama district and the river. On the wall of the church, amongst the bougainvillea, are two blue-tiled panels: one shows downtown Lisbon before its destruction by the 1755 earthquake and the other shows crusaders storming the castle in 1147. The viewpoint of Miradouro das Portas do Sol is part of the same group of terraces - its name evokes one of the gates of the old city walls.
Instead of waiting in the queue for the Santa Justa elevator, I decide to try and walk up instead. I pass the lift, turn up the hilly street behind it to a set of steps on the right a few yards further on (signposted to a left-luggage store), and less than five minutes later, walking up more steps and an incline, and passing a montage of witty tiles depicting Portugal in the 21st century, I'm at the ruined convent and Largo do Carmo just as it starts to rain. Fortunately, I have my folding umbrella.
There’s no queue to use the elevator going down so I linger awhile taking in the views before descending, then walk to the tram stops back on Praca do Comercio. It's rainy and misty so I decide against going to Belem, 20 minutes away by tram and a little longer by bus, and stroll back along the riverfront to the cruise terminal - it’s only a 15-minute walk.
Oh, dear! A red Bombeiros ambulance with flashing blue lights pulls alongside the ship, followed by a yellow emergency vehicle. A stretcher is wheeled aboard, cases and bags are offloaded and, soon after, so is a passenger.
A tiebreaker question is needed for the individual quiz in the Spinnaker Bar, although I think the winner should have been the guy whose paper I was marking, for the following:
Q. What do you call a baby goat?
A. Steve.
The captain tells us that a large container ship may delay our departure but; unfortunately, it's the requirement of a second ambulance that means we cast off only to re-dock shortly afterwards. By the time we cast off again the rain and mist have cleared so I can take some shots of Lisbon by night such as the Christ statue, the suspension bridge over the river, the Monument of the Discoveries, the disembarking of our pilot and Belem Tower.
Fellow diners in the Meridian tonight include an officer working in Belmarsh Prison, and she has interesting tales to tell about hooch and hash.
Wednesday 13 December 2023 - Day 5 - At Sea
My morning comprises dance lessons and the lunchtime Battle of the Rising Sun quiz. I'm on the losing team despite answering three of the hard category questions:
- What does the French word ‘ordinateur’ mean?
- What does the Spanish word ‘postre’ mean?
- Which two countries border Lake Titicaca?
The last question brings back happy memories of an amazing month spent travelling in the region.
Whilst enjoying a light buffet lunch of spinach and ricotta ravioli, I spy land on the starboard side. Africa? It must be, especially as Vodafone has sent me a welcome-to-Morocco text. I move across to the port side and Vodafone greets me with a welcome-to-Spain text.
What is the white enclave on the African side? The Turkish restaurant officer I ask calls the bridge where he's told it's Tangier. I check my diaries: it's been almost exactly eleven years since I was in the casbah. As I gaze across to the Atlas Mountains, the tops of which are almost disappearing into the heavy low cloud, a call is made over the tannoy for the medical response team.
The next announcement is happier. Dolphins! There are some on the Spanish side but many more are on the Moroccan side because, of course, Africa is warmer than Europe. I watch for an age, trying, with minimal success, to capture them on camera. I’m more successful later capturing a weather front with a thick blanket of grey cloud right across to the horizon on the African side and clear, blue skies on the European side. I’ve never seen anything like it.
In the individual quiz in the Spinnaker Bar, my efforts to remember the capital of Columbia are interrupted with, "Attention ship's company! Attention ship's company. Hands to flying stations. Hands to flying stations."
Anyone in aft cabins on decks 4, 5, 6, 7 and 8 won’t be able to return to their cabins until the medical helicopter has completed its evacuation, and all decks are closed to those not involved in the operation.
An hour later -
1) The helicopter operation has now completed - decks have reopened and the Belvedere restaurant is now open.
2) Due to extreme weather conditions - very strong winds - forecast for Cartagena tomorrow, the call to Cartagena has been cancelled. A berth has been secured in Málaga so we will head there and stay overnight.
That’s disappointing - Cartagena was one of three new ports of call for me. Let’s hope it’ll be ok for Vigo and Cadiz.
At the second Captain’s Gala Reception of the evening (he isn’t available so it’s just an unhosted drinks reception around the pool), there’s just one woman in attendance who shouldn't have been allowed to dress herself - she’s wearing a backless red dress laying bare folds of sagging, wrinkly flesh. Twenty years ago, perhaps...
I’d like to eat in the Meridian tonight but there’s a 30-minute wait to join a table. We’re assured that everyone who receives a pager will be able to dine but I decide not to bother. After a quick bite in The Belvedere I look in on the Gala Ball in The Globe but it's very crowded. Let’s see what else is on. Ah, there's been a change to tonight's featured performance in The Palladium and, instead of Mr Tinkerton’s Clockwork Circus, we have our "comedian" from a couple of nights ago. On the plus side, it’s not as bad as two nights ago. On the minus side, it’s worse. Well, it’s been an unsuccessful night, but at least I’m still on the ship.
Thursday 14 December 2023 - Day 6 - Malaga
There are four juice stations in the Belvedere but only two are ever working, and you can generally expect a coffee machine and a hot water dispenser to be out of commission also. Hence, I have a 90-minute breakfast - mostly spent queueing at various stations and searching for a table. Afterwards, I chat with my cabin steward: he’s been with P&O for 28 years, looks after 20 cabins, and goes home to his wife and two children in January at the start of the world cruise and returns three months later.
It’s sunny but cool as I board the complementary shuttle service running throughout the day between the ship and the entrance to the marina, passing the Dynasty superyacht (undergoing maintenance), restaurants, shops and a Xmas market. Across from the entrance is the tourist information office and next to the entrance is the bus station where a bus to the pretty coastal town of Nerja is due to leave shortly. A return ticket costs €9.41 and the comfortable journey takes 70 minutes.
Now how do I get to the famously attractive promenade - the white-arched and tree-lined Balcon de Europa? As I only discovered later, by turning right at the first roundabout past the bus terminal, not the second! If there was a signpost to the Balcon, I missed it.
Nerja is better out of season: warm, pretty and with relatively few tourists. I take in the views whilst listening to a busking guitarist then walk down some steps and along the decorated switchback path down to the beach and around the promontory, taking photos of a cormorant resting on a rocky ledge. After more wandering through the plaza and the adjacent backstreets it’s time to find my way back, and a stroll along Calle Pintada brings me to the small, tree-shaded Plaza Cantarero by the roundabout nearest the bus terminus which is where I should have turned down when I arrived.
On the bus back to Malaga there's like three American girls like talking in their like loud, whiny like permanently-surprised way like ruining... well, not only the journey into like the setting sun, but also like the English like language.
The first of the thrice-nightly Xmas sound and light shows on Calle Larios, Malaga’s main shopping street, is about to begin. Hundreds have turned out, and most join in with favourites such as Feliz Navidad and Hacia Belen Va Una Burra. It’s lovely. Had the call to Cartagena not been cancelled we might not have been able to see this.
It’s curious that washing and/or sanitising hands is heavily encouraged in the Belvedere but not the Meridian restaurant. Are the menus wiped down after each use? Our dining table includes a solo originally from Romania who barely pauses for breath from the time the table fills until its clearing. Isn’t she supposed to be on the Xmas cruise?
Tonight we do have Mr Tinkerton’s Clockwork Circus which I learn is a popular show put on by P&O’s theatre companies across the fleet. Afterwards, I’m in The Globe where Pulse are playing cheesy hits and one-hit wonders. There’s a bit of bar staff dancing, but not enough - the atmosphere is always much better when bar staff join in.
Friday 15 December 2023 - Day 7 - Malaga
I have a breakfast chatting with our Chinese solo who now lives in London. Unfortunately, her horse-riding excursion yesterday was cancelled, she failed to find an equine alternative locally and when she went to visit the Picasso museum instead, it was closed. She's hoping for a much better day today.
I rest until noon then head out for an expedition on another warm-ish, sunny day - to find the coastal bus route between Benalmadena Costa and Malaga because the train that runs between Malaga and Fuengirola doesn’t follow the coast. The nearest train station to the ship, Malaga Centro Alameda, is a 10-minute walk from the port and a cleaning lady advises me not to bother with buying a return ticket from a machine - just tap in and tap out with a card. Services are cheap and frequent, and a single to Banalmadena - Arroyo de la Miel is only €2.70.
Banalmadena Costa is a 25-minute walk downhill from the station to the tourist information office inside the terracotta Castillo Bil Bil on the beachfront. I’m given a handy wallet-sized printout showing buses and journey times from Benalmadena, including the bus to Málaga which stops at any of the stops along the sea front. The 50-minute ride (€1.70 - cash only), is mostly along the coast so it’s more picturesque than the train journey.
Whilst exploring downtown Malaga, I come across the cake shop of my dreams - La tarta de la madre de Cris - which sells many varieties of cheesecake. Close by is the Pasaje de Chinitas whose eponymous, former café was immortalised in a song by Federico Garcia Lorca. The Picasso Museum is open today, but there’s no time to visit as the last shuttle is due to leave in a few minutes so I retrace my steps and bid farewell to Malaga by acknowledging the statue of El Cenachero, the traditional fish-seller who sold his wares from baskets carried through the streets.
The captain announces that, with wind speeds for Gibraltar forecast to be far above the manoeuvrability for the ship, the itinerary for the next couple of days has been reversed - tomorrow our call will be to Cadiz and Sunday is now Gibraltar. Also, some may have noticed divers around the ship. They've been doing work on the hull that complies with New Zealand regulations - one of the countries to be visited during the upcoming world cruise. Two hours are required between completion of the work and sailing and, as they've only just finished, we'll sail at 8pm.
It’s a Rhinestone Country evening with Pulse in The Globe tonight where line dances are taught to such Country & Western classics as You’re Sixteen by Ringo Starr and Blackpool Belle by The Houghton Weavers. Uh, oh! What’s this? "Attention! Attention! Crew alert! Crew alert! Crew alert! Smoke in the engine room!"
All the staff rush off as do some passengers, either to don life jackets or to move to the head of the restaurant queues. A few minutes later, the captain from the (hopefully, not burning) bridge tells us that the auto fire suppression system has activated. CCTV indicates there is no fire but all crew are to be at fire alert stations. This is soon followed with, “The chief engineer is happy there is no smoke or fire. All ships company can stand down from crew alert. I say again - all ship's company can stand down from crew alert.”
Curious. I'm sure I smelt smoke...
Analiza Ching, Chinese Young Musician of the Year at age 12, is tonight’s headline act in The Palladium. She’s a rock violinist which means she wears glitz, does a few fancy dance steps and engages in extended head-banging all designed to distract from the fact that she’s an extremely talented musician whilst showcasing that she doesn’t know how to put a show together: she has a scattergun approach with a few bars of this and a few bars of that... I leave due to boredom.
Saturday 16 December 2023 - Day 8 - Cadiz
Can there be many more historically significant places in Europe than ancient Agadir? Founded by Hercules after travelling to the ends of the earth to complete his tenth labour (allegedly), site of the Visigothic defeat that opened up the Muslim conquest of Spain (possibly), departure point for Columbus’ second and fourth voyages (definitely)…
The light is of such a clarity and intensity that the region’s name of Costa de la Luz is amply justified. The ship’s berth is right in town and it’s a perfect day for walking round the headland that bounds the historic quarter at the tip of the peninsula of Cadiz.
I start at the neo-classical old customs house where orange trees line the pavements and which is fronted by a small garden of flowers and cypress trees with a tortoise fountain at its centre. Beyond is the Plaza de Espana with its centerpiece of a semi-circular monument with allegorical figures, built to honour the (first) constitution, of 1812, and ratified by the Cortes (national legislature) of Cadiz.
The walk by the sea walls, with a diversion into the lush Plaza de Mina garden (named for a hero of the Peninsular War), brings me to the terracotta Baluarte de la Candelaria, a 17th century bastion that guards the entrance to the Bay of Cadiz. On its walls is a dedication to Blas de Lezo, a Spanish naval hero known as Mediohombre whose multiple war wounds left him with one eye, one hand and one leg, and who defeated the Royal Navy in 1741 at Cartegena de Indias, the jewel of the Spanish Main.
The sea walk turns west to the Genoves Park, a botanical garden with winding topiary, palm trees, waterfall and grotto, and ending at the modernist Parador Nacional Atlántico with its glorious ocean views. A 5-minute walk inland brings me to the Plaza Fragela and the Gran Teatro Falla, built in a Moorish-revival style and (re)named for the Cadiz-born composer.
Back on the seafront is the fortress of Santa Catalina and at the other end of the horseshoe-shaped beach is the former island fortress of San Sebastian, now connected to the mainland by a levee. The body of water between the two fortresses must be rich in marine life judging by the number of small fishing boats in and out of the water.
Inland is the Plaza de la Libertad and the central market, dating from 1837. Sellers are closing up in the central covered area but the open air eateries that surround it are very busy with seafood lovers. Nearby is the historic watchtower of Torre Tavira and, after a couple of wrong turns, I arrive at the cathedral, and the Xmas market in the plaza. At one corner are plaques honouring the fallen of Trafalgar and at the opposite corner is the Arco de la Rosa - the archway was a gate into the medieval, walled quarter. Down the alleyway, I chance upon the archaeological site of the Roman Theatre.
My exploration finishes at the Plaza de San Juan de Dios with its shops, bars and restaurants, dominated by the neoclassical town hall and with the grand statue of a celebrated son, the 19th century writer and politician Segismundo Moret, at its centre.
Fellow diners in the Meridian include aft cabin evacuees from three nights ago. Conversation also includes praise for the relatively new Ambassador Cruise Line, battlefield tours and the Nantes mechanical elephant.
The rest of the evening is spent drifting amongst various musical venues whilst sleep is aided by low volume music from the TV bridge cam channel.
Sunday 17 December 2023 - Day 9 - Gibraltar
Happily the winds have died down and we’ve been able to dock at Gibraltar. It’s a clear day with a layer of cloud perfectly balanced atop Jebel Musa across the straits. I’ve visited several times so a wander in the sunshine, despite the cool weather, will do just fine.
Inside the terminal building there’s a useful map that includes bus routes to some of the main sights. Outside, the rust-ridden bow of the Arcadia, particularly around the anchor, complements the rust-ridden port fencing which is where the local taxi service is offering a shuttle to the Grand Casemate Gates for £3 single / £4 return. It’s only a 15-20 minute walk but, as it’s rather windy, I opt for the taxi service.
The bus timetables by the gates show me there’s just enough time before the next no. 2 to Europa Point to walk through the square, along Main Street, see that the tourist information office by the Parliament building is closed, and get back. A return journey is £2.50 and it’s a scenic ride, past Orange, Left and South Bastions, and the Botanic Gardens and cable car, to the most southerly point on mainland Europe (or perhaps that’s Tarifa).
I spend half an hour battling strong winds looking at the main sights such as: the lighthouse, the mosque, Harding’s Battery, the memorial to General Sikorski and, towering over everything, the Rock itself, before returning to the Casemate Gates where a walk along the length of Main Street brings me to Trafalgar Cemetery, opposite the South Bastion and the statue of Nelson. Only two victims of the battle are actually buried at the cemetery which contains many more graves of those who fell during other conflicts such as the earlier Battle of Algeciras.
Back on board, the captain tells us that Azipod thrusters have been used during the day to keep the ship secure but, after the ropes are let loose, he'll let the wind blow the ship away from the berth. At the sad sailaway party without live music, a couple from last night’s dinner show me a video of the Nantes mechanical elephant. Ah, so that’s what it looks like. And you can also ride in it?
In the Individual Quiz in the Spinnaker Bar, my friendly-neighbourhood barman proves to be no help whatsoever. Surely, on his travels, he must have picked up useful nuggets of information such as where Postman Pat makes his deliveries or which Teletubby carries a red handbag. Even more irritating is his habit of muttering (as I later learn) the wrong answer - Olympus Mons is a mountain on Mars not Jupiter. Well, he sounded so sure…
It’s time to swap papers to mark the answers. Mine is headed “Luke & Carolyn” which leads me to think some in the room haven’t grasped the concept of “individual”!
Out on Promenade Deck 3 I try and capture the orange glow of an ocean sunset, but I’m thwarted as a TORM tanker crosses in front of the sun just as it dips below the horizon. A plaque states that “3 laps equals 1 mile” so the total length of my evening stroll would be about… one third of a mile.
Tonight’s dinner table talk is dominated by a Durham couple - a conversation would barely start before the husband jumped in with, "I'll tell you a story about...", willingly abetted by his wife.
Tonight’s headline act is not The Four Harps, as advertised, but Brian Connolly Jr. He’s the son of the blond, lead vocalist from the 70s glam-rock band Sweet and he puts on an excellent tribute show. He tells us that his dad was the only one not to sing the high notes in the classic Blockbuster, and it’s impressive that the Arcadia musicians provide such superb backing with only an hour's rehearsal.
After midnight, in the lobby by Reception, I spy creative Xmas crafting - the pastry team are applying finishing touches to a snow-covered, gingerbread village, complete with functioning clockwork railway. One of the team tells me it's taken two weeks to create, and she looks justifiably proud as she takes photos of her team's handiwork.
Monday 18 December 2023 - Day 10 - At Sea
After several circuits of the Belvedere on a calm Atlantic morning, I find a small table which I stock with: coffee and juice (first trip), doughnut and peach smoothie (second trip), granola, seeds and plain yoghurt (third trip) and scrambled eggs, beans, fried potatoes and toast (fourth trip).
Returning to the gingerbread village I hear a passenger say to his wife, “Where are the roads?”
I resist explaining the implications of being “snow-covered”. A board tells us that 11 chefs worked 1013 hours using 350 kilos of icing sugar, 850 kilos of eggs, 161 kilos of golden syrup, 201 kilos of muscovado sugar and 15.5 kilos of ginger powder. What’s this? No flour? No fat?
After the classical recital it’s time to get ready for the last gala night of the cruise, after which is a Gala Ball. The Bollywood dance lesson proves extremely popular and the dance floor is… Well, I was going to say - standing room only.
Tuesday 19 December 2023 - Day 11 - Vigo
It’s ironic that Spain's largest fishing port is populated exclusively by vigans! By the time I disembark, the rain has stopped and the sky is clearing. The A Laxe shopping centre opposite the cruise terminal has fine views across the harbour to the mountains around the bay from its upper floors (and free WiFi) and beyond the shopping centre is a striking sculpture by Francisco Leiro - El Banista Del Arenal. I haven’t been able to discover what the broken bronze bather might mean.
Across the road is the tourist information office where places of interest are marked for me on a map, including my ultimate destination of the hilltop fortress of Castelo Do Castro, and the steep climb through the old town starts immediately behind the tourist office.
I walk through the market of Praza da Pedra, past the Galician House of Culture, and the Basilica of Santa Maria in Praza Do Constitucion and, more by accident than design, I find an of escalator, part of Vertical Vigo designed to reconnect neighbourhoods, which takes me part of the way up to the fortress. I turn left up Granada and arrive at the base of Parque Do Castro but there’s still some climbing to do up steps and along pathways before I reach the fortress ruins with its marvellous views. It was built in the 17th century to protect this part of Galicia from potential attacks by English forces and, at the entrance, there is a memorial stone to 136 victims of pro-Franco forces between 1936 and 1942.
Descending via a different path I come across O Castro de Vigo - archaeological remains and a recreation of a Neolithic settlement comprising living quarters, a pantry and a granary around a central patio.
I take a different route down to the port, turning right down Rua da Ronda de Don Bosco. At the intersection with Rua Do Principe, there’s a statue to Manuel Castro, a newspaper seller who used to balance newspapers on his forefinger, although someone seems to have stolen his paper. Outside the adjacent contemporary art museum, a green-faced, green-haired Father Xmas waves to passers-by.
Back down on the promenade, in front of the yacht club, there is a statute to Jules Verne, sitting on a sea monster. A plaque states that the author, “… mentioned the Bay of Vigo … in one of the episodes of his book 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea.”
Our busker provides the live music at the sailaway party in the cool sunshine aft on Deck 9 as a seagull hitches a lift out of port on one of the balcony rails below. The captain tells us that pre-navigational checks have been successfully completed so we'll shortly be under way, turn through 180⁰ and head out through the Vigo Channel. We should keep ahead of expected bad weather in the Bay of Biscay so our journey back should be calmer than our journey out.
Tonight, many passengers are wearing Xmas gear - bobble hats and garish jumpers. It all looks rather jolly. Uh, oh! What’s this? The captain puts out a call for anyone with blood group O+ or O- who has their donor card with them and is willing to donate to a critically ill person on board.
My fellow Meridian diners all have at least 100 shares in Carnival earning various cruise rewards, having paid wildly differing prices per share. I also learn from them about touring West Indian cricket stadia - just knock on the door. I wish I’d thought of that when I was stood outside the Kensington Oval.
Pulse’s second set in The Globe is followed by the Xmas jumper competition. There were about 20 splendid entries but I got bored with each one having to shout out “Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Xmas!” and show us their moves.
Wednesday 20 December 2023 - Day 12 - At Sea
Well, maybe it isn’t as bad (yet) as on the way out, but this little old tug is still bobbing about all over the place. My breakfast gets taken away (not for the first time) by the waiters despite my cutlery setting. Ah well, there must be a staggering amount of food wasted on a cruise ship anyway. During breakfast part 2 there’s a ship-wide announcement for the medical response team to deck 11.
"Someone else dying," I hear from an adjacent table.
At 12.15 it’s the final Battle of the Rising Sun and there are extra points on offer today so there’s a small chance we can claw back some of the large deficit built up during the cruise. Rather than half and half, the pub split is more one third / two thirds, and our one third is generally only one third full whereas the opposing two thirds is at least two thirds full. We win today's battle, but lose the war.
There’s a guest announcement after the quiz -
"Due to unforeseen circumstances, this afternoon's Clarendon lecture on The Life and Works of Alice Laurie has been cancelled." It may have been her South African accent...
Last night’s cancelled performance of Deck The Halls plays to a standing-room-only enthusiastic Palladium audience who are in the mood for Xmas jollity. The final classical concert later features a lovely surprise - a duet featuring our tenor and our pianist who is also a fine soprano. (The excellent guest pianist is the bridge instructor!) They sing Caro elisir sei mio / Esulti pur la barbara from Act 1 of Donizetti’s L’Elisir d’Amore as Nemorino, our lovesick hero, drinks a quack’s love potion, and Adina, the object of his affections, reacts to his posturing.
I pack, have a dinner of broccoli soup and bread in the Belvedere then go to watch the misnamed Four Harps in The Palladium - they’re just average singers and therefore a plucking disappointment. The real highlight of tonight’s entertainment proves to be Matthew, one of the entertainment staff, guesting at the end of Pulse's second set with some fine, head-banging Metallica mayhem.
The night ends listening to the easy-listening duo in the Crow's Nest where it's calmer, so we must have exited, or almost exited, the Bay of Biscay.
I haven’t left my bags out, preferring to have as late a breakfast as possible tomorrow and disembark at my leisure…
Thursday 21 December 2023 - Day 13 - Southampton
… relaxing in the Piano Bar rather than standing in a non-moving queue of hundreds waiting to disembark.
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This is the diary of a solo passenger’s 11-night, early-autumn, (over-hyphenated,) round-trip cruise along the west coast of mainland Europe, from Germany to Spain. It may be of interest to those contemplating a similar cruise.
Note: Names may have been changed to protect the guilty...
Sunday October 01 2023 - Day 1 - SouthamptonIt’s a 15-minute suitcase-wheeling walk (including a 5-minute wait to cross the busy West Quay Road just before the entrance to Dock Gate 10) under cool, grey skies to the Horizon Terminal - the closest terminal to the train station - where the almost 10-year-old, 18-deck Norwegian Getaway with its almost 4000-passenger capacity waits serenely. There’s no reason for me to drop off my case because there are no queues this late in the day, just an odd straggler or two like me.
After picking up a couple of complimentary magazines, I board the ship and head up to my inside cabin which is clean and well-appointed and is certainly roomy enough for one although it has four beds: two (folded) up and two down. On the dressing table is a card entitling me to a 50% discount on one bag of laundry because I’m a Gold member - in NCL’s Latitudes Rewards scheme, I hasten to add.
From forward on deck 13, I head for the Garden Café buffet, backward on deck 15, to the accompaniment of non-stop announcements concerning shoe treads, environmental matters, lifeboat info, the safety video and electronic devices…
“In case of emergency, please follow the erections of the crew.” What?
“Ladies and German, the lifeboat drill is now completed.” What??
Our departure will be delayed by about an hour because provisions and luggage are still being loaded but the sailaway party still goes ahead at 5pm, poolside on deck 15. There are a few hardy souls in the swimming pool, others are dancing along with some of the cruise staff and most, like me, watch on, enjoying the DJ’s selection.
There are about 75 solos in the Bliss Lounge - a far bigger crowd than usual, we’re told - for the Solo Travelers [sic] Social at 6pm where PJ from South Africa declares himself to be “super excited” to act as our host for the cruise. From tomorrow there will be daily meets at 5pm, usually in the same location, and the Tropicana restaurant has daily reservations for solo diners at 5.30pm if some of us wish to eat as a group.
I get chatted up by a mildly tipsy American lady travelling with a couple of girlfriends from club 80-130 whilst another coos, “Oh! I could listen to you talk all day.” After the cruise she has two days in Westminster before a transatlantic cruise to finish her 32-day holiday. Westminster? In the heart of London? Ah, she means Winchester - King Arthur rather than King Charles (although Charles is an Arthur, as well as a Philip and a George).
The Getaway may be newer and much bigger than the Dawn which I sailed on a few months ago, but the Atrium is far less grand and the Bliss Lounge is far smaller. Just like the Dawn; however, the queue at Guest Services is so long that I can’t see the end of it.
There’s also a significant queue outside the Tropicana restaurant and I'm sure it'll be more than the estimated 15 minutes before I'm paged for my table for one…and it was. 16 minutes!
To my right are seven solos from the earlier get-together, on the table in front is a guy whose hips and buttocks spill over the sides of his dining chair, and to my left are two ladies of a certain age, from Orlando, who kindly invite me to join them, and a solo Smoggie (geographically distinct from Geordies and Mackems) who arrives a few minutes later.
Tonight’s entertainment in the Getaway Theater comprises two elements guaranteeing my non-attendance, “Magician” and “Audience Participation”. I’d rather stay and chat with my fellow diners. I have apple pie for dessert which, as usual, is bland. Won’t somebody please introduce the Bramley apple to NCL HQ?
After a little unpacking, I listen to Velvet Duo playing Latin music in Sugarcane, a small bar on Deck 8 that attracts passing trade, until the Getaway Welcome Bash at 10pm in the overcrowded Bliss Lounge. I drift away to the Headliners Comedy Club showcasing Howl at the Moon Duelling Pianos. They're very talented, particularly with their clever musical riffs.
All this entertainment has given me an appetite, and I retrieve two slices of pound cake and raisin cookies that are about to be cleared away from the tucked-away, for-solos-only Studio Lounge - a small, quiet space spread over decks 10 and 11 with a TV and a hot drinks station. The last act of a busy but enjoyable day is to move my watch forward one hour.
Monday October 02 2023 - Day 2 - At seaThe Garden Café has washing facilities, manned sanitiser sprayers and dispensers, and musical staff adapting the words of well-known pop songs extolling the virtues of washing and sanitising, so kudos to NCL for their efforts.
A day at sea means the buffet is very crowded and, as I make several circuits of the cafe looking for somewhere to sit, I ask about the meaning of the coloured sidebars (red, brown and green) on the food labels. There’s staff confusion about the answer and I’m advised to ask for clarification from Maureen, the food and drink manager. A small window table right at the back of the Garden Cafe with views out to a calm sea and a cloudy sky offers a relaxing way to enjoy breakfast, after which, during a post-prandial stroll in the unexpected warmth and sunshine, the captain gives the traditional noonday navigational update...at 10.45!
There’s a bachata dance class in the Bliss Lounge which is an excellent opportunity for socialising. Afterwards, a couple tries desperately to reprise the basic steps (side-together-side-tap) and I spend a few minutes helping them. One deck down, the Atrium is packed for Visual Trivia: Beers of the World. Being alcoholically ignorant I expect to get 0 out of 20 but my expectations are dashed - I recognize one and correctly guess two others. Afterwards, there’s a pitch for Deal or No Deal which follows the quiz. $29 for 2 cards up to $59 for 5 cards? No deal!
Lunch is coconut fish (I’m guessing that it’s tilapia), vegetable rice and chips by a starboard-side picture window in the Garden Cafe with the engine thrum providing an unexpected but not unpleasant vibratory buttock massage whilst a passenger to my left coughs incessantly. Afterwards, I meet my cabin steward. Pre-Covid he looked after 16 cabins; now it's 22.
We arrive in Hamburg tomorrow so the ship has thoughtfully arranged a language class...in Portuguese. Warum? Wir gehen nicht einmal nach Portugal! Still, I learn that 'd' at the beginning of a word is pronounced as a soft 'g', and 't' after a vowel is pronounced as a 'ch', at least in Brazil.
Afterwards, at the booking office outside the theatre, I book two shows: Burn the Floor for tonight and Million Dollar Quartet for a week tomorrow (bookings aren’t needed for any other shows). The ticket is attached to my room card and if it hasn't been scanned ten minutes before the start, my booking is released to a standby queue.
At 5pm it’s the solos get-together where I chat with an equine aficionado from Salt Lake City who's booked an excursion to Schwerin Schloss for tomorrow. Exploration of the fairy-tale castle sounds like an excellent excursion, but $199 is too much for me.
With waiting times varying between 25 and 45 minutes at the Tropicana, Savour and Taste restaurants, I opt for the more open-plan environment and excessive vibrations of the Garden Cafe before tonight’s theatre show - Burn The Floor. “Feel the percussive rhythm of the Samba, the sizzling Cuban beats of Salsa, and the flirtatious pulse of the Rumba. Yesterday’s dance with today’s attitude…” It seems that today’s attitude is to look the part but dance generically. For instance, the samba section contained no discernable samba content: no basic forward and backs, no whisks, no samba walks, no voltas, no botafogos, no cortajackas… An enjoyable show but lazy choreography.
Late Night Music with DJ Ricii in the busy Bliss Lounge ends the night’s entertainment. As usual I pick up a copy of tomorrow’s Freestyle Daily from Guest Services - I always carry a folded copy with me whilst the room copy is preserved (although I don’t really know why) as a souvenir - after which a stashed-away muffin with a cup of tea in the Garden Café ends the day on the calm North Sea.
Tuesday 03 October 2023 - Day 3 - HamburgIt’s a grey, dry, mild day - perfect weather for exploring, if the weather holds. This isn't my first time in Hamburg so I have no plans apart from possibly enjoying coffee and kasekuchen. (In the UK, sadly, dolloping sweet cheese on a biscuit base apparently constitutes a cheesecake. Oh, dear!)
At breakfast, an American passenger educates me about grits. She takes hers with salt and pepper. I'm persuaded to try some, but dressed up differently: grits on one side of a bowl, oatmeal on the other, a little hot milk, a sprinkling of raisins, a shake of brown sugar and a dusting of cinnamon. Delicious! I chat with one of the Filipino waiters: he's 39 but looks 19, has two children aged sixteen and four, his wife works in IT and he’ll be back home in April for two months. He tells me to tip the chair forward to indicate "don't clear the table". I'll try that. My table affords clear views across to the wave-like Elbphilharmonie concert hall and the clock tower of the St. Michaelis church and, an hour later, the sun bursts through the clouds. We have an overnight stay here so perhaps I might venture out of the city today.
We’re at the Steinwerder terminal which is a long way from the city centre. The ship isn’t offering a shuttle service to the city - the closest is a Hamburg-On-Your-Own option: four hours (so, just three in the city) for $69. There is an immense queue for taxis of which there are few about, so the only other options are to find the nearest bus stop about a kilometer away or use an independent shuttle service that is curiously offering one-way trips only, for 15 euro. I opt for the latter and suggest to the other passengers that a note of polite dissatisfaction be expressed to the ship and head office.
Today is a national holiday - Tag Der Deutschen Einheit. It’s 33 years since Germany’s reunification and I manage to dredge up my schoolboy German to chat a little with the driver who thinks there won’t be any public buses available because of a city marathon. Was he born in the east or the west? “Jugoslavein, also ost ost.” As regards cheesecake, he suggests Cafe Muller, the fourth street on the left, he thinks, walking towards the town hall from our drop-off point at the bus station.
Diagonally opposite is the train station where I chat to a fellow passenger, Sharon, from California via Taiwan, who’s trying to decide what to do today. A HoHo bus is waiting at the station stop and, as this is her first time in Hamburg, I advise her to take the tour, which she does.
After a delicious pretzel from the Backwerk bakery and a chat in the tourist information office, both in the train station, I decide that, as it’s grey and drizzly, I won’t venture further afield but will see what Einheit activities are happening in town, and set off along the car-free Monckebergstrasse towards the town hall about half a mile away.
The road is lined with performance stages, information booths and food stalls, there’s a carnival atmosphere despite the weather, and my ambling is punctuated by musical incongruities: a marching band playing Soul Limbo (the theme tune to BBC’s Test Match Special), an accordionist singing The Wild Rover in German, and Die Blow Boys singing traditional sea shanties. All together now, “…Let your hearts never fail / For the bonny ship, the Diamond’s gone / Fishing for the whale.”
At the crowded market square, fronting the magnificent, neo-Renaissance Rathaus, there are giant marquees hosting music, talks and exhibitions. The main entertainment stage is beyond the adjacent, colonnaded Alster arcade (where the cafes, disappointingly, are only offering American-style cheesecake) on the Binnenalster lakefront where I listen to the live music until I think I should start to head back, whilst it’s still light.
I fail to find a Café Muller but do catch more sea shanties from Die Blow Boys on de way to de train station where I'm fortunate to immediately find other passengers, an elderly couple from Atlanta who have just finished their private city tour, with whom to share a taxi back to the ship (the fare was 29 euro).
I drift in and out of the various musical entertainments on offer, ending up in the Bliss Lounge which is packed as usual, and where I meet other, younger, solos: Lorna from the US and Joe from Canada, and chat and dance with Kayla, a pretty girl with shoulder-length curls, from southern California. Later, I catch the end of the late night movie, Elvis, playing on the giant screen in the Atrium. It's hard to believe it's been nearly 50 years… My neighbour tells me he saw him close-up at a concert in Pittsburgh just a few weeks before, and he looked bad.
Wednesday 04 October 2023 - Day 4 - HamburgSome, like Kayla, have taken the (oxymoronic?) explore-on-your-own excursion on this sunny, breezy morning but I’ll stay around the port area as we sail at 1pm. Next to the cruise terminal building there’s a ferry landing but there isn't a timetable posted up so I don’t know if it’s a way of getting across to Hafencity, a short walk from the city hall. I exit the port area to see if I can find a bus stop nearby (for future reference). I can't, but I'd only walked for 10 minutes and was advised yesterday that the nearest stop would be twice as far.
The weather continues to be fine so there's excellent sailaway viewing along the Elbe at the back of the ship, at Spice H2O on deck 16 where there are hot tubs and an outdoor cinema. There’s also fine viewing from the back of the Garden Café where the desserts seem a tad unimaginative with mainly mousse or pound cake variations, but perhaps I should be exercising some self-restraint anyway (the only exercise I seem to do these days).
Shamefully, I join in the second of the two ’70s line dances that are taught in the Atrium - Stayin' Alive. Even more shamefully, I enjoyed it as did the dozens of others who joined in. Afterwards, I discover where the small, unadvertised library is - it doubles as the Card Room, off to one side of the Atrium.
Ah. Maureen has left a message on my cabin phone to contact her. We meet up and she clarifies what the food label colour bars mean: red - meat, orange - dairy, green - vegetarian. She’ll make sure that all staff are aware of this and also that a chair tipped forward means that the place should not be cleared (it usually works, but not always).
A little laundry hand wash (there are no self-service launderettes on board) then an excellent show in Illusionarium - Broadway Unplugged. The quality of musical entertainment has advanced a lot since I started cruising over 20 years ago. Afterwards, there’s bachata music in an almost-empty Headliners - a bad location for this as there’s little passing trade - followed by easy listening to the curiously named Stick 2 One duo at the Sugarcane bar. The night ends with a little dancing in the Bliss Lounge and, at last, I can tell we're at sea because there's a pronounced wobble as we sail down towards Amsterdam.Thursday 05 October 2023 - Day 5 - Amsterdam
I have breakfast with Sharon during which there’s an announcement from the bridge. Neither of us can make out what the captain is saying but, fortunately, the cruise director repeats it: due to sea conditions last night, we’ll arrive half an hour late and stay in Amsterdam half an hour longer.
Clearance comes a few minutes after 11am and, unsurprisingly, the queue to get off the ship is immense. I have better things to do than wait in a non-moving line such as watching England v New Zealand, the opening match of the Cricket World Cup, in o'Sheehans.
It’s a balmy, sunny day as I disembark and head in the general direction of Centraal Station. Ahead of me is Tom, a blind, solo cruiser from Florida. I offer to walk with him across to the old town and, apart from one misdirection using an imaginary clock face, my guiding is ok. He can make out blurred shapes and colours and, as we reach the (inner) Singel canal which borders the medieval city (not to be confused, but probably often is, with the (outer) Singelgracht which borders the modern city) he says he’ll be fine to wander by himself and to make his own way back to the ship.
Nearby is a red, City Sightseeing Hop-On Hop-Off boat parked by a dock looking across to the city landmark and minor basilica of St. Nicholas, the patron saint of the city. A day ticket is 27.50 euro and the next boat departs in five minutes, at 2.45. That’ll do for me.
Our first stop is actually at the cruise terminal so I get a close-up view of my floating home with its vibrantly-coloured, pop-art hull crafted by graphic artist Lebo (David Le Batard) comprising sinuous curves in blues and greens, and warm reds and oranges, and featuring a mermaid at the bow.
We’re a little ahead of time with few passengers getting on or off our boat so, after the Cassan Diamonds stop, we make a detour to see the crooked, dancing houses on the Damrak canal. Why are they crooked? Because they’re built on soft ground, our skipper tells us. One of the houses is a hotel - sleep on the left side and wake up on the right side. He also tells us that thousands of bikes are stolen every year in the city, many of which are dumped in the canal, and can often be bought back from the flea market at Waterlooplein, our next stop. The waterways are busy as onwards we cruise along the Amstel river and past the very grand Amstel Hotel (well worth a look in, if I had the time) before rejoining the concentric ring of canals.
The next stop is the Rijksmeseum which lies on the Singelgracht, about a mile and a half from Centraal Station. I don’t have a ticket but I’m content to relax in the museum garden, in the warm sunshine, watching visitors trying to judge the right moment to enter the Hide and Seek surprise fountain - and not all succeed.
It’s a short walk to the popular square that is Leidseplein after which I stroll through the nearby Vondelpark (named for a statue of the 17th century writer, not for any alleged nocturnal activities) before boarding another red boat, disembarking at the starting point rather than the cruise terminal because no more boats are heading out today.
Velvet Duo are back in their more natural home of Sugarcane this evening and, during their final set, all the Spanish speakers join in with a wonderfully heartfelt rendition of Juan Gabriel’s Se Me Olvido Otra Vez.
What luck! A plate of left-over raisin cookies on a tray by a cabin door! I take some to have with my midnight chai. I must find out when and where they are available.
Friday 06 October 2023 - Day 6 - BrugesWe're docked at Zeebrugge and the ship's Bruges-On-Your-Own excursion is $99 whilst an independent all-day shuttle service offered at the terminal is 25 euro which, at today’s exchange rate, is… a lot less.
It's a 10-minute walk in warm sunshine from the red, iron bridge across from the shuttle stop (the same stop is used by the ship’s excursions) around the edge of a pretty lake (a local out walking his dog tells me it’s called Minnewater - the lake of love) to the gatekeeper's lodge and the start of medieval Bruges, passing waddling ducks and geese, a hurdy-gurdy man, horse-drawn carriages and a statue to local man of letters, Maurits Sabbe.
The beautiful, old streets and alleys are lined with chocolate and waffle houses, and many enchanted visitors. Crossing a canal bridge I see a landing stage below where it’s 12 euro for a 30-minute boat tour through the winding waterways of the old town. Our personable pilot starts by suggesting we take a tour afterwards of a nearby brewery - tastings are offered and by the time we've finished we'll be speaking every language on the multilingual tour except our own. All boat tours offer the same scenic viewing of sites such as: the Beguinage (a tranquil lay and religious convent); the 800-year-old St. John’s Hospital; the Groeningemuseum (displaying six centuries of Belgian art); the medieval tower of the Belfort; churches and alms houses; and mansions and stepped gables; and our guide’s well-practiced patter is very informative.
Left at the St. Boniface Bridge, keep walking for 3-4 minutes and I’ll arrive at the Markt, a local tells me. The vast, picture-postcard square surrounded by Gothic-style buildings looks glorious in the sunshine. It’s dominated by the Belfort, as Longfellow describes it -
In the market-place of Bruges stands the belfry old and brown;
Thrice consumed and thrice rebuilded, still it watches o'er the town.
I should join the mass of visitors taking in the view and the atmosphere from one of the many pavement cafes beneath stepped-gabled facades but, as Longfellow (again) describes it -
Hours had passed away like minutes; and before I was aware,
Lo! the shadow of the belfry crossed the sun-illumined square.
Might my stay in beautiful Bruges be longer than anticipated? It’s 3.30 and there’s no sign of the last shuttle back to port. There are over thirty of us waiting… and waiting. Fortunately, a fellow passenger with more wherewithal than I calls the shuttle company and learns that the already-nearly-full bus is waiting round the corner. Go figure. We’re packed in, in conditions that would have sardines protesting, but the traffic is surprisingly free-flowing for a Friday afternoon and the chaos and near mayhem of finding and boarding the bus has the most prosaic of conclusions - we're back at the terminal at the all-aboard time.
In the Garden Cafe I’m enjoying Tunisian orange cake and a cup of chai tea (more relaxing than tai chi, in my opinion) as we pull away from the quayside. Lorna passes by and stops for a chat about her enjoyable day in Bruges. She used to be a carriage driver and was pleased to report the health of the horses to be fine.
At the 7pm Self-Led Sabbath Service (kudos to NCL for setting up a room with prayer books, juice, wine and two plaited loaves) it was mentioned that there's matzo ball soup this evening. Really? So there is...and it tastes good.
The Salsa Dance Class with (the cast of) Burn The Floor in the Atrium at 9.45 is followed by a packed Latin Fiesta Caliente where there are loud cheers for a Japanese gentleman - a late-evening regular in the Bliss Lounge - for his wildly gyrating hips and unique, no-foot-movement dance style. One of the crew has a fixed smile on her face as she is pulled hither and thither by an enthusiastic passenger around the dance floor and she can’t hide the alarm on her face when I subsequently ask her for a dance. She soon relaxes as I take her through a leisurely merengue.
The evening finishes, as usual, in the Bliss Lounge. Tomorrow, Joe is taking a shore excursion to Paris - a long coach ride away but, as this is his first trip to Europe, it has to be done.
Saturday 07 October 2023 - Day 7 - Le HavreWhere have all the cornflakes gone? There have been none available in the Garden Café for several days. According to a certain consulting detective, "when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth". The inescapable conclusion must therefore be - there’s a cereal killer on board.
Shore excursions to Paris and Normandy had early starts so by 9am there are plenty of tables available in the Garden Café and, from the ship’s berth, there’s a pleasing view of Le Havre’s waterfront: the photographic observatory and the twin arches of the multi-coloured art installation, Catene de Containers.
Rather than a 40-minte walk into town, I opt for the (independent) shuttle bus for seven euro to Place Perret, across from City Hall and right by Le Volcan, the city’s premier cultural venue. My original intention was to re-visit the pretty town of Honfleur on the other side of the Seine, but a map I picked up at the terminal shows that other nearby towns and villages are worth considering, such as Harfleur. Even better, a chat with driver reveals that my ticket is actually valid for 24 hours for all buses and trams in Le Havre, including the frequent C2 bus to Harfleur - and the stop is across the road from Place Perret.
I miss the first bus - the driver fails to pull in at the stop and my belated signal is met with a Gallic shrug. No matter - it’s less than a half-hour ride to the terminus at Harfleur, the principal seaport in northwest France before the development of Le Havre. The quaint and quiet old town, dominated by the Gothic spire of the 14th-century church of St. Martins overlooking timber-framed houses, bars and cafes, is semi-pedestrianised (i.e. pedestrians have priority) and very pleasant to wander around. A 16th-century chateau across from the old town serves as the town hall and the small park at the back is perfect for a picnic. A wrong turn heading back to the bus stop brings me to a petanque field by the river where I watch a fearsomely skilled foursomes game to its conclusion in sweltering heat.
By 3.30 I'm back in Le Havre and exploring the extensive flea market stretching along both sides of the Rue De Paris, from the Volcan to the esplanade. Clothes, kitchen equipment, records, books, cigarette boxes, glassware, toys, food... The variety is astonishing. I wonder how much stuff I missed by only walking down one side of the road. 50%, probably.
Sharon joins me at the shuttle stop and, as we wait for the last bus at six o’clock, she shows me two small bric-a-brac she's just bought: a pretty, blue vase for 2 euro and a wrought iron (dinner) bell for 4 euro. She walked into town this morning, bought some bric-a-brac, walked back to the ship, had lunch and then walked back into town. She'd originally planned to take the shore excursion to Honfleur but decided it was too expensive at $109.
My eyes hurt from a cold that came on this lunchtime, and a cetirizine tablet helps with the sinus pain and runny nose. After a bite to eat I need a lie down - a day in the warm sunshine plus my cold has exhausted me.
"Code Alpha. Deck 7. Tropicana!" Oh, dear. A medical emergency. I hope there's a happy ending.
After resting for about an hour I go in search of raisin cookies as the dinner buffet is closing. There are none, but an assistant maitre d' tells me they're put out between 3.30 and 5pm and offers to have some sent to my room. She calls the kitchen.
"How many would you like?" she asks me.
"Three?"
"Make it four," she tells the kitchen. "No charge."
I go back to my cabin. The phone rings.
"Sir. We have no raisin cookies left. Would you like chocolate cookies?"
"No thanks." I'll find them tomorrow - it’s a sea day.
After a late-night promenade around deck 8 aft where I discover fine, expansive, outdoor seating areas with stylish wicker garden furniture (how much more is there to discover on this ship?), I wander through the casino and spy a food station containing sandwiches, and cookies. What a find! Apart from my cold, it’s been a fine day on the Prime Meridian.
Sunday 08 October 2023 - Day 8 - At SeaThe phone rings at 6.55.
"Sir. Your raisin cookies are ready. Shall I bring them to you?"
What? What??!! WHAT?!?!?!?! "Yes, thank you," I reply in a deliberately neutral voice, and five minutes later they are delivered.
I arrive for breakfast at 10am, and so it appears have half the passengers. I have scrambled egg with a perfect toasted muffin - slightly sour, dusted with semolina and with an open texture.
The Atrium is packed for the 11am event - How To Run A Floating Hotel Q&A - where a British woman berates senior offices: this is her first time with NCL and never has she been on a cruise that doesn't offer slimline tonic! I feel her pain.
After the subsequent Boleros Dance Class (no - me neither) in the Bliss Lounge I chat with an Indonesian couple who tell me that yesterday’s delayed departure was because two hundred independent passengers were stranded in Paris due to a rockfall on the railway line - the ship arranged for taxis to bring them back to Le Havre.
There's a cocktail party in the Tropicana Restaurant for NCL's frequent flyers. I don’t participate because of my cold which thankfully hasn’t worsened but, as the party thins out, I settle myself at a corner table well away from everybody. I’m about to leave but Lorna comes over for a chat. With alcoholic drink in hand, she's in a happy state but wisely keeps her distance. She tells me there are five stages of inebriation but, disappointingly, can only recall three of them. There's further disappointment when she tells me she's tipsy after the first drink, horny after the second and sleepy after the third - and she's already more than halfway through her third. She's wearing one of the three blouses she bought at the flea market yesterday for a throwaway price. It’s pretty.
A long conversation with Orlando, the Shorex manager, reveals the rationale behind the offering of a terminal-to-town shuttle service: if the nearest town is the port of call, e.g. Hamburg, then an on-your-own shore excursion is offered; if not, e.g. Getxco, then a shuttle is offered. Ultimately, head office makes the decision.
Unlike this morning's classic British bake, this afternoon's classic is a disappointment - the scones are underbaked. The Bay of Biscay is very calm with just the gentlest of swells and in the distance, port side, I think I can make out land, unless the underwhelming scone is causing me to hallucinate.
The Abba Music Fest in the packed Atrium is a huge success and afterwards, towards the end of the Late Night Latin set in Sugarcane, I dance with Kayla (she went on the Normandy beaches excursion yesterday and found it informative and moving), and then also in the Bliss Lounge.
Monday 09 October 2023 - Day 9 - Bordeaux (ish)We've docked at Le Verdon, wherever that is. At first glance it appears to be a quayside with a gantry and a very large shed. A second glance, on the ship’s $20 shuttle service into Soulac sur Mer, reveals World War II gun emplacements and a watchtower. Le Verdon may advertise itself as Bordeaux Port, but Bordeaux is over 80 km away. It may also tentatively advertise itself as a cruise port but, at the moment, it has zero facilities. On the plus side, the shed does have potential.
After a 15-minute drive through flat countryside, the shuttle brings us to a plaza by the ominously sounding, medieval basilica of Our Lady Of The End Of The World. A tourist guide marks the route to the beach on a map and she recommends I head for the Arros rocks further north along the coast where there are crashing waves.
Soulac is a lovely, little seaside town and the helpfully-named main drag of Rue de la Plage is lined with small cafes, bars, restaurants, souvenir shops, bookshops and boutiques. Inside the main market, the foie gras stall is doing a roaring trade with Asian customers. At the end of the road, the clean, expansive beach slopes gently down to the surf of the Bay of Biscay. I'm very overdressed - it's shorts and sandals’ weather.
Heading towards the rocks, there is a small replica of the Statue of Liberty, dedicated to Gilbert du Motier, marquis of La Fayette, the French commander of the Continental Army at the decisive Battle of Yorktown. His last views of France, as he sailed down the Gironde on his way to the United States, were probably of the Medoc coast and possibly even Soulac itself.
The sun is fierce, I didn’t bring a sunhat and there’s little shade until the forest at the edge of town which is where German forces on the Medoc Front surrendered on the 19th April 1945. After resting awhile, I cross to the beach and the mildly crashing waves of Les Arros before heading back to town. It’s been an excellent day following Bing Crosby’s advice - being Busy Doing Nothing.
At 7pm the ropes are lifted, we pull away from the dock and are treated to a photogenic, burnt-orange sunset. After dinner in the Garden Café where coughing is much in evidence it’s time to head for tonight’s Glow (House) Party at H2O which is a winner - the weather is fine, the sea is calm, the drinks are flowing, the music is loud and people are up and dancing. Actually, it’s just two of the crew who are dancing, on stage, and everyone else waves a glow stick in their direction whilst manically jumping up and down. The intricate moves of this modern dance style are too complex for me.
Tuesday 10 October 2023 - Day 10 - BilbaoI’ve woken up with several bites on my arms, and I have overheard an occasional conversation about bed bugs. According to the Freestyle Daily, Bilbao will be basque-ing in 86 degree-heat today. I really should have packed my sunhat, and short-sleeved shirts, and sandals, and suntan lotion, and swimming trunks, and…
We’re docked at Getxo, a few miles from Bilbao, with the cranes and gantries of a busy port in one direction and beaches backed by houses of the old town and mansions of the new town in the other direction. Today’s plan is… Well, there isn’t one, apart from seeing some highlights of Bilbao and leaving time to explore Getxo. The ship offers a shuttle service for $20 to Neguri, one of the local stops on the Bilbao metro system, but I’ll walk.
Lorna is in the terminal building and looks splendid with her explorer hat. We arrange to make our way to Bilbao together, but by the time I’ve finished chatting in Spanish with one of the girls at the tourist information desk about places to see (the Guggenheim Museum, the old town…) and used the facilities, she’s disappeared. I don’t blame her: anybody would be irritated by my dithering (though usually serendipitous) style of touring.
With help from a topless pensioner out for his morning constitutional who insists on accompanying me, I arrive at the Gobela metro stop where a station assistant helps me buy a metro ticket - a single costs 1.90 euro. Trains are frequent and I’m soon on my way to the Moyua stop with its beautiful, eponymous, elliptical garden plaza and fountain centrepiece. From there, it’s a short walk to the Guggenheim Museum on the banks of the Bilbao river. Spanish cities are beautifully laid out with their wide avenues, plazas, whitewashed churches, and grand buildings from the Romanesque to the modern which provide welcome shade from the heat of the sun in a cloudless sky.
As I walk along Iparraguirre, the titanium and glass curves of the deconstructed Guggenheim Museum become clearer but even before crossing over to the museum plaza, (perhaps) the world’s largest flower puppy (a West Highland terrier) and the Salve bridge with its great red arch catch the eye.
Because of the heat I have just a short riverside walk along the Paseo Uribitarte in the general direction of the old town, pausing awhile to admire the monstrous, 9-meter spider (a motif of sculptor Louise Bourgeois) balancing on slender, cage-like legs, and the four women of Las Sirgueras which pays tribute to the rope girls who towed vessels along the estuary.
The tram is a much quicker, and cooler, way of getting to the old town once I manage, with the help of locals at the tram stop, to extract a ticket from the self-service machine (my back card wasn’t accepted but I managed to find 1.50 euro in coins), and then have to make a short, manic dash back because I forgot to validate the ticket. Well, it’s another opportunity to give my Spanish a good workout.
I get off the tram at the Ribera arcades and wander through the Casco Viejo with its narrow, pedestrianised streets and flower-bedecked balconies, plane trees and fountains, tourist shops and bars and, at its centre, Santiago Cathedral. I could happily spend a few days here, exploring the city sights and finding the perfect pintxos.
Back at Plaza Moyua I have a short rest (I believe the technical term is - comfort break) in the 5-star Carlton Hotel which, according to a plaque outside, was, “from October 1936 till June 1937 the seat of the Basque Government”, before taking a train back to Getxo, getting off at Neguri rather than Gobela so I can walk down through the narrow streets of the old fishing port which dates back at least to the 1500s. Up on the sea wall locals are casting lines for their supper. I say “locals” but they could just as easily be the ship’s kitchen staff restocking with tilapia.
Million Dollar Quartet is a fabulous, foot-tapping show, which is as much about the legendary founder of Sun records as his famous protégés. The only mild disappointment was that it clashed with the Ocean Music Fest in the Atrium where all the musicians “merge their talents on one stage”. (I went to a similar event on the Dawn a few months ago and if it was even half as good as that, it must have been a great party.)
Wednesday 11 October 2023 - Day 11 - At seaHaving slept in the adjacent bed last night, I am happy to report that no more bites were evident. Before leaving the cabin, I show my appreciation to my cabin steward by leaving him some negotiable financial instruments in an envelope then head for breakfast, braving the girls stationed outside the Mandara Spa daring you to walk past them without popping in for a wallet-busting treatment.
At the 11am Technical Presentation and Q&A in the theatre, I learn that:
anchors can be used as an emergency brake in the event of a power failure;
fuel tanks can hold 2 and a half weeks supply;
ships are refurbished at least every 5 years - more often if an older ship;
weather and traffic make the Bay of Biscay one of the most difficult seas in the world; and,
the chief engineer is very happy when he leaves home for his next tour of duty, and so is his wife!
Afterwards I do a little packing and a little reading followed by a little lunch which includes a new food experience - fried yucca. Drat! I’ve missed the poolside Miss Biceps Competition” (Note - the exclamation mark was ironic.)
At 3.45 in the Atrium there’s a Forro Dance Class (no, me neither) followed by Riddle Me This Game which draws a large audience. I’m hopeless at riddles but manage to get at least one right:
I see a boat full of people and when I look again, I can't see a single person on the boat. All together now (spoiler alert!): because they're all married.
At dinner in the Garden Café, where coughing is very prevalent, I spot a dining foursome:
“Are you the Million Dollar Quartet?”
“Yes.”
“I just wanted to say, to misquote a lyric from the show, “I ain’t seen a show like that since / I don’t know when.”
Johnny Cash feels moved to get up and shake me warmly by the hand, and Carl, Jerry and Elvis all seem genuinely touched and give me multiple thank-yous as I leave them in peace.
Whilst relaxing in one of the wicker seats outside on deck 8, I chat with one of the bar staff. He’s from Trullijo in Peru, this is his first season with NCL and his hours are about 10am - 11pm. Back home, his wife looks after their 6-year-old boy and runs their grocery store.
Tonight, at 10pm, in Syd Norman’s, it’s Rock The Prom where we will be taken back “to the glory days of High School. Dance to iconic songs from the 70’s and 80’s…” When Lorna told me earlier that she never went to her high school prom - she didn’t have a date even though she was on the organising committee - I asked her to be my date for tonight. Syd’s is packed out and we have to squeeze ourselves against a wall to see the stage. The only sour note was during the performers’ stories of prom night failures which included one about overdosing at the chocolate fountain with the inevitable gastro-intestinal consequences. As the Prom Queen is invited to start the dancing, I lead Lorna on to the floor and we have a very enjoyable slow dance...
Thursday 12 October 2023 - Day 12 - SouthamptonHaving not put out my case last night I can enjoy breakfast and disembark at relative leisure, and reflect on an almost-perfect cruise. If only the ship offered slimline tonic…
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My (overlong?) post about a recent cruise on the Dawn entitled, "A Voyage Around My Father...land (on NCL Dawn)" appears just above your post.
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Hello gg,
Thanks.
I wondered if there was a way for my reply to appear directly under the question to which it related, rathet than just tagged on after the last comment.
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I can't see how I can reply to an individual's question so...
Dear surfone,
I should have taken some Euros with me, but I forgot.
I therefore used a credit card whilst in Ireland.
Regards
J
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This is the diary of a solo passenger’s 10-night springtime cruise around the UK and Ireland aboard the Norwegian Dawn. After 20-something cruises, and none since the pandemic, the opportunity to see my home islands from a new perspective has proved irresistible. These days the Dawn is probably considered a mid-sized ship even though she can carry almost as many passengers as the Queen Mary II. It may be of interest to those contemplating a similar cruise…
Sunday 14 May 2023 - Southampton
The 68 bus from Euston Station to Waterloo Station across the river is an easier and more scenic option than dragging a case through the Underground (and perhaps even quicker) and my train to Southampton is running to schedule. From there, it’s a relatively easy, 15-minute, suitcase-wheeling walk past the police station and along Southern Road to Dock Gate 10 and the Horizon Terminal where the Norwegian Dawn is waiting in bright sunshine.
I drop off my suitcase outside the terminal prior to a quick check-in (I didn’t need to download an app or print off documentation or labels - just show my passport and give my booking reference) then, with keycard in hand, I go off to find my inside cabin on Deck 10 where fine, pencil artwork of world-famous buildings such as St. Peter's Basilica lines the corridors. My cabin is roomy and clean with a decent-sized bathroom comprising shower, sink and toilet. Initial impressions of my home for the next ten days are good. With my copy of the Freestyle Daily newsletter in hand, I set off in search of something to eat to the accompaniment of incessant, repetitive announcements which rapidly become background noise and are barely comprehensible in public spaces.
After locating my assembly station and attending the safety drill I head off to the Garden Café on Deck 12 where there won’t be any playing chicken with the automatic doors leading to the pool area because they don’t open until a couple of seconds after you actually reach them. 24-hour hot and cold drinks are available from the café but the buffet isn’t open yet. (According to the Freestyle Daily, it closed at 3.30pm and will re-open at 5pm.) However, the poolside burger bar has banana and vanilla loaf cake which, with a cup of tea, will be fine for the moment. I now face a common problem on cruise ships - how to indicate that I haven’t finished with my cutlery and crockery. Holland America? That’s a napkin on the chair back. Cunard? That’s two pieces of cutlery set at quarter to three, or a single piece at quarter past three. Alternatively, carry around a sheet of paper on which is written “Please do NOT clear this ~#£$&?* table!!!” I’ll experiment with the cutlery option.
At 6pm there’s a Solo Travellers Meet in The Cellars wine bar where an enthusiastic social host a third of our age acts as facilitator. Whilst one of our number, a domineering American woman, tries to organise numbers for a meal tonight in the Venetian Dining Room (A table for ten? For tonight? She’ll be lucky, but our facilitator will try), I corner the host before he can call the Maitre d’ and get him to explain “Freestyle”. There really isn’t anything to explain: there’s no assigned dining so you eat where you want when you want, assuming there’s room, or eat in the Garden Café. I go and search out some of the various restaurants which are all very busy, seem rather claustrophobic and have long queues outside. No, thanks.
In the (very) Grand Atrium spanning decks 7 to 10, there’s live Latin music from Soul Solution playing the first of their two 45-minute sets this evening with people dancing up at o'Sheehans (i.e. oceans) Bar and Grill on deck 8 which overlooks the atrium.
I go up to the Garden Café and enjoy various delicious breads with onion soup, looking out of the large picture windows across the calm waters of the Solent and afterwards, from the vast selection set across several stations, I take some grilled mahi mahi, rice and vegetables, and also two slices of banana cake to be saved for later as it’s after eight o’clock and tonight’s single-performance show has already started.
The large Stardust Theatre spans decks 6 and 7 forward and on stage is Kircaldy’s own Glenn Owen McNamara from The Rat Pack - Swinging At The Sands. He’s good, very good, and I don’t even care much for swing and the big band sound. Classics outside the Rat Pack repertoire include Mona Lisa which, amazingly, was originally a B-side. There’s also excellent backing from the Norwegian Dawn’s showband (I hesitate calling a 7-piece outfit, no matter how talented, an “orchestra”).
After looking in on the quiet Welcome Aboard party in the Bliss Lounge on Deck 7 aft I find things much livelier in Gatsby’s bar where vocalist Devin Provenzano from New York, accompanying himself on the guitar, sings crowd favourites such as Delilah, 500 Miles and The Fields of Athenrye.
I feel compelled to try something from the late night menu at o'Sheehans and plump for the apple pie and ice cream. Disappointingly, there’s far too much apple to pie and the apple is bland instead of being Bramley sharp. After tea after midnight in the Garden Café, I check with Guest Services (where the queues stretching twice round the ship and back to Southampton have finally disappeared) the amount of the service charge - it’s $20 per person per day. Ouch!
The ship is steady as I head for bed at 00.45am and notice the time on my phone has gone back one hour. I’ll have to set the time zone manually.
Monday 15 May - At Sea
The cabin seems quiet - no creaks from any fittings and no noise from neighbouring cabins. I get up at 9am to see what a day at sea holds in store. The tip of the day in the Freestyle Daily is very useful: “Trying to find the front of the ship? Look at the floor & follow the fish, they always swim forward.” The front page also explains that, “With no set dining times and no seat assignments, you can dine on your time and not on a schedule.” As a solo passenger, I’d prefer a schedule - being seated with other solo diners, not all of whom would necessarily be at the daily meet.
Unsurprisingly, it’s busy up in the Garden Café but eventually I find a table for two with views out to a calm, misty North Sea, aptly named because we're at sea and sailing north. A couple of middle-aged Americans sit at the next table, shouting at each other in what presumably passes for normal conversation across the pond. An elderly English lady joins them and asks in a barely discernible voice where they're from. "Oh, I'm from Noo Jersey, but my grandmother was from Scaaaatland," screams the larger of the two women, in a voice that could be heard in her ancestral home.
I move away to a table by the picture windows where the engine vibration gives me a complimentary massage of the kind usually only experienced in establishments of dubious repute - allegedly. During breakfast, waiters repeatedly (and irritatingly) try and take my used plates and cups away when I’m still using them.
At 11 o’clock in the Grand Atrium there’s a Port [sic] of Call trivia quiz. I watch on. St James’ brewery made Guinness? Well, you live and learn. Nearby, an elderly Portuguese woman speaks her text message and WhatsApp types it out! Well, you live and learn.
At noon it’s the captain's update: 326 nautical miles to Newhaven where tomorrow's forecast is for sunny skies. Barometric pressure, sea temperature, wave height…. The usual rigmarole. It’s followed by the cruise director’s what's-happening announcement which includes misuse of the article. Further misuse follows when she announces that, due to technical difficulties in the Stardust Theatre, Deal Or No Deal this afternoon is cancelled but will be happening, "in the coming future days." Perhaps Isha, with her unexpectedly free time, could avail herself of a grammar book, if such is to be found in the small library which I locate beyond the open air pool. My eyes alight on How Not To Die by Michael Greger. Are the secrets of immortality within my grasp - just as soon as the library book checkout re-opens at 3pm? Sadly not. A closer look reveals the tome to be the rather more prosaic “How Not To Diet”; advice seemingly taken up with gusto judging by the size of many of my fellow passengers.
The Garden Cafe offers two soups for lunch but, disappointingly, neither is vegetarian - after checking with one of the chefs, I learn that a chicken stock was used for both. Perhaps I should have checked last night before having the onion soup. I suggest to the restaurant manager that the food labels need amending with a "v" to indicate vegetarian. Domenica says she'll take it up with the food and beverage manager.
At the 70s Party Line Dance Class at 1.45, classics such asYMCA and the Electric Slide are taught. It’s an opportunity to socialize as a solo passenger but the small dance floor in the Bliss Lounge is packed to overflowing so I watch on as do many others. After listening to live music in the Atrium I return to the lounge for the quiz an hour later, scoring a lowly 12 out of 20 in my team of one. Fancy forgetting two of the four Hogwarts houses - the two that rhyme: Gryffindor and Ravenclaw!
I chat with my cabin steward. He has 23 cabins to clean - a mix of inside and balcony - and is one of a team of 58, down from the pre-pandemic level of 120, which is why there's no turndown service in the evening. His day starts at 8am and finishes at 6pm.
A light snack follows in the Garden Café, looking beyond a group of 10 sociable Portuguese speakers, making far less noise across their two tables than this morning's American annoyance, to a calm sea shimmering in the sunshine. It looks so inviting that I go for a stroll round the pool deck and the upper decks, still trying to get my bearings.
I don’t bother with the 5pm Solo Travelers Meet, preferring to look down at the small space that is Gatsby's which is packed for Latin Bland (an unfortunate typo) with passengers up and dancing.
Isn’t there a more romantic setting than the theatre toilet to tell someone, “I love you”?
“Love you too,” says the guy’s partner as he’s about to use the facilities, but she didn't sound like she meant it.
After watching some of the aerial acrobatics provided by a young Ukranian couple, I return to the Garden Café for a cup of tea and a couple of slices of the extremely more-ish cinnamon raisin bread prior to listening to an enjoyable, 45-minute Country/Americana set from Devin in the Grand Atrium. I wonder how many songs he has in his repertoire.
Tuesday 16 May - Newhaven (Edinburgh)
We've anchored offshore, in the Firth of Forth, with fine views to the island of Inchkeith and the Forth Bridges. There’s a text from my dentist to remind me about Thursday’s appointment. Oops. I try and rearrange it but a shouty American woman deafening a poolside bartender makes my phone call impossible. I search for a less noisy environment.
The vibrations on the starboard side of the Garden Café are very uncomfortable so I move over to the port side where all is calm, and watch the tenders running between the ship and the dock. During breakfast, the over-enthusiastic staff clear my plates three times whilst I’m picking up items from the buffet despite my cutlery setting. The maître d’ tells me afterwards that cutlery set at quarter to three should prevent unwanted clearances! He’ll remind the waiters.
I step aboard a tender and chat to three of the showband - a trombone player from Cooperstown, NY, and guitarists from in and around Buenos Aires. They tell me that one evening they’ll play a set for ballroom dancers. I’d like to see that - maybe I’ll find someone to dance with. They’ve visited Edinburgh several times with the ship (the UK and Ireland itinerary is sailed frequently during the summer) and on today’s visit they’re hoping to find some music stores. I tell them about my latest musical discovery, gleaned from yesterday’s trivia quiz - the Japanese word that means “empty orchestra”. Twenty-five minutes of gentle bobbing along brings us to Newhaven’s harbour with its lighthouse and fish market where it certainly isn’t the forecast “Sunny, 73ºF” - it's grey and cool, but at least it’s dry.
I’m on bus 16 by noon and buy an all-day ticket for £5. I’m surprised to see that, finally, trams now run into Leith and almost to Newhaven Harbour. The bus passes a favourite Turkish café: Cafe Truva at The Shore. It’s good to see that it’s survived Covid (and, on a return trip a few weeks later, that the food is as good as I remembered it).
Having worked in Edinburgh I remember that St Giles’ Cathedral on the Royal Mile (teeming with tourists as usual, in the sunshine which is less usual) often has lunchtime concerts and I’m in good time for the 1.30pm concert (after paying my respects to Greyfriars Bobby nearby) where The Maryville College Concert Choir from Tennessee performs a varied programme including psalms, spirituals and the Skye Boat Song.
After the concert I stroll along the Royal Mile (free water dispensers? Is that something new here? It’s very commendable), pausing to watch fire crews tackle a blaze above Starbucks, before heading to Princes Street to catch a bus back towards Newhaven. We’re close to Ocean Terminal and the Royal Yacht, but I’ve been to both before, so I head for The Shore as it’s been a few years since I walked the historic and picturesque street at the end of the Water Of Leith.
In the long queue for the tender, and in the strong breeze, I chat to a couple from Alabama who met up today with their daughter and grandchildren. As a treat, they were taken to… today’s lunchtime concert at St. Giles!
It’s a bumpy ride back to the ship, accompanied by incessant safety announcements over the PA system that nobody pays attention to because it's just noise and everyone is more interested in exchanging the day’s experiences.
I’m hungry after strolling round my favourite city. Cream of potato soup? Yes, please - except the base is a chicken stock. There is also French Onion Soup (what’s wrong with British onions?) and we know what the base for that is. The maître d’ offers to have vegetarian soup made for me with 24 hours' notice. I thank him, but decline. The chefs have quite enough to do. Light rain trickles down the picture windows as we turn around in the firth and the bridges recede into the distance. As we drift away, the sun powers through thin cloud to cast a dazzling reflection across the placid water rippling in the ship's gentle wake.
Tonight’s entertainment in the Stardust Theatre is a celebration of Frank Sinatra featuring Devin, our pub vocalist, and the fine showband. Unfortunately, Devin hits an occasional flat note. I leave for the Latin music playing on stage in the Atrium, dancing cha-cha with a bubbly hostess who’s tried and failed to co-opt unwilling male colleagues. I chat with another solo traveler. She’s from Worcester, Mass and dances Latin and ballroom. I tell her about the ballroom set planned for later in the cruise. We wait in vain for the advertised bachata during the 45-minute set.
In O’Sheehan’s, I watch the last few minutes of Inter Milan beating AC Milan to reach the final of the Champions League then listen to Soul Solution’s second set of Latin music in the Atrium where one of the bar staff leads the dancing to raucous applause.
Wednesday 17 May - Invergordon (Inverness)
It's a cool, grey, dry day in the port of Invergordon and the unmanned train station is a 10-minute walk from our berth where the local information booth promises, “100% Guaranteed Sightings of ‘Nessie’… TOMORROW!” I'm fortunate to catch the 11.31 train to Inverness because the next train isn’t until 16.10. I don’t know if a bus might have been an alternative option.
"Is this the train to Inverness?" I ask, because the LED display in the carriage shows stops going in the other direction. The child protection officer opposite assures me it is, otherwise she won't be making her connection to Perth and won't be arriving home in Abernethy later this evening. She has cases as far north as Thurso whilst her colleague's extend to Orkney and Shetland. It's an extremely scenic 60-minute ride along the shores of the Moray Firth.
At the tourist information office, a few minutes stroll from the train station, I’m given an information sheet about Culloden where the 1745 Jacobite rebellion ended. I’ve been previously but remember nothing about it, during a stay at the wonderful Carbisdale Castle, sadly no longer a youth hostel due to maintenance costs. Culloden is 25 minutes away by hourly bus so a return visit will have to wait for another day. Instead, my time is spent exploring Inverness in the warm sunshine. I walk past the castle and down to the river following the suggested route of two volunteer ladies in the museum shop. The itinerary takes me past the Cavell Gardens (I’ve been unable to discover any link between the WW1 nurse and the town) through wooded paths along the river to Ness Islands thirty minutes from the town centre, across an iron footbridge and back along the other side where the visitor signpost at the Ness Brg bridge has (been?) turned through 180 degrees, so anyone who doesn’t know the town and has a train to catch is guaranteed to miss it. However, I know where the station actually is and am therefore in good time to catch the 2.50 train back to Invergordon, pausing a few moments to check in a shop window which clan I belong to (Fraser, apparently) and read about the wolves guarding the entrance to the town hall.
As I ride back, seated on the right hand side for the views, passing fields of sheep, horses and highland cattle, thick woods, the home of Ross County FC and the shoreline of the firth, I wonder how I've survived almost six hours without food; however, any calories burned during my walking tour of Inverness and subsequent short exploration of Invergordon are returned with interest after a visit to the Garden Café. (NCL please note - the corners of triangular scones quickly become stale, so round scones are better!)
Let’s see what activities there are for the rest of the day. Apart from quizzes (and the library) there’s nothing to stimulate the brain but, to the ship’s credit, a solos get-together is arranged every evening, and there’s also a daily LGBTQIA+ Meet and Greet. (I imagine the + is shorthand for the other 19 letters in the alphabet.)
I've been puzzled since the start of the cruise why I haven't seen any excursion information about Orkney. All is made clear at the front desk - we're not going there. The round-Britain itineraries this season alternate between Kirkwall and Stornaway, but don’t include both on the same trip. Oh dear! I think that's my most serious senior moment to date.
In o’Sheehan’s I watch a dominant Manchester City overwhelm Real Madrid before heading back up to the Garden Café for a crepe drizzled with a little lemon and sprinkled with a soupcon of sugar (other fillings are available - over a dozen, in fact) and just enjoy the gentle thrum of the engines as we sail on gentle waters round the top of mainland Scotland with the coast clearly visible.
Tonight’s entertainment is a little different: the showband is playing two sessions in the Grand Atrium and later, in the Bliss Lounge, there’s an Ocean Music Fest where all the pub entertainers come together on stage - and it’s very enjoyable.
Back in my cabin, first there's a loud creaking from the ceiling (something metallic seems to have worked loose) then the water is cut off - Guest Services tell me the latter is due to a cracked pipe. For the former I’m offered ear plugs after a maintenance man comes to assess the noise for himself and agrees that it’s not just the natural creak of an ocean-going vessel. It's long after 2am before I can get to bed.
Stornoway, tomorrow's port of call in the wild and beautiful Outer Hebrides, will be the undoubted highlight of the cruise: the Standing Stones of Callanish, the Lewis Chessmen, Harris Tweed... I imagine there are some on board who have waited their whole lives, and travelled halfway round the world, to finally see the remote home of their Scottish ancestors.
Thursday 18 May - Stornaway
"The captain has determined that, due to the inclement weather, we will be having a day at sea..."
Friday 19 May 2023 - Belfast
In case you’re wondering what activities were (hastily) devised to lift our deflated spirits yesterday -
11:00a Blackjack tournament (fee required)
1:00p Mojito tasting (fee required)
2:00p Wine and French Macarons (fee required)
3:00p Margarita tasting (fee required)
3:15p Bingo card sales (fee, obviously)
4:00p Wine and chocolate pairing (guess what)
The Garden Cafe girls are attempting to brighten the morning with their customary dancing whilst singing "Feeling Hot Hot Hot" - not feelings normally associated with arriving into Belfast.
Breakfast is served until 10am due to our late arrival, although I don’t know why we’re late. The islands of Ireland (and the mainland) are clearly visible through the large picture windows as, over the course of an hour, I tuck into: a Danish pastry with a cup of tea; scrambled eggs, baked beans and fried potatoes and onions with cranberry, apple juice and water; toasted bagel with butter and marmalade with a second cup of tea; cottage cheese, yogurt, granola, bircher and a little berries syrup with a third cup of tea; and a fourth cup of tea to finish. And I wonder why I'm looking a little chubby… Compared to many on this cruise; however, I'm positively anorexic. The morbid obesity of many of the American and English passengers is in stark contrast to the slim and trim appearance of those from Asia, Iberia and Australia.
Tonight the band is playing a 45-minute session of ballroom dance music. And, because our arrival has been put back until noon, has our forward-thinking cruise director thought to slip in a basic dance class. Waltz anyone? Cha-cha, perhaps? Of course not!
A guide at the cruise terminal explains that I have two bus options: there’s an hourly public bus, no. 94, from a stop a few minutes’ walk from the cruise terminal - the last one back from the town centre is at 17.05 and a day ticket is £4.79; or the frequent shuttle bus from the ship which costs £10 but runs until 7pm. I opt for the latter. Places of interest are marked for me on a map, and an overcast, dry, mild day seems ideal for walking round the compact city.
The shuttle bus stop is opposite Belfast City Hall - a beautiful Baroque Revival building, opened in 1906 and constructed in Portland stone which I hope to see in situ later in the cruise. Lots of people are enjoying a bite to eat out on the lawns and benches in the sunshine, and by impressive statues such as that of Frederick Temple, Marquess of Dufferin, Anglo-Irish aristocrat and diplomat-extraordinaire: Governer-General of Canada, Viceroy of India and ambassador at St. Petersburg, Paris, Rome and Constantinople, inter alia. I can’t look inside City Hall; though, because of a civil service strike, so I head off to explore the city, first walking down to the circular Waterfront Hall. Through large iron gates at the side of the adjacent Hilton hotel, Samson and Goliath - the iconic, yellow gantry cranes of the Harland and Wolff shipyard - are clearly visible.
The Belfast Barge, MV Confiance, a floating museum recalling the city’s maritime heritage, and the Beacon of Hope (a.k.a. Nuala With The Hula) bronze and steel sculpture by Queen’s Bridge precede the start of the Maritime Mile which starts once across the bridge, on Queen’s Quay, with a dedication to three Titanic men who made Harland and Wolff the world’s biggest shipbuilders in the early 1900s: William, Lord Pirrie, the chairman; Alexander Montgomery Carlisle, the head draughtsman; and Thomas Andrews Jr. who designed the Titanic.
I hear the Sound Yard, a playful installation designed to imitate the sounds of a shipyard, before I reach it then make a short detour to get a clear view of Samson and Goliath through wire fencing. Back on the Mile, the world’s last remaining White Star vessel, the dry-docked SS Nomadic, which served as a tender to the Titanic’s passengers, precedes the Titanic Belfast visitor attraction resembling four giant prows, and behind which are the slipways of the Titanic and the Olympic.
I head back to City Hall at a leisurely pace via the Albert Clock dating from 1869 which, due to subsidence, has a lean of 1.25 meters from the vertical, hence a local wag’s observation that the clock “… has both the time and the inclination.”
There’s one last attraction I want to visit - the ornate Crown Liquor Saloon, built by Italian craftsman in the 1880s (in town to build some local churches), with its elaborate tiling, stained glass and carved woodwork. It’s a short walk from City Hall and is situated in the Linen Quarter, but it’s far too crowded for me to stop a while and have a drink, so I just take a photo. It’s so blurred it looks as if I have been drinking. Why didn’t I take another one?
On the shuttle bus back to the ship I chat with a guy from the DC area who tells me he only ever goes into town when he has visitors. We speculate as to what the immense blades stacked horizontally a few yards away from the ship might be. As I get off the bus, the driver tells me they’re for wind turbines - the cruise terminal is being moved closer to the mouth of the River Lagan, enlarged to accommodate more cruise ships, and the area where we are now is to become a wind farm.
There’s a self-led Shabbat service from 6-7pm in the Bangkok room where a table has been covered with a white tablecloth upon which has been laid prayer books, head coverings, wine, juice, braided loaves, and beetroot and horseradish source. Attendees include a Torontonian who grew up in Miraflores (Lima’s bohemian quarter) and her adopted Chinese daughter who was abandoned as a baby. Kudos to NCL for having this as a feature of their cruises.
There's barely a ripple on the water as we glide out of Belfast and along the coast where lights twinkle in the dusk, and out into the Irish Sea.
Saturday 20 May 2023 - Liverpool
It’s a sunny, warm morning as I stroll around an almost empty upper deck and point out The Three Graces (the Royal Liver, Cunard and Port of Liverpool buildings) to an unnervingly polite, elderly couple from Texas who insist on calling me “sir”, but I don't mention I filmed there recently (as a TV extra for a political drama). They’re taking a ship’s excursion to Chester. An excellent choice, I tell them - a fine city with part of the Roman walls being accessible to those of limited mobility.
There’s nothing I’m particularly interested in doing today - I’m only a couple of hours from home. I disembark a little before noon - amidships, deck 4 - and take a couple of selfies with the elegant Norwegian Star in the background. At the pier head is a monument conceived as a Titanic memorial, “In honour of all heroes of the marine engine room” who stayed at their posts so others could survive. “Liverpool World Heritage City”; however, is no longer true because the city was stripped of its UNESCO status in 2021 due to over-development of the waterfront.
Walking to the nearby Albert Dock, I pass various war-related memorials: to Chinese merchant seaman who served Britain during both world wars; to the (home) merchant navy; to Canadian citizens, represented by maple trees from their government; and a propeller from the Lusitania. Beyond the statue to local pop icon Billy Fury is Floating Earth by artist Luke Jerram which uses detailed NASA imagery of the Earth, and uses the water of the dock as a natural mirror to the temporary installation.
It’s too far for me in the heat to visit either of the city’s cathedrals so, staying centrally, I head in the direction of the Cavern Club, pausing at the statue to the Beatles’ erstwhile manager, Brian Epstein, who managed other stellar acts such as Cilla Black and Gerry and the Pacemakers. There are, of course, large crowds milling outside the club, opposite which is Eric’s where Talking Heads, The Police, The Ramones and others once played. From there, further wandering brings me to the neo-Baroque Queen Victoria Monument in Derby Square, built over the former site of Liverpool Castle.
Passing the Beatles’ sculpture back on the waterfront (they’re also just out for a stroll, although today they don’t need their coats) I stop to admire Heaven & Earth - a telescope sculpture celebrating the life and works of the 17th century astronomer, Jeremiah Horrocks from Liverpool who was the first person to accurately calculate the transit of Venus. In the sunshine I find a spot to rest on the waterfront and read about him on the internet.
At eight o’clock, with the light beginning to fade, I go out on deck as we drift away from the city and down the Mersey. It’s sad that there’s no live music for these sailaways.
After the Soul Rockin’ Nights show in the Stardust Theatre, our cruise director announces, "I just want to give you an important information." Apparently, Isha’s been too busy to visit the library.
As usual, the rest of the evening is spent drifting from the Grand Atrium to Gatsby’s to the Bliss Lounge listening to different genres of popular music
Sunday 21 May 2023 - Dun Laoghaire (Dublin)
I watch some of the tender operation - passengers booked on shore excursions heading off to Dun Laoghaire - before a leisurely breakfast, although I’ve given up on Danish pastries since I glimpsed rotundity in the bathroom mirror. Despite leaving my knife and fork set at a quarter to three, my table is yet again cleared and my second bagel thrown away whilst I'm getting a refill of hot water. Service charges can be adjusted a couple of days before the end of the cruise and, because it's happened five times now, and each time I'm assured it won't happen again, I will reduce it by $5 to $15 per day.
I’m off the ship by 11am and chat with a guy from Brisbane on the tender. We share near-miss experiences: he nearly missed his ship in Cambodia and my closest call was in Gibraltar.
Friendly, relaxed, droll HoHo guys by the waterfront sell me a €30 day ticket which includes the €5 return DART train ticket to Dublin. I’m advised to do a round trip to live commentary (the hop-on-hop-off buses alternate between live and recorded commentary) to first get a feel for the city. A few minutes later I catch the noon train for what proves to be a scenic ride along the bay into Dublin, getting off at Pearse station where a HoHo girl at the station entrance directs people to the bus stop opposite. She tells me that a bus ride all the way round takes about 90 minutes. I’ll try that and see how I am for time.
The informative driver with his well-practiced patter is a fine guide as we drive past Trinity College, the home of The Book of Kells; Temple Bar and City Hall; Dublin Castle; the Guinness Brewery with its iconic St. James’s Gate; and through the immense Phoenix Park (twice the size of New York’s Central Park). Some of the sites we pass by in the park include the monument to local boy, the Duke of Wellington; the Phoenix monument (although the park is named for a body of water rather than a mythical bird); the US embassy; Dublin Zoo (the home of the original MGM lion); the official residence of the Irish President; and the Papal Cross.
The contrast between the English Blackpool and the Irish Black Pool (Dubh Linh) is striking: the former, with its soiled seafront spattered with a mile or more of manure from the daily droppings of trotting horses pulling garish carriages along the promenade, and the latter - clean and welcoming.
Where’s a good place to experience an Irish coffee? There are plenty of bars along the River Liffey but the bus driver recommends Kennedys close by the statue of Oscar Wilde which is the last stop before my starting point at Pearse Street. Excellent! The colourful Oscar Wilde Monument is in the corner of Merrion Square Park opposite the house in which the Wilde family lived, and a three-minute walk away in the direction of Pearse Station is Kennedys. The bar is famous for its literary clientele, including Wilde (who used to work there as a boy, stacking shelves), Joyce and Yeats, and I watch as the barman pours coffee, sugar, Tullamore Dew and a collar of cream into a classic glass. €8? Is that expensive, or a sign that I don’t frequent bars very often? I linger, savouring every delicious sip.
I pass more sites such as the birthplace of the Duke of Wellington, intending to get off the bus near the castle and walk down to the river, but I’m running out of time (the last tender back to the ship is at 6pm) so walk back to the station and listen to a pianist entertaining us until the train arrives.
I have half an hour to look around Dun Laoghaire before joining the queue for the tenders where it doesn’t matter how much you paid for your cabin, you still have to stand and wait in the democratic line. I board a tender at 6pm, but there are three more coachloads yet to arrive, and eavesdrop on an elderly Canadian couple trying to explain the difference between the city of Vancouver and Vancouver Island to a young Spanish couple. I suppose it is confusing that the city isn’t actually on the island.
Tonight there’s grilled hake (topped with finely diced vegetables and pineapple) instead of tilapia 48 ways. Dessert is pina colada cream cake where I can taste neither pina nor colada, perhaps due to the slice of cheddar jalapeno cornbread I had before dessert having converted my taste buds to taste duds.
Well, frankly, this is ridiculous… The first of tonight’s featured entertainment is the Speed Trivia Gameshow at 8pm in the Bliss Lounge - how many questions can you answer in 30 seconds? The answer is - hardly any, because our MC stumbles repeatedly in his efforts to ask rapid fire questions in English.
There's Latin music in the Grand Atrium and much enthusiastic audience participation in the chorus of the unofficial Mexican national anthem, Cielito Lindo, but because my singing doesn't gladden any hearts, my contribution is barely audible even to me.
It’s very curious that at night-time it's the port side of the Garden Café that vibrates rather than starboard - my late evening plum cobbler is more of a plum wobbler.
The DJ seems as limited in his playlist as the entertainment staff in their English - tracks such as Fireball, Born This Way and Can't Stop The Feeling seem to be played every night. That's probably why a packed Bliss Lounge with a packed dance floor from the ABBAlicious Party at 10.45pm becomes an almost empty lounge with 6 people on the dance floor ten minutes later.
Monday 22 May 2023 - Cobh (Cork)
I’ve followed the trail of Captain Cook across the South and North Pacific, the trail of pirates in the Caribbean and the South China Sea, and today allows me to complete my own Titanic trail by arriving in Queenstown (as Cobh was known then), her final port of call before setting out on her fateful maiden voyage.
By 8.30 the coaches for the shore excursionists are lined up by the dock, behind which is the little train station. Cobh looks very pretty, but a short (10-minute) walk past pastel-coloured buildings down to the bandstand in Kennedy Park, and a short reflection at the Lusitania Peace Memorial, will suffice for the moment - I’ll save exploration for later, depending on how much time is left after visiting Cork.
I doubt I’m the first person to confuse the entrance to the Cobh Heritage Centre with the entrance to the train station (outside and to the left), and I catch the 11am train (a day ticket costs €6.90) arriving in Cork half an hour later, after a scenic ride along the River Lee and across Lough Mahon. At the station is a memorial to Thomas Kent, after whom the station is named, who was, “Executed by British armed forces at Victoria Barracks now Cork Prison 9th May 1916.”
During my half-hour walk into town in the warm sunshine, searching for the tourist information office, I pause at Paddy Torino’s / City Grill, outside which is an extensive dedication to the great man himself - father of thirty-two children, honorary member of the Rat Pack, captain of the Italian soccer team at the Berlin Olympics, fighter pilot and national hunt champion jockey. I imagine he also owned nearby Blarney Castle.
At the tourist information office, places of interest are marked out for me and I head back across St. Patrick’s Bridge and the north channel of the river up towards the Butter Museum and the nearby Shandon Bells and Tower. On the way back down I pass the birthplace of sportsman and politician Jack Lynch, twice Taoiseach during the 1960s and 70s.
The quiet of the hilly, north side is replaced by the teeming crowds of the flatter, south side with shops and restaurants along the streets and quays of the south channel, through which I meander to Elizabeth Fort, first built in 1601. It was a Jacobite stronghold during the Williamite War, an army barracks, and a prison with many inmates incarcerated prior to transportation. The stories of the prisoners, mostly women who became founding mothers of modern-day Australia and who stayed on after their sentence because they couldn’t afford the journey back to Ireland, are harrowing and fascinating.
Just before reaching the train station I come across the former offices of the St. George Steam Packet Company, owners of the steamship Sirius which was the first ship to cross the Atlantic entirely under steam. Newspapers reported that her fuel ran out before reaching New York but her captain, determined to complete the passage under steam, declined to hoist the ship’s sails and, instead, fed spars into the furnace. True or not, the story inspired the famous episode in Jules Verne’s Around The World In Eighty Days.
Catching the 3pm train back to Cobh gives me plenty of time to explore the colourful island town, replicating my earlier walk but also exploring side streets and listening to some terrible live music outside The Mauretania bar. Back at the Annie More statue right by the ship’s ropes (she was the very first immigrant to be processed at Ellis Island, on New Year’s Eve 1891, aged just 17) four locals in elegant period costume pose for photographs.
It’s a very scenic sailaway through the harbour channels, passing the whitewashed buildings of Roache’s Point Lighthouse and out into the Celtic Sea - a perfect evening for a sailway deck party but, of course, there isn’t one.
I have a chat with Ramon, one of the musicians I chatted with on the tender into Newhaven, before the showband's first session of the evening in the Atrium begins. His contract is until September when it'll be spring back home and this is his second year with NCL - last year he was also on the Dawn.
As compensation for missing Stornaway and the late arrival in Belfast, $100 on-board credit per cabin has been granted. Drinks, chocolates, shore excursions, clothes (was there really nobody in NCL marketing who questioned whether emblazoning everything with “Hooked On Cruising” was a good idea?), watches, jewellery, flasks… I buy a box of Lindt chocolate squares for $22 from the on-board shop just before it closes
The ship’s Glow Party at 10.45pm in the Bliss Lounge is a desultory affair. A few passengers are wearing white and/or neon, the entertainment staff are working hard, but the atmosphere and music have no (ahem!) sparkle.
Tuesday 23 May 2023 - Portland (Weymouth)
I gaze out the large café windows watching as the Portland Pilot boat guides us slowly in on a calm, clear morning. By 11am the ship is tied up. On the adjacent dock is the MS Deutschland. This was the ship that passengers departing Paris aboard the ill-fated Air France Concorde Flight, on 25 July 2000, had been due to join on arrival in New York.
There are frequent, complimentary shuttle buses to Portland Castle continuing on to Weymouth six miles away. From the upper deck I get my first sighting of the sweeping Chesil Beach, part of the UNESCO World Heritage listed Jurassic Coast.
From where we are dropped off it’s a pleasant 10-minute walk into town, past the pedestrianised Brewer’s Quay (taking care not to get run over by the land train), along the harbour (the estuary of the river Wey) with its colourful houses, and over the town bridge. I can’t see any signs for tourist information. The museum ladies locking up at 1pm explain, with a smile of resignation, that there isn’t one. A holiday hotspot in the middle of the world-famous Jurassic Coast doesn’t have a tourist information centre? Dear me!
Now that I’ve (sort of) got my bearings, I want to go back to Portland, renowned for its limestone (used in world-famous buildings such as Buckingham Palace and the UN headquarters in New York) and its lighthouse. The driver of bus no. 1 from the King's Statue (George III, since you asked, who holidayed for many years in Weymouth at the turn of the 18th century) tells me that, from the closest bus stop on Portland, it will be about a half-hour walk down to the lighthouse. It’s a lovely day and, with an all-aboard time of 7.30pm, I’ll have time to visit and explore Weymouth town afterwards.
The 30-minute bus ride shows me that Portland is a sizeable town, not just a nature reserve and as we climb higher I get even better views of the expanse of Chesil Beach. At my pace, and with my failed attempt at a shortcut, it’s closer to a 40-minute walk down to the lighthouse and visitor centre. Beyond, closer to the shoreline, is: an obelisk built of Portland stone which served as a navigational aid before the lighthouse was built; and Pulpit Rock, a quarrying relic.
I don’t fancy an uphill walk back to the bus stop in the heat of a sunny afternoon and manage to get a lift with a kind family from Birmingham. By half past four I’m back at the George III statue (and a replica of the royal bathing machine) on the esplanade. I walk through narrow town streets, pausing on the town bridge to watch rowers along the estuary, and back to where the shuttle bus waits.
Do I hear singing? There’s a girl threesome in matching print dresses with pink bows in their hair down on the dock, and a small crowd gathers on the promenade deck 7 to listen to swing and jive classics. It’s a lovely interlude and shows what the ship should be doing for every sailaway. Sadly, I don’t have anyone to dance with.
At eight o’clock we slowly drift away from our final port of call then it’s back to the cabin to pack. I won’t put my case out tonight, preferring to take it tomorrow myself so I can disembark at relative leisure. Once packed, I pop in to listen to some of the entertainment on offer this evening, including The Rat Pack Returns With Glenn Macnamara, before reducing my service charges to $15 because my cutlery signals continue to be ignored.
Wednesday 24 May 2023
Disembarking does prove to be much more relaxed when I take my own luggage. After breakfast, I say goodbye to my cabin steward, showing my appreciation in the traditional manner, disembark at 8.45 and walk back to the train station.
Well, I didn’t manage to spend much of my on-board credit and, socially, as a solo passenger, the cruise has been a failure, but the cruise has granted me a temporary remission from various health problems which is much more important.-
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After 20-something cruises, and none since the pandemic, the attraction of a round-Britain cruise allowing me to see my home from a different perspective proved irresistible. The food, cabin, staff and entertainment aboard the Norwegian Dawn have, thus far, all been fine, but this diary snapshot is to highlight one rather galling failure.
Wednesday 17 May 2023 (after a splendid day in Inverness)
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Stornoway, tomorrow's port of call in the wild and beautiful Outer Hebrides, will be the undoubted highlight of the cruise. So much to see and learn about: the Standing Stones of Calanais, the Lewis Chessmen (sadly shipped to Edinburgh and London), Harris Tweed... I imagine there are passengers (sorry - I mean, guests) on board who have waited their whole lives, and travelled halfway round the world, to take up a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to visit this remote home of their Scottish ancestors.Thursday 18 May 2023
"The captain has determined that, due to the inclement weather, we will be having a day at sea."
The disappointment is palpable. And what are some of the upbeat activities that the cruise director has hastily but imaginatively improvised in an effort to lift spirits? Let's take a look at some of the revised schedule…
11:00a Blackjack tournament (fee required)
1:00p Mojito tasting (fee required)
2:00p Wine and French Macarons (fee required)
3:00p Margarita tasting (fee required)
3:15p Bingo card sales (fee, obviously)
4:00p Wine and chocolate pairing (guess what)
Not even a single dance class? Really?? There's not a single person amongst the officers and crew (Hello! Entertainment staff!!) who could put together a fun, 45-minute class teaching a line dance, or cha-cha, or jive, or salsa, or ballroom waltz???
For shame!To be continued…
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I agree with your comment about the Planetarium. (Having cruised previously with Cunard I hadn't noticed it was closed that week.) Cunard definitely should have found time during at least one of the days to allow passengers to enjoy an amazing voyage through the solar system.
I disagree with your other comments though:
1) Re. "no alternative entertainment"
Outside of the Planetarium being closed, all the traditional day and night activities of a Transatlantic voyage (arts and crafts, dance classes, quizzes, shows, lectures, talks, music, theatre, films, bridge and whist, quizzes, solos events, etc.) were on as usual.
2) Re. "it had not been announced as a Literature Festival at Sea crossing"
The event (imagine how long it must take to plan) was heavily advertised in the press and on Cunard's website more than 12 months in advance. As I stated at the beginning, I'd been looking forward to the event all year.
3) Re. "many talks or programmes were not available unless you had signed up"
Signing up was only required (and only available on board) for literary events held in small rooms such as Connexions. There was no pre-booking for all the traditional activities of a Transatlantic voyage. Similarly, there was no pre-booking for any of the events in the Royal Court and Illuminations theatres (literary or otherwise).
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The first week of December 2020 should have seen the Queen Mary 2 hosting, on a westbound crossing of the Atlantic, a very special event: Cunard’s second Literature Festival At Sea comprising such stellar writers and broadcasters as Alexander McCall Smith, Joanne Harris, Ian Rankin and Prue Leith. Unfortunately, due to man’s ongoing disdain for nature allied to questionable oriental practices… Well, I need not elaborate. These times may be a boon for morticians, conspiracy theorists and pizza delivery drivers but as for the rest of us, we tread water until a way out of this morass is found.
Having had the good fortune to be present at the first Literature Festival At Sea, I thought to publish here some reflections of the voyage in the hope that it may be of interest to ocean-going enthusiasts or, more likely, chronic insomniacs.
Sunday 10 November 2019
Tonight the pride of Cunard sails eastbound from New York to Southampton and, to keep passengers entertained over the next seven days, she plays host to the first Literature Festival At Sea - a celebration of the written word comprising lectures, discussions, workshops, theatre and music - and all in the company of world-class talent. I’ve been looking forward to this all year!
First; however, I have a day to spend in the giant Granny Smith (Gosh! That conjures up all sorts of unintended perverse images!) before this evening’s sailaway and, as the weather is so agreeable - cool, little breeze, partly cloudy and dry - I decide to spend it fulfilling a long-held ambition - to walk across the beautiful Brooklyn Bridge. It’s better crossing into Manhattan from Brooklyn (as almost everyone except yours truly is doing today) so you don’t have to keep stopping to turn round and take photos, but I want to be heading in the direction of my ultimate destination - the Red Hook terminal where the lady Mary is waiting. My 60-minute walk across the world-famous, iconic landmark is preceded by an exploration of Lower Manhattan taking in many interesting sites such as: the Bowling Green (at the apex of which is Arturo di Modica’s fearsome bronze sculpture, Charging Bull, where pretty girls queue to be photographed stroking the bull’s balls); the historic Federal Hall in Wall Street (where the Continental Congress met in 1765 to draft its Declaration of Rights and Grievances to King George III, for example - No taxation without representation); and, the stark 9/11 memorial pools (where roses are placed “Upon Victims’ Names On Their Birthdates”).
Now that I’ve crossed the bridge into Brooklyn, how exactly do I get to the ship’s berth? A concierge in a nearby building points out the nearest subway stop, just up the road on High Street. I catch a train to Jay / Metro Tech and, from the nearby Marriott, another concierge hails me a yellow cab - it’s $13 to Red Hook and I give the cabbie a $2 tip.
Affixed to the chain-link fence by the port entrance is a sign which reads, “October 29, 2012 - On this day Hurricane Sandy brought a storm surge of 5.75 feet to this location as indicated by the red line above.” The line is level with the top of my head!
The sun starts to set as I watch the iconic, burnt orange Staten Island ferries sailing between the Statue of Liberty and Governor’s Island. It’s cold out on deck but the sailaway is picture-perfect with the Brooklyn and Manhattan bridges, and Lower Manhattan, all lit up.
Today is Remembrance Sunday and a solemn service is held in the theatre, conducted by the Captain. Sadly, few are in attendance because, I imagine, most have only embarked today and probably weren’t aware of it.
I relax with a drink and some reading material in the Commodore Club where the orchestra leader arrives late for his early evening stint at the piano, apologising profusely. He was in his office drawing up schedules for the musicians, and forgot about his own! He starts his easy-listening set with A Nightingale Sang In Berkeley Square. The Literature Festival programme lists dozens of events, and speakers include literary luminaries such as Sebastian Faulks and Louis de Bernieres from the UK, and P.J. O’Rourke and Tayari Jones from t’Uther Side of Accrington. I can’t wait.
Monday 11 November 2019
The choice of what to eat for breakfast is overwhelming. In the apostrophe-less Kings Court I content myself with: coffee; toast with butter and strawberry compote; Greek yoghurt topped with berry compote, sliced almonds and toasted seeds; and a freshly-made banana, peach and pear smoothie. I’ve fed my body; now for the mind…
The Royal Court Theatre is packed for the 9.45 lecture by “multimillion-copy best-selling author” Ben McIntyre on The History of the SAS. It’s an enthralling talk about the legendary special forces unit, dreamt up by an oddball convalescing in hospital after his ill-thought-through first parachute jump went wrong, initially populated by a ragtag of fearless psychotics, and championed by Churchill after his hard-drinking, overweight son, Randolph, was allowed to join, what would prove to be, a disastrous adventure in North Africa.
The barmy and the eccentric, in the villages in and around where he has lived, also proved to be an inspiration to Louis de Bernières in a discussion with other writers about the sense of place in writing. He used to live in Columbia which inspired his Latin American trilogy whilst Victoria Hislop, also on the panel, spends part of each year in her home in Greece.
There’s a huge queue that seems to stretch twice round the ship and back to Brooklyn patiently waiting in line to sign up for the myriad activities taking place in some the ship’s smaller venues over the next week. I’m not prepared to spend hours waiting in line but will inquire later about what interests me (any of the writing workshops).
The ship falls silent at 11am to remember the fallen… or should have done. The message hasn’t got through to the staff clattering about in the Carinthia kitchen. I’m on the opposite side of the lounge where everyone is standing, immobile and thoughtfully silent, so I don’t feel it right to walk across and shut them up. In retrospect, I should have.
The North Atlantic is calm today and it’s wonderful exploring the ship: the beautifully plush, two storey Grand Lobby with its sweeping staircases; the library with its huge collection of books and magazines; the beautiful ballroom with its expansive, wooden dance floor; the immaculately-kept, teak, promenade deck… Everywhere passengers are purposefully striding from venue to venue clutching their festival programmes.
After lunch, Christopher Bundham plays an elegant classical guitar to a sparse but appreciative audience in the Illuminations theatre where his eclectic concert includes pieces by Albeniz and Toru Takemitsu. In contrast, they’re standing and sitting in the aisles of the (again) packed Royal Court Theatre to listen to political satirist PJ O’Rourke and broadcaster James Naughtie ponder “Another Term for Trump?” O’Rourke’s best line is, “The Democrats believe that nobody can lose to Trump - and the Democrats will find that nobody!” [He was so nearly right!]
The Carinthia Lounge is packed to the rafters for the show at 7.45, “The Great Singer Songwriters”, given by brother and sister Hal and Lara Cazalet. After the enjoyable and well-received song-fest there’s just enough time to head down to the Royal Court Theatre for the first performance, at 8.45, of tonight’s show, “Appassionata”, featuring the ship’s dance company. How do they remember all the routines?
A fine, first festival day ends in G32, the nightclub behind the ballroom, where I sit and occasionally dance with a shy, blonde Glaswegian widow who runs a guest house in the beautiful Lake District. Sadly, her husband had been suffering with dementia and died last year at the age of 58.
Tuesday 12 November 2019
After a cooked breakfast it’s off to the almost-full Illuminations theatre for Behind The Headlines - a daily morning event looking at today’s papers with journalists from the Times, and other guests. Afterwards I inquire at the help desk about the 2-hour writing workshop on Thursday afternoon hosted by Julia Wheeler, a former BBC foreign correspondent. I’m told there’s no availability. Oh dear. Well, if I wasn’t prepared to queue yesterday…
At 9.45 in the Royal Court Theatre there’s a talk with Tayari Jones, professor of literature and creative writing at Atlanta’s Emory University whose fourth novel, An American Marriage, was published to great acclaim. Her story of a wrongful rape conviction was an Oprah book selection and won the 2019 Women’s Prize for Fiction. She tells us she always writes her initial drafts on a typewriter - the clacking of the keys and the bell of the carriage return gives her the feeling that she’s actually getting work done. She has ten typewriters at the moment and hopes her eleventh will have arrived by the time she gets back home.
“Is British Politics Broken?” is the subject for discussion at eleven o’clock in the Royal Court Theatre. Unfortunately I’ll never know the answer because it clashes with today’s dance lesson, teaching the Slow Waltz. There are so many at the lesson the class has to be split up. Well, who wouldn’t want to be able to dance around such a gorgeous ballroom at sea? Unfortunately for me it doesn’t go well as I stub my toes repeatedly against the leaden feet of my class partner. I ask Sasha, the dance teacher, for assistance, but he also fails to encourage even a scintilla of rhythmic perambulation.
Twelve o’clock becomes one o’clock as the clocks are moved forward one hour making this the first of several 23-hour days for our eastbound crossing. After the noonday navigational announcement there is a curiously disappointing, unengaging conversation with Victoria Hislop talking about her latest novel, Those Who Are Loved. Answers to questions from the audience in the Illuminations theatre are long and rambling, given in a prim, soft-voiced monotone. “The Books That Changes Our Lives”, an hour later in the Royal Court Theatre, is a little bit more engaging. For Tayari Jones, it was reading the works of Pulitzer and Nobel prize-winning author Toni Morrison.
Every day in the Grand Lobby there is a book signing and today it’s the turn of Rachel Johnson, Louis de Bernieres and James Naughtie. A varied and plentiful selection of many of the authors’ works is to be found in the bookshop adjoining the library.
The final literary discussion of the day centres on “The Best Literary Villains”. Whilst the panel of Sebastian Faulks, Victoria Hislop (naturally, hers is Heathcliff), Damian Barr and Times reviewer Peter Kemp give theirs, I try and remember the name of mine: the anti-hero in Patrick Susskind’s astonishing, world-wide best seller, Perfume. [I have to look it up after the cruise - Jean-Baptiste Grenouille.]
I join a team of three in the Golden Lion for the afternoon pub quiz but 13 out of 20 is four away from the winning score. China is the only other country in the world besides the US that has alligators? Who knew? Upstairs, I scribble diary notes whilst listening to the Brevis Strings trio in the Carinthia Lounge and enjoying an afternoon tea selection of finger sandwiches (brie and cranberry, and egg and cress), and a scone with jam and cream with, of course, lashings of tea.
There’s an excellent atmosphere at tonight’s 70s and 80s party in the Queens Room (which is so full there isn’t any space for the apostrophe) with house band Solutions where many of the glittering literati strut their stuff. At midnight I move to G32 and sit with the six performers from RADA who are putting on a variety of performances during the week. They tell me they’re going to work with Sebastian Faulks to create a P.G. Wodehouse piece for Friday. I’ll look forward to that.
Wednesday 13 November 2019
At the help desk I learn that although there no vacancies at all for any of the workshops, I can turn up early on spec for any that interest me in case of a no-show.
Rather than going to talks such as “The Anthropology of Fashion” or “Books of the Year” I go up to the library and research the origins of Psmith, and read of their first meeting in Mike and Psmith. Sebastian Faulks’ homage to Wodehouse, Jeeves and the Wedding Bells, is on sale in the adjacent bookshop. I’m tempted to buy it but the queues for the book signings are always so long.
Peter Kemp’s lunchtime talk on “The Ghost’s [sic] High Noon - Victorian Ghost Stories” starting with Le Fanu and ending with M.R. James is (pardon the pun) illuminating. The Chief Fiction Reviewer for the Sunday Times says that the genre’s Victorian heyday was probably due to a number of factors: the rise of magazines (ghost stories lend themselves to the short story format), industrial smog, and candlelight (before the advent of electric light). His recommendations for other writers in this genre include Arthur Conan Doyle.
The Perfect Liars’ Club proves to be the perfect bore. It’s the kind of entertainment that will always be hit and miss, and this was certainly the latter. I left before the big reveal, not caring which one of the four anecdotes presented by Mark Billingham, Damian Barr, Rachel Johnson and Julia Wheeler was, in fact, not fact.
Now this is something rather special: at three o’clock in the Illuminations theatre there’s a screening of Captain Corelli’s Mandolin, introduced by film critic Jason Solomons who announces, “… and we just happen to have the author with us today.” His conversation with Louis de Bernières gives us many insights into the film adaptation with which he says he was generally happy. Penelope Cruz was chosen as the heroine, Pelagia, because the producers couldn’t find a young, Greek actress capable of toning down the traditional, histrionic style of acting. He didn’t interfere with the script but did manage to persuade them (Warning! Spoiler alert!!) not to kill off Captain Corelli’s friend, Captain Gunther Weber, played by David Morrissey. Everyone stays to watch the movie which I’ve never seen. I tear myself away halfway through to go and listen to the author performing in the Carinthia Lounge (I can catch the second half of the film during one of the repeat screenings on in-house Channel 24).
“Louis de Bernières: Troubador” is a one-hour misery-fest of his own songs, occasionally lightened by dark humour, and topped and tailed by duets with actress and singer Lara Cazalet. Half an hour after the end of the concert the groupies and hangers-on have all gone, except one. Our esteemed jongleur is sitting alone in the Carinthia Lounge with just his guitar and a drink for company (so, technically, not alone?) and I go over to say hello. He tells me he’s travelling by himself because his girlfriend didn’t fancy a 7-night cruise with journalists and writers whining about Brexit, and he’s missing his two children and three cats. When I talk to him about my young lady and her work at Manchester University he becomes very animated, telling me about his family’s connection to the world of nuclear physics. His great grandfather was Arthur Smithells, a noted chemist who taught at Owens College which eventually became part of Victoria, then Manchester, University. Smithells knew Ernest Rutherford, the father of nuclear physics who was working at the university at the same time, but he doesn’t know the extent of any collaboration.
I count how many desserts are set out for the dinner buffet in the Kings Court. Eleven! They include tarte tatin (sadly devoid of any caramelisation), lemon cheesecake, pudding with sauce… and a chiboust tart. No, me neither.
The RADA guys now look very confident on the dance floor and the ballroom is a brighter (and younger) place when they’re dancing. They attend the dance lessons on board when they can and I imagine it makes them even more well-rounded performers. After midnight they and the gliterati are to be found boogieing in G32 again. It’s a fun way to end the evening.
Thursday 14 November 2019
“A Life Of Crime” in the Royal Court Theatre proves to be a captivating talk about best-selling author Mark Billingham’s career. A former stand-up comedian, he certainly knows how to tell a story and keep his audience hooked. Police contacts provide him with good advice, such as how to break news of a death: sit in the car outside the house for five minutes; don’t break out into hysterical laughter…
They also provide him with a fund of amazing stories. One example concerns the finding of a body impaled on railings. The victim’s backpack is searched and his address details are recovered. A policeman goes round to the address, composes himself then rings the doorbell. The wife answers the door.
“I think you should sit down...”
She becomes hysterical. A few minutes later her husband arrives home and she becomes even more hysterical.
“You won’t believe what a terrible day I’ve had - someone stole my backpack…”
“Sebastian Faulks In Conversation” at eleven o’clock clashes with today’s dance lesson - the ballroom tango which is tricky to learn on a wobbly floor. It’s another opportunity for me to practise the basics but I regret missing the talk. Perhaps it will be broadcast later on the in-house TV.
Whilst we sit patiently in the Royal Court Theatre, search parties are out for Louis de Bernières who has gone missing. He hadn’t forgotten to move his watch forward. It’s just that he thought he was speaking at three o’clock rather than two o’clock. His earlier writing was inspired by time spent in Columbia whilst Captain Corelli’s Mandolin was inspired by a trip to Cephalonia rather than his usual campervan trip round France which his girlfriend exasperatedly asked him not to do that particular year.
There’s a writing workshop at 3.15, “Telling Your Own Story: Uncovering the Stories Within” which I’d like to join. I’m first in the queue, half an hour early, in case of no-shows which I’m told there usually are - and so it proves. There are about twenty of us and we work in small groups during the 2-hour workshop telling of experiences inspired by everyday objects (a lemon, a bag…) that Julia Wheeler hands round. The exercises show that everyone has a story to tell, but we are left to our own devices as to what to do once we’ve found our stories.
I nibble on a plate of peanuts, walnuts and cranberries taken from the dinner buffet whilst watching the last quarter of the UEFA European Championship qualifying match between England and Montenegro in the Golden Lion. It’s an easy win for England. Afterwards I watch the second half of Captain Corelli’s Mandolin in my cabin.
At midnight it’s heaving in G32. Victoria Hislop and Mark Billingham are chatting at the bar. Louis de Bernières and Sebastian Faulks are boogieing on the dance floor with the Prime Minister’s sister. Oh, What A Night, indeed! The highlight is a group of gay guys dancing to I’m Gonna Be (500 miles). I join the party. It’s a blast! The whole week has been fantastic and it isn’t finished yet! No sir, not by a long way!
Friday 15 November 2019
At 10.30 in the Royal Court Theatre it’s “P.J. O’Rourke In Conversation”. He’s interviewed by Mariella Frostrup who, unfortunately, seems to be under the impression that the event is Mariella Frostrup In Conversation. When the celebrated satirist is allowed to speak, he is amusing and engaging. Commenting on social media he asks, “Whose idea was it to allow all the idiots on the planet to communicate freely with all the other idiots on the planet?”
The captain, as part of the noonday navigational update, gives a dissertation on sea cucumbers which live four and a half thousand feet down, breathe through their anuses, regenerate some of their body parts and ingest nutrients via tentacles foraging through the mud. His first officer, Ashley, then gives us the usual positional update as we sail through this, “… seething mass of sea cucumbers.”
“P.G. Wodehouse: All At Sea” plays to a more-packed-than-I’ve-ever-seen-it-before Royal Court Theatre. James Naughtie (played by James Naughtie) interviews PG Wodehouse (played by Sebastian Faulks) about his life, interspersed with songs and sketches from his works performed by two of his step-great grandchildren, Hal and Lara Cazalet, and Gina Bellman with the players from RADA, accompanied by Musical Director Jeff Hughes at the piano. It’s a terrific revue with the Captain’s walk-on part receiving the loudest cheer.
Whilst pondering what to have for a late lunch I get my bottom pinched by one of the dance regulars as I’m gazing at the glazed salmon. I have a small portion with steamed vegetables and oily curly fries followed by tea and apple cake. The latter is marked “low sugar” but I think Cunard’s low sugar is everybody else’s normal sugar. Afterwards I go up to the bookshop to buy a copy of Louis de Berneiere’s most recent work out in paperback - Labels and Other Stories.
I’m in the Carinthia Lounge having grabbed myself a good seat for the poetry reading event at four o’clock, except it’s in the Illuminations theatre! Louis de Bernières and Victoria Hislop are reading a selection of their work to a small audience - which is more than their pallid attempts at metrical structure deserve. There’s no harmony nor melody; no rhythm nor rhyme nor reason. Each reading is just a sequence of clipped clauses creating neither drama nor emotion. I should have stayed in the lounge. Keeping my thoughts to myself, I ask Louis if he’d sign my copy of his Labels.
There’s a terrific atmosphere in the ballroom for the Roaring Twenties Ball where the highlight of the wonderful evening is the costume parade around the Queens Room. Many of the passengers, the women particularly, have gone to town with their extravagant hats, boas and flapper dresses.
After a midnight snack of samosas, dahl and rice I head to G32 but am side-tracked by music coming from the Golden Lion. It’s Karaoke Night and the pub is packed, but I manage to find a seat in one of the leather armchairs by the window, chatting with Tristan from T’ronto who’s joining his girlfriend in Belgium. His two elderly dogs are up in the kennels - it cost him $1000 for each to bring them along. Victoria Hislop joins in the conga, Mark Billingham and Jason Solomons sing Rhinestone Cowboy and all the celebrities join in with classics such as Sweet Home Alabama, Amarillo and Suspicious Minds. Another superb day ends with another superb night!
Saturday 16 November 2019
Ben McIntyre’s marvellous 11am lecture, delivered to a standing-room-only, utterly-enthralled audience in the Royal Court Theatre, tells the fantastical tale of Oleg Gordievsky, the KGB colonel and British secret agent who was eventually betrayed by the CIA and Aldrich Ames. MI6 didn’t authorise publication of his book, but neither did they try to prevent it and, indeed, allowed McIntyre to meet with the idealist spy.
At noon the clocks are moved forward one hour for the last time to align us to UK time. The latter part of the Captain’s midday update is actually given by comedian Mike Doyle with even the first officer chuckling as he tries to gives the subsequent positional update. It seems this special cruise has been remarkably successful with everyone in high spirits.
I’m too late to watch the auctioning of the navigational map in the lobby (apparently it sold for $1000 which goes to a worthy cause - The Prince’s Trust) but in good time to hear the guests’ choir perform several sea-related hymns and songs to an appreciative audience in and around the Grand Lobby.
Literary heroines is the subject of the 2pm event in the Royal Court Theatre where Rachel Johnson, Gina Bellman, Ella Berthoud, Mariella Frostrup and Julia Wheeler discuss theirs. I’m not persuaded by the reading of Nora Ephron’s treatise on mashed potatoes from her novel Heartburn. A potato ricer? Heavy cream? Melted butter? No! No!! No!!! That’s all wrong. Just add a splash of full-cream milk (or 96% fat-free milk, as I prefer to call it), a little English mustard and a sprinkling of thinly-chopped chives, and then simply mash with a fork. The classical concert given afterwards by Christopher Bundham is disappointing: etudes should be left to etudiants practising en privé, methinks.
Many are in attendance for one of the highlights of a Cunard cruise - the afternoon tea dance where white-gloved waiters serve finger sandwiches, cakes and pastries with tea and coffee whilst dancers (including your correspondent) sashay around the dance floor to the music of the live orchestra.
There’s more music up in the Carinthia Lounge which is packed for “Lounge Lizards”, the final musical performance from the Cazalet siblings. For the finale, the audience is divided into three: one group sings When The Saints Go Marching In, another sings Swing Low Sweet Chariot and the rest sing She’ll Be Coming Round The Mountain. With minimal rehearsal and maximal concentration it works splendidly.
Tonight’s show in the Royal Court Theatre features Philippa Healey who has a fine voice, and Mike Doyle who also has a fine voice. The latter tells us he’s in a happy mood because he’s just been paid. If he’s paid by the joke there couldn’t have been much in his pay packet - he’s a master of the interminable, unfunny, shaggy dog story. I think he should stick to singing.
In need of a cup of tea and a biscuit (a drink really is too wet without one) I stumble on the gliterati in the Carinthia Lounge at a private function.
“They’re probably telling each other how wonderful they are,” I overhear one woman telling another.
I manage to get my suitcase and garment bag out by midnight and reward myself with a final midnight snack - sweet and sour fish, vegetable noodles and vegetable spring rolls followed by coffee and cheesecake. As I scribble my diary notes a large group of Russians floods into the Kings Court from I-know-not-where (apart from Russia - obviously).
Is everybody tucked up in bed now? Not a bit of it. The gliterati are partying hard down in G32 where it’s almost a private party so I keep my distance. They have provided an unforgettable week and I for one can’t wait for the next Literary Festival At Sea. It’s been beyond wonderful - and I’ve only managed to attend a fraction of the many events on board!-
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I am out of the review writing game - this was my last one. It was fun while it lasted and thanks for following along.
Dear Jack,
I'm sorry to hear that, but can sympathise with the time and effort involved when editing down a personal diary to try and create an entertaining, informative piece for general reading. Having been on two month-long cruises in the space of three months earlier this year I decided to write only about the latter (https://boards.cruisecritic.co.uk/showthread.php?t=2650728) for that very reason.
Best wishes for the future.
Regards
Jak
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Arriving into MIA at 9 pm will probably be 10 pm at earliest to exit the terminal and start looking for the TriRail station and then almost 1 hour to Fort Lauderdale station. All this and your body and mind feels like its 3 am (UK time). No Thanks.
(I do agree its cheap(ish) but 2 pax is $10 + taxi fare in Fort Lauderdale and you have to manhandle your baggage all the way).
Last TriRail train from the airport is 9.40pm (9.42 at the weekend) so, on reflection, it isn't an option with a 9pm arrival time.
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Anyone any tips for getting to Fort Lauderdale hotel from Miami airport. Arrive from UK at 21.00 hrs need to get to hotel. Is it better to pre book than pick taxi up at airport.
LC
The cheapest option is to take the Tri Rail to Fort Lauderdale and then a cab. I used Tri Rail many times a few weeks ago when I was last in Miami.
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I have finished the rest of your cruise diaries and can only wish that you would cruise and report more often. You filled a big gap in my education by using the term "Macaronesia', I'd never heard of it, thought it might be another Freedonia or Ruritania. I resisted the urge to fill these comments with misplaced apostrophes.
Thanks for your kind comments.
I have done twenty-one cruises but only started blogging after my tenth. I could never find the kind of information about day-to-day cruise life that I wanted when researching a holiday (it did; however, cause me to stumble upon the wonderful writing of SailorJack), so I thought that writing about it might be useful to others.
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Thank you for your review. It made me want to sail again and visit some of those places that you talked about. Did you look up the train and bus schedules in advance of your trip' date=' or did you just take what was there on the day you visited the ports?[/quote']
Thanks to all for your kind comments.
I didn't look up train and bus schedules in advance of my trip - I just took what was there on the day I visited the ports, e.g. Casablanca. It doesn't always work out, but usually it does. If I wasn't such a habitually late riser I reckon I would even have managed to see the tree climbing goats when in Agadir.
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This is the diary of a 27-night Springtime cruise from Miami to Barcelona aboard Holland America’s elegant Prinsendam. It may be of interest to those either contemplating a trans-Atlantic Grand Tour, or suffering from hitherto incurable insomnia…
Day 1: Monday 12 March 2018
On the KLM flight from Amsterdam to Miami refills of tea are served with a sachet of creamer. The contents include: E340ii (acid stabiliser), E452i (emulsifier and/or stabiliser), E171 (a whitening agent), E160a(ii) (food colourant), E551 (anti-caking agent), E471 (another emulsifier and/or stabiliser) and E472c (a third emulsifier and/or stabiliser). Now here’s an idea that’s so far out there that it may not even be detectable by the Hubble telescope - instead of using a colourant and a whitener, instead of using multiple emulsifiers and/or stabilisers (that, by the way, can contain animal fats) and instead of using an anti-caking agent, all wrapped up in a synthetic material that is choking the world’s oceans courtesy of a Belgian food packaging group, why not use fresh moo juice poured from a recyclable carton?
A pleasant surprise awaits - cabin 491 (confusingly, on deck 5) is an outside cabin. It includes a lounge area with a settee and a fridge in a corner unit, and the en-suite is large and even has a bath. A note telling me about my cabin stewards and a copy of When & Where listing the daily programme are on the dressing table. There are; however, more pressing matters: food. Having not eaten since the flight, I tuck into a tasty dinner of rice, asparagus and salmon in the Lido Buffet on deck 11 whilst chatting with the history lecturer from England who will give eleven talks in twenty-seven days.
Complimentary banana rum punch sundowners are served out on the Lido Deck on a warm, still evening in Port Everglades. It’s the Bon Voyage Sailaway party, except we don’t because a crew member is AWOL which means a lot of administrative headaches. The party is followed by a ‘taster show’ in the Showroom at Sea, the main theatre forward on Deck 8, introducing some of the on-board entertainment to be seen in the coming days. Only much, much later do we cast off on our 55-day Grand Tour (of which I’m doing the first half) and glide out into the Atlantic, apparently without the miscreant returning to the ship.
Day 2: Tuesday 13 March 2018
What a breakfast spread! Hot drinks; juices; cereals, porridge and meusli (or is it granola, or perhaps bircher?); breads and crackerbreads; waffles, crepes, pancakes and cinnamon buns; fruit and compotes; cheeses, meats and salads; eggs and potato; and much, much more. After eating too much I head down to the main theatre for the talk giving an overview of our first few ports of call - in the Caribbean and Cape Verde. For the latter we are told, “Tour buses may have plain, hard seating, or possibly padded seating, but you have time between now and then to add your own personal padding courtesy of the dining room.”
These talks are repeated on Channel 27 which is very useful.
First impressions are that it seems very sedate and relaxed around the ship even though it’s apparently full. Others have noted previously that the atmosphere of a country house hotel pervades.
There’s a large audience in the main theatre for the first of the history lectures at 11 o’clock - a presentation entitled “Mercenaries of the Sea”, a brief history of piracy, dispelling the myths created by Disney and Johnny Depp. Starting in Roman times with the kidnappings of Julius Caesar she then moves on to the Vikings (those who hide in viks, or bays) through to Henry Morgan, Captain Kidd and, the most successful pirate of all, Ching Shi, the undefeated commander of the Red Flag Fleet which ruled the China Sea at the beginning of the 19th century. She was a strict disciplinarian, notorious for nailing dissenters’ feet to the deck before having them whipped. The presentation is very disjointed with broken sentences (much like a pub conversation) which unfortunately distracts from the interesting theme.
Cod goujons and chips make for a light lunch before heading to the midday demonstration in the America’s Test Kitchen theatre for some breakfast ideas, peppered with snippets such as - how to tell whether a chicken will give white eggs or brown eggs? White earlobes generally mean white eggs and red earlobes mean brown eggs. At two o’clock it’s back to the main theatre for a more detailed port talk on the islands of Puerto Rico and St. John. There are ferries from the latter to the neighbouring island of St. Thomas but at the moment, because of hurricane damage, they only go to Red Hook. Two Virgin Islands called John and Thomas? There’s a childish joke in there somewhere
It’s a calm day but quite breezy. It seems cold in some of the public places (the a/c, I guess) such as the main theatre although I quickly warm up in the first dance class of the cruise at three o’clock in the Ocean Bar where the Social Foxtrot is taught to a large group of willing students.
There are two complimentary self-service laundrettes with washers and driers, on decks 6 and 10. I do my first laundry, just to see if I can follow the printed instructions on the machines, correctly calculating that neither of them will be busy so early in the cruise.
For those that like to dance the evening starts at 7pm where the Ocean Quartet plays for forty-five minutes. There’s a second session at 8.45 (after the first show in the main theatre) and a final session at 10.45 (after the show is repeated). So far it’s been a smooth sail, in every sense.
Day 3: Wednesday 14 March 2018
Pleasingly, there’s plenty of room to find somewhere to eat a buffet breakfast as both sides and the back of the Lido Deck are used as a single restaurant. In the evening they’re divided up into the buffet and Italian fine dining. I learn that the way to inform the waiters that I’m still eating and the table shouldn’t be cleared is to leave the napkin on the back of the chair.
We also have a Natural History lecturer, from Canada, whose topic this morning is “The Natural History of the Caribbean”. It’s full of interesting if at times incomprehensible facts such as twenty-four million cubic meters of water (the equivalent of 100,000 rail cars, apparently) move every second from the Caribbean into the Gulf of Mexico. He’s an excellent speaker and his obvious but restrained enthusiasm carries the large audience with him.
The choice of sandwiches on offer at lunch is a nice alternative to a cooked meal. There are also several desserts on offer and I feel compelled to try the (American) apple pie. The pastry is fine but a tart apple such as Bramley would have been a better choice. Afterwards I take a post-prandial walk on the fine, wide, wooden Promenade deck where it is warm, breezy and sunny, and the sea is very blue.
The afternoon dance class in the Ocean Bar is the rumba - which includes teaching the Rumba One. Sequence dance is unknown to Americans but the lesson is well-received. Afterwards I go back up to the Lido Buffet for an American lemonade (very sweet, and flat rather than fizzy) and notice bags of crisps in a basket by the sandwiches. Bliss! Crisps are the one snack I miss on cruise ships.
I dine in La Fontaine, the restaurant on deck 7 which is open till 9pm (the Lido Buffet closes an hour earlier). By the entrance there’s a 3-tier tray containing glacé ginger, dates and mints - a nice after-dinner touch. Much later in the Lido I notice a couple eating delicious-looking desserts. There’s still some food available? No. They took them earlier from the buffet and kept them in their cabin fridge - they’ve travelled on the Prinsendam before.
Day 4: Thursday 15 March 2018
A fine, clear, warm day greets us as we approach Puerto Rico and sail in to our berth in San Juan to be docked at half past seven. I photocopy A Stroll Through Old San Juan from the Lonely Planet guide in the extensive library (curiously, not marked on the ship’s pocket map) before heading out. We’re berthed next to the Amsterdam, another Holland America ship and larger than the Prinsendam. There are other ships in town so a small tourist market has been set up along the waterfront paseo.
I have a list of questions for the Tourist Information office, opposite the Plaza de la Darsena:
Internet Café? El Murro? La Fortaleza? The Alcadia? Fort San Cristobal? Barranchina Restaurant? The ferry ride to the Casa Bacardi? Getting to El Junque? Where to salsa? As regards my last question, I’m told that the Latin Roots club just behind the Sheraton is a good place to go.
Behind the plaza are the walls of Old San Juan, running along the Paseo de la Princesa, a wide, tree-lined walkway. The path through the small garden winds its shady way beneath the city walls, flanked by trees and flowers, statues and water features, at the conclusion of which is the Fuente de la Herencia with its five sculptures depicting Puerto Rico through the ages, through faith, liberty, bloodshed, society and cultural values. At the end of the paseo is another fountain, the Fuente Raices with its bronze deities of Taino, European and African descent, commemorating the 500th anniversary of Europeans discovering the New World.
A guitarist sits outside the national arts and crafts centre playing for diners at tables set all along the narrow cobbled Santo Cristo street, at the top of which tourists have their photos taken with the hundreds of pigeons in the Parque de las Palomas next to the Santo Cristo chapel. High-sided ornate buildings with wrought-iron balconies provide welcome shade in the heat of the day. Round the corner is La Fortaleza, a classically beautiful blue and white mansion and the official residence of the island’s governor. I have forty minutes until the next tour in English so there’s time to see the cathedral, the last resting place of the conquistador Ponce de Leon, and the beautiful colonial-style dandelion-coloured El Convento hotel across the street that dates from 1646. A busker in the little plaza opposite is enthusiastically accompanied by two Guatemalan ladies from the Prinsendam that I’ve chatted to, in a rendition of “Cielito Lindo”. Cancion linda, in my opinion.
In the waiting area for the tour of the governor’s mansion there’s a fragment of moon rock brought back by Apollo XI and presented to Puerto Rico by Richard Nixon. The short guided tour of the beautiful gardens and the chapel within the mansion (which is all we’re shown inside) requires that a designated photographer accompanies the tour and takes photos with your camera, free of charge. Men in dark suits and even darker glasses watch our back, and front and sides.
The street of Caleta de las Monjas overlooks the huge Puerta de San Juan built into the city’s walls beyond which is a very photogenic view of La Fortaleza. Behind me is La Rogativa, a statue whose plinth explains that “during the siege by the English in 1797, the women of the city, led by the Bishop, prayed to Saint Ursula and the eleven thousand virgins to liberate the city.” The night-time torchlit procession accompanied by pealing bells confused the invaders who withdrew their forces believing that reinforcements from outside the capital had arrived. Which man wouldn’t flee from thousands of marauding virgins?
I join the Natural History lecturer by the grassy expanse of La Perla Ravelin, a defensive structure guarding a fort built before the city walls. It lies above the neighbourhood of La Perla, a shanty town extensively damaged by hurricanes Irma and Maria a few months ago. Between La Perla and El Morro, the city’s iconic fortress, lies the 19th century Santa María Magdalena de Pazzis Cemetery, the final resting place of many of Puerto Rico's most prominent natives and residents. We’ve both visited the fortress previously so head down the huge grassy expanse where locals fly kites back into town to Barranchina, “the house where the Pina Colada was born in 1963.” Really? Was it only six years before landing on the moon that man was inspired to test what might happen if the juice of fermented sugar cane, coconut and pineapple were brought together in a drinking receptacle?
Later in the evening I dash out to Latin Roots for my first experience of authentic Caribbean salsa. I watch rather than dance and wish I had longer here, much longer. Unsurprisingly, I’m the last one back on board.
Day 5: Friday 16 March 2018
Curiously, the American version of Cheerios contains far less sugar than the version sold in the UK. Over breakfast I chat with a couple from New Orleans who, like me, are disembarking in Barcelona, the halfway point of the cruise. They tell of their hometown’s devastation in the wake of Hurricane Katrina in 2005 where in excess of 100,000 people (perhaps a quarter of its pre-Katrina population) have left. Their own church congregation has dwindled from two hundred and fifty to only twenty-five. Whilst we chat, an announcement is made over the PA system telling us that non-ticketed tender operation is now in effect and we can go straight to deck 4 to board the tenders.
It’s another beautiful day as we step ashore at Cruz Bay, St. John’s main town. The National Park Visitor Center, under-manned and offering a limited service since the recent hurricanes, provides me with all the information I need to enjoy a day on the island, including an excellent map and a leaflet of hiking trails. Across the dock, an open-sided jinty is just leaving for a tour of the island with Smithie who’s originally from Dominica but has lived on St. John for forty-seven years. He tells us that the island was devastated a few months ago by Hurricane Irma on September 6th and Hurricane Maria on September 19th. I’m astonished that in the intervening two weeks there must have been three other hurricanes! As we climb into the hills Smithie explains that the buildings with blue rooves have all been hurricane-damaged. Closer inspection reveals the blue to be polythene covering.
At a scenic viewpoint where wild tamarind grows by the road overlooking the former capital of Coral Bay Smithie points out Norman Island which has a documented history of pirate booty and was reputedly an inspiration for Robert Louis Stevenson’s Treasure Island.
Onwards we drive through what looks like paradise at a distance, but hell on closer inspection. Above a road sign that reads “Ahead” somebody had scrawled, “Better Times”. Posters are affixed to telegraph poles advertising “free basic home repairs for storm damage”. Trees leaning at crazy angles, houses that have slid halfway down hillsides and masses of rubble line our route as we enter the Virgin Islands National Park passing repair gangs and stopping at idyllic viewpoints looking across to other islands that are probably just as damaged.
We continue down to Leinster Bay and inland to the Annaberg Historic Trail which winds through and around the ruins of an old sugar factory bordered by papaya trees and wild pineapple plants, and fields of sugar cane used to produce rum and molasses.
The excellent two and a half tour ends with short stops at some of the world-renowned bays and beaches which bless this island such as Cinnamon, Trunk, Hawknest, and, most devasted of all, Caneel Bay. I catch a taxi back to Trunk Bay to do a little snorkelling, but most of the markers for the Underwater Trail have been ripped up by the storms. The strange, knobbly fruit growing on some of the trees by the beach is Noni or Starvation Fruit which was amongst the first plants to recover after the hurricanes. An enjoyable if thought-provoking day ends with an exploration of the Lind Point Trail adjacent to the Visitor Center before dusk falls and I catch a tender back to my floating country house hotel.
Tonight it’s Tropical Night so I change into my bright yellow, tailor-made shirt from India (where I lived for a short while) before the party begins in the Ocean Bar at 8.45. Why isn’t the party up on the open deck? A fine day ends drinking Pina Colada and nibbling nuts and goldfish in the company of new friends whilst listening to Jim the Piano Man playing in the Crow’s Nest till after midnight.
Day 6: Saturday 17 March 2018
The first of several days at sea as we sail for West Africa. At eleven o’clock there is a fractured talk (much knowledge but little flow) by our history lecturer on the seven wonders of both the ancient and modern world, the latter announced on 07/07/07. Before the talk I hadn’t appreciated that my travels have taken me to all the modern wonders (The Great Wall of China, Petra, Chichen Itza, the Taj Mahal, the Rome Coliseum, the Christ the Redeemer statue and Machu Picchu - not that I necessarily agree with the list) as well as the surviving ancient wonder.
The cooking presentation in the kitchen theatre showcases Johnny cakes and salt-fish fritters, typical of British Virgin Islands’ cuisine. Guest chefs Neil and Erika Cline hail from Tortola where their business was wiped out by the recent hurricanes.
“Fellate the fish,” says Neil to his wife whilst preparing the cod fritter batter.
Excuse me! Did I hear that right? In public? Oh, I get it. “Filet the fish.” Perhaps I need to get my hearing checked out. The tasty results are available to try afterwards in the Pinnacle Grill.
“How fast is the Atlantic Ocean widening?” asks our Natural History lecturer during his afternoon presentation on the body of water we’re presently crossing. “Hold out your hands in front of you. Go on. Don’t be shy.” We all do as bidden. “Now, watch your fingernails grow.”
Today’s dance class is the Cha-Cha-Cha which some find challenging when turns are introduced. It reminds me of what I was like when I started dancing. Afterwards I enjoy a relaxing stroll out on deck. The days are getting warmer and the sea, bluer as we steam serenely along calm waters where no marine life is to be seen.
The Ocean Bar is crowded for the St. Patrick’s Day party. Why isn’t the party up on the open deck? Everyone is wearing green as are the stuffed monkeys outside the restaurant. Jim the piano man joins the fun with renditions of Galway Girl and Irish Rover. Afterwards, the evening show presents songstress and comedienne Siobhan Phillips from England and with whom I shared a cab to the ship from Miami Airport. I like her comment about there not being a dry seat in the house after one of her more emotional songs.
Day 7: Sunday 18 March 2018
The Captain’s noonday report: We’re crossing the North Equatorial Current which moves from east to west (I wonder if that’s why there was so much juddering last night.) and is separated from the Equator by the Equatorial Countercurrent. The nearest land is 440 miles behind us - Kuala Lumpur. Excuse me! Did I hear that right? Either we need a new navigator or I definitely need to get my hearing checked out.
Our historian’s lecture on architectural treasure troves, X Marks the Spot, is a yet another muddle. Fascinating stories from the Dead Sea Scrolls to the lost Fabergé eggs by way of El Dorado lose some of their fascination when punctuated with broken sentences and bad grammar. At two o’clock the clocks are set forward one hour so immediately following the lecture it’s time for today’s dance class teaching Beginner’s Rock-n-Roll. It always helps me to do beginner’s classes with different teachers as I can usually pick up something new.
Day 8: Monday 19 March 2018
After checking the map I think I may need to get my hearing checked - the nearest land is Guadeloupe, not Kuala Lumpur! At least my eyesight’s good enough to see the flying fish portside. The ship pitches gently in the warm breeze as we approach the halfway point on our way to the islands of Cape Verde.
Day 9: Tuesday 20 March 2018
Ask The Captain is always an interesting event to attend. Most of the questions, naturally, enough, concern him (the captain’s tour of duty is usually three months on and three months off), this cruise (the ship will refuel in Gibraltar for the Mediterranean where fuel has to have a lower sulphur content) and the ship in general (there is a legal requirement for ships to go into dry dock every two and a half years).
On most seadays the clocks are set forward an hour which means compromises have to be made regarding the afternoon onboard activities. Two o’clock is the new three o’clock so what’s it to be? A lecture on Ferdinand Magellan? A dance lesson in the Waltz? An Arts and Crafts activity? A concert by the classical duo? Complimentary Tongue and Pulse Analysis?
This evening’s main event is the Black & White Officer’s [sic] Ball. From the fixed smiles on their faces I reckon this night strikes more fear into them than a punctured hull in a Force 9 gale. I ask one of the dance regulars if she’d like to dance and within a very short time the floor is full. A prize is announced of a bottle of champagne for the passenger dancing with the right officer at the right time. There are no prizes for dancing with me so I’m immediately dumped with a rushed apology. I may never get over it.
Day 10: Wednesday 21 March 2018
It’s our last sea day before we hit the islands of Cape Verde (hopefully, not literally). I share a breakfast table with a native New Yorker now living in Atlanta (living just off Peachtree - what a surprise) who lived in Lesotho for two years whilst working for the Peace Corps. She’s travelled widely and is interesting to listen to.
Today is a twenty-four hour day so I can go to both the lecture on The Natural History of the Cape Verde Islands (which contains too many slides and overruns) and the dance class (where it’s a challenge learning the Quickstep on a small, oval floor). A couple from Manitoba who are fine Two-Step dancers suggest I look for Dancevision on Youtube where I can find some instructional videos. The timing is similar to the Social Foxtrot.
Day 11: Thursday 22 March 2018
Three months ago I arrived at the island of St. Vincent in the Caribbean and now I’m back at St. Vincent, this time in the Cape Verde archipelago where we have an overnight stay. A note in the daily programme about wood carvings and souvenirs from Africa explains that these will be collected at the gangway and placed in the ship’s main freezer for forty-eight hours to kill any insects or pests that may be present.
The ship is docked by eight o’clock and the complimentary shuttle service, which runs until half past seven this evening, drops us off at Marina Mindelo. The tourist information booth has now moved across the road to the Mamma Mia restaurant since my last visit. The cobbled streets and pastel-coloured buildings are mildly reminiscent of our first port of call, although many of the buildings are in a state of disrepair. With its relaxed island life, Mindelo is a gentle introduction to Africa where there’s a little hassle, but it’s rather desultory.
Stepping out of the Cyber Kika internet café I hear the sound of beating drums. A large crowd has gathered near the seafront. I follow them into the Mindelo Cultural Centre where the spectacular performance of drumming, singing and eye-watering pelvic thrusting is one of the programmes comprising Micadinaia Fest, the island’s 13th Encontro Internacional Das Artes.
Minivans to various parts of the island leave from Praca Estrela and the African Market (with its beautiful tile friezes of island life) and the service to Calhau runs frequently. I pay in Euros, but slightly over the odds, as I don’t have escudos which the driver would prefer. Calhau is a tiny fishing village half an hour away on cobbled roads on the other side of Sao Vicente. A cat sleeps in the shade of colourful, beached fishing boats and Atlantic waves break on the black volcanic rocks as I walk along sandy tracks around the village where it must be siesta time.
Back in Mindelo I catch a van headed for Salamansa by way of Baia das Gatas, a holiday village where a couple of the other fares are staying. Salamansa is another pleasant, sleepy village but much larger than Calhau. Siesta time is over and dogs bark, children play and adults chat in the warm sunshine.
I catch a shuttle back to the ship with a couple of girls who have just flown in via Lisbon from London and will perform two shows (they won’t tell me what - I’ll have to come and see) before flying back from Dakar.
When the ship stays overnight, local performers usually come on board to give a show. Tonight it’s Gabriella and the Cape Verde Group which sounds like they’ve been hastily cobbled together, but she and her four musicians play an enjoyable, varied set including examples of Morna (blues) and St. John (religious-based).
Day 12: Friday 23 March 2018
The shuttle again drops us off again by the marina close to the statue of the eagle, built to commemorate the first aerial crossing of the South Atlantic, which included a stop at Mindelo, by Portuguese aviators Cabral and Coutinho in 1922.
Today I’ll just spend my time exploring Mindelo. There are still new things for me to explore even on my third visit, such as the beautiful, pink and white colonial Palacio do Povo with its façade of pink and white columns. Inside there are two exhibitions: one called Akuaba showcasing Cape Verde and Continental Africa art, and the other dedicated to internationally renowned singer Cesaria Evora, who was born in Mindelo.
At five o’clock we cast off in sunshine and light winds sailing past a rust bucket called Abu Karim II and the lighthouse rock beyond, with the dramatic desert mountain landscape of the larger island of Santa Antao to port.
Tonight’s show is Graffiti Classics (16 strings, 8 dancing feet, 4 voices) wherein the girls I met yesterday and their two compatriots perform classic and classical pieces in a uniquely slapstick style combining music, dance and comedy. Playing to a second, three-quarters-empty house comprising a tired audience, they strive hard in vain.
Day 13: Saturday 24 March 2018
If the Captain makes the morning call rather than the Cruise Director then you know it isn’t going to be along the lines of, “Good morning campers. Rise and shine. I have excellent news…”
Gusts of up to 55mph mean that the preferred approach to Praia’s narrow basin can’t be made so the Captain will swing the ship around to see if that’s any better. An hour later comes the disappointing if not unexpected announcement that it isn’t, so our call to Praia is cancelled.
We get another sea day, which is paradoxical because the mist is so dense we can hardly see anything at all. An early arrival into Gambia is an option which the Captain later confirms, telling us we’ll arrive at about 1pm tomorrow. A hastily constructed schedule is printed containing lectures, a cookery demonstration, a port talk and, after the clock is moved forward an hour, a dance class in ballroom tango.
Our Banjul shore passes have been delivered. An accompanying letter tells us there is a charge of $100 for the Gambian visa. Curiously, the letter also states that guests, “without proof of a yellow fever vaccination will be charged €30 (approximately US$41) by the local health officials”.
Day 14: Sunday 25 March 2018
In the coffee lounge I chat a little with Cathal (the ‘t’ is silent), the leader of Graffiti Classics who studied at the Guildhall School of Music and started his group in 1997. This is the only life he’s known but it’s difficult for him when he’s away from his family.
Lunch provides a partial answer to the question of what happens to leftover food - breaded sole with Grandma’s bread dumplings served in a mushroom sauce. I have mine with some fish. They’re delicious and I go back for more. I should ask Grandma for the recipe.
We’re approaching the mouth of the Gambia River and the most southerly point of this cruise. The bow thrusters slow the ship and at two o’clock, after passing the Kunta Kinteh ferry boarding passengers and vehicles to take to the opposite bank, the Prinsendam pulls alongside the pier and I complete my third trans-Atlantic sea crossing. I watch on with a retired lieutenant commander from the Australian navy. His was a lengthy journey to join the ship: a three-hour train trip to Brisbane, a two-hour flight to Sydney, a fifteen-hour flight to Dubai and a sixteen-hour flight to Fort Lauderdale.
A complimentary shuttle bus will run until seven o’clock between the port and Albert Market two kilometres away. A large crowd has gathered just beyond the market at the top of the street. I don’t know what’s going on but I cross over to get a picture, and meet with disapproving looks from locals, and twitching soldiers. The presidential motorcade, comprising a ridiculous nineteen vehicles and which I nearly bring to a halt, is leaving the palace compound. The crowd waves to Adama Barrow, one-time security guard at Argos in London (to help fund his studies) and now the Gambian president.
I explore along dusty, litter-strewn streets (you’d think the president could tidy up his own backyard) to the cathedral where worshippers of all ages clad in white are just leaving after a service. A few stalls are open, but trading is quiet as it’s Sunday.
Back at the market I’m accosted by two persistent but not particularly annoying chancers: two cousins who offer to show me around for a few dollars. We head to the beach with its multi-coloured fishing boats where fishermen tend their nets, chat, smoke catfish and build or repair boats. A few metres offshore is the Koray Bey, a recently arrived Turkish powership which is contracted to help address chronic power shortages in the country.
The walk continues inland from the beach past rickety housing outside which locals sit and chat, to the King Fahad mosque where vultures perch between the twin minarets looking out across the city from the roof, and goats graze the untended, parched garden. Further on is another city landmark, Arch 22 (named for the July 1994 coup date), supported by eight columns through which one can ascend an unlit spiral staircase to the top where there’s an excellent panorama of Banjul.
Day 15: Monday 26 March 2018
It’s another hot, hazy day, but the heat is manageable. At the entrance to Albert Market I meet our Natural History lecturer and his daughter who’s just arrived and is staying on board until Barcelona. They invite me to join them. She is excited by her first experience of an African Market with its vibrant colours and hustle and bustle. She’s also very pretty which attracts the attentions of local hustlers but she isn’t made to feel particularly uncomfortable. After buying some souvenir trinkets we end up back on the beach reprising my walk of yesterday which is no less enjoyable. A crowd gathers round, as do some little children who are happy to pose for photos.
In the vicinity of Albert Market a local finds me a reliable taxi driver. Omar quotes me an acceptable price to take me to the Katchikally Crocodile Pool in his custard-coloured Mercedes. Heading out of the capital we turn off the Banjul Serre Kunda Highway, pass over part of the Tanbi Wetlands and enter the dusty town of Bakau, the location of the site held sacred by locals. There’s a very lifelike carving of a crocodile just inside the entrance. I have a closer look. Oops! It isn’t a carving….. Sarjo, one of the guides at the sanctuary, leads me to the pool where at least two or three dozen crocodiles swim or laze at the water’s edge. Under his guidance I nervously approach them and am even encouraged to stroke them - gently. Before leaving I look round the museum by the entrance showcasing local culture, whilst keeping a lookout for the roaming reptiles.
The Graffiti Classics show is much better received this evening. You have to admire any group that can put Charlie Daniels and Pachelbel in the same performance. Cathal’s exaggerated display of boredom in the latter, induced by having to constantly play “the same bloody eight notes” in the famous canon goes down very well.
Day 16: Tuesday 27 March 2018
Today it’s much cooler today than yesterday even though we’ve travelled less than 200 miles north to reach Dakar. The shuttle takes us to the Place de l’Independence where, after changing some money into local francs, I bump into Jim the Piano Man for whom this is a first trip to Africa. As a veteran of African markets I offer to accompany him to the nearby Marché Kermel. He’s fascinated by the hubbub where, thankfully, the hassle is manageable. We chat with a trader selling musical instruments who shows Jim a balafon (wooden xylophone) and a kalimba (thumb piano) and, after much negotiation with me acting as interpreter (Ah, non. Desolé. C’est trop cher!), Jim buys the latter for $20, a third of the initial asking price, leaving both buyer and seller very happy.
It’s a 20-minute ferry ride to Goree Island which, from the 15th to the 19th century, was the largest slave-trading centre on the African coast. A local guide explains that the slave trade lasted for 400 years with twenty million Africans being traded (principally the Yoruba and Mandinka tribes) of which six million died. Such statistics are incomprehensible. I wish I’d allowed more time to explore the narrow streets, colonial houses and fort before having to head back.
The pierside market is still in full swing with a huge array of wooden carvings, leather goods and clothing. I look at some printed cotton shirts and try on one decorated with figurines and musical instruments. Oh yes. That will do very nicely - a fine replacement for the colourful shirt I bought here many years ago, and ruined shortly after in the wash.
Tonight’s featured entertainment is saxophonist and pianist Craig Richard for whom it took four flights and twenty-two hours to get to Banjul from the Seychelles. He’s a former contestant on American Ninja Warrior and occasional support artist to Kenny G, and plays beautifully but talks far too much. The arts and crafts instructor tells me later she went out to the bathroom when he started talking after finishing a piece of music and he was still talking when she got back. His constant harping on about his love for his parents and how his dad is his best friend makes me reach for the sick bucket.
Day 17: Wednesday 28 March 2018
The crepe, pancake and French toast guy displays disarming honesty when I ask, “How are you today?”
“Tired,” he says.
They must all be - the cooked-breakfast girl greets me with, Good morning, Madame.”
One of the dance regulars, a long-time widow who walks with difficulty but will occasionally dance a side-to-side sway, is reading The Vacationers by Emma Straub in the cool of the Ocean Bar. It’s the current read from the ship’s Book Club Meets and she recommends it. I haven’t even opened the novel I brought with - there’s so much to read in the ship’s library. I enjoy settling back into one of the plush armchairs on a seaday like today, putting my feet up and flicking through some of the travel or current affairs magazines.
Tonight it’s Gala African Night and everyone is more African than Gala, so I wear a black shirt and bowtie with my tux for my Africa By Night look. Why isn’t the party up on the open deck?
Day 18: Thursday 29 March 2018
This afternoon’s highlight isn’t the lecture on The Natural History of the Canary Islands or the Rumba dance class. It’s later, whilst nibbling tortilla chips, salsa and guacamole when I hear, “Dolphins! Dolphins!” I dash back to the cabin for my camera and head for the Promenade Deck watching transfixed as a pod accompanies the ship.
At the second dance session a perpetually happy passenger is even happier than usual whilst her feet move in various uncoordinated directions. She’s just finished a seven-course dinner where each course was paired with a different wine. I tell her she should have had the previous dance - that was a Samba which includes a Drunken Sailor step. She looks at me disapprovingly, then starts giggling.
Day 19: Friday 30 March 2018
It’s cool and cloudy as we dock in Santa Cruz, the main town of the island of La Palma. Are we in still in Africa, or Europe? Politically, the Canary Islands are part of Spain, but after leaving the islands in a few days we’ll be heading north to Agadir, then even further north to Casablanca, and they’re indisputably in Africa.
Whilst exploring narrow alleyways with pretty, wooden balconies draped with crimson cloth I hear the beating of drums. Crowds watch on silently as the Good Friday noonday procession solemnly wends its way along the main street of Calle O’Daly and past the cathedral. At its head, carrying incense burners, the faithful march in white robes bound by a crimson sash, crimson cloaks, and pointed crimson hoods embroidered with the shield of the brotherhood, their feet bound by chains. Behind, carrying the bier atop which is Christ crucified, are more of the faithful in white robes bound by a gold sash, green cloaks, and green hoods bearing a crimson cross. In Latin, Greek and Hebrew a sign proclaims, “Jesus the Nazarene, King of the Jews.” Behind them, a slow-marching band of men and children in navy and crimson plays a death march with trumpets and drums past silent crowds.
The grey overcast conditions give way to bright sunshine as the hourly guagua emerges from the clouds and drops over across the spine of the mountains to the western side of the island. The colonial town of El Paso is as pretty as I’d hoped. The bus stop is by the small, terraced Jardin El Paredon, with a bust of the town’s founder at its heart. Opposite is Jardin La Era and across the main street, the town hall behind which is the casco historico, a joy to walk around in the blazing sunshine with its decorated murals; cobbled, hilly streets; terracotta-tiled rooves and gardens with quirky sculptures.
As we drive back, a stupendous waterfall of cloud gently cascades down the side of the Cumbra Nueva ridge that divides the two halves of the island. It’s an astonishing sight and anyone with a camera on the bus is taking photos. We enter the mountain tunnel and emerge back into the much cooler, grey and overcast eastern half of the island.
We have a new Captain who will be with the ship until Lisbon where a third Captain will take her back to Fort Lauderdale. We’ll arrive early in Tenerife tomorrow, at about 1am, to allow for maintenance work on the stern thruster.
Tonight is the Seder Dinner, held in the Lido restaurant portside which has been beautifully laid out with flowers, white tablecloths and napkins, ceremonial platters, and menu scrolls by every plate. There must be almost 100 people attending. The ceremony is open to all and, led by Rabbi Starr, one of the onboard chaplains, lasts for three hours. Stories of the flight from Egypt accompanied by religious insight and traditional songs, food and wine, and lively conversation (for many this is a new experience) all make for an extremely enjoyable experience.
Day 20: Saturday 31 March 2018
Another day, another Santa Cruz, but this time, de Tenerife where we have an overnight stay. At the pedestrian exit on the promenade lies the site where the San Pedro Fort once stood, helping to repulse the attacks of three English Admirals: Blake in 1657, Jennings in 1706 and Nelson in 1797. This is referenced also at the Museo de la Naturaleza y el Hombre located just across the Santos Ravine and housed in an impressive neo-classical building. The display explains that the city’s coat of arms features three lions representing those three victories. I imagine the irony of this is lost on most England football fans. Amongst many fascinating items the museum houses an extensive collection of Guanche artifacts and mummies, remnants of the aboriginal inhabitants a thousand years ago who may have migrated from North Africa. It’s sobering to learn that their life expectancy was just thirty years.
By good fortune I arrive at the bus station only minutes before a guagua departs for the town of La Orotava, and there are fine views of Mount Teide along the way. It’s a short walk up to the historic centre where turning the corner onto Calle Calvario gives a stunning view of the snow-dusted mountain in the sunshine. The historic centre is outstandingly beautiful, from the magnificent Town Hall Plaza to the 17th century House of Balconies and the 18th century Church of the Concepcion with its dome and cupola (built over the ruins of the original church destroyed by earthquakes). In Plaza Patricio Garcia behind the church sits the Homenaje Al Alfombrista (Homage to Carpetfitters) statue as the town is famous for creating carpets of flower petals for Corpus Christi.
An overnight stay means a local performance on-board, at 9.30 in the show lounge, by Fuego, a flamenco troupe. Disappointingly, there are no live musicians, just recorded music. I’ve seen better at Alba Flamenca during the Edinburgh Festival.
Day 21: Sunday 01 April 2018
Today is cloudier and cooler than yesterday, but it’s still short-sleeve weather. I head past the fountain and pool of Plaza Espana to the Iglesia de la Concepcion and find a colourful flea market in full swing at the cobblestone Plaza Mellado. Close by is the Auditorio Tenerife, inaugurated in 2003 and which, from a distance, evokes the Sydney Opera House. The whole of the seaward side opens to give those enjoying a drink in the bar a fabulous view of the ocean. The upper walkways on the opposite side are open to the elements giving uninterrupted views to the mountains of the interior.
I take the Tranvia up to the pretty colonial town of La Laguna, wondering at the engineering that allows such steep inclines to be negotiated by tramrail. I don’t try and follow any tourist map but just enjoy wandering the streets looking at garden plazas and pastel-coloured colonial buildings, arriving at Plaza de la Concepcion where the eponymous 16th-century church and 17th-century tower stands. I don’t see any familiar faces from the ship, but it is late afternoon. It’s the best part of the day as the sun comes out and the town looks even prettier. Sitting on a bench in front of the church listening to people chattering as they walk past or sitting outside bars and cafés opposite is very relaxing.
Back in Santa Cruz, beyond the archway of the old Alameda by the pool and fountain, children sing and dance led by a couple of local women, “Mueve la cabeza, mueve la cintura…” A girl passes by wearing a t-shirt that says, “I have NOTHING to wear”. It’s time to leave and, as we drift past Cunard’s Queen Victoria, officers on the bridge and passengers on their balconies wave to us.
Day 22: Monday 02 April 2018
We’ve arrived in Arrecife, the capital of the sub-tropical desert island of Lanzarote. The earlier rain has cleared and it’s a beautiful, clear, sunny, warm day. Last time I was here I took an excursion round the island and saw nothing of Arrecife. This time I’ll explore the whitewashed town following the map given to me at the Tourist Information office in the marina.
I buy too many hats on my travels, but I spot one with a wide brim that I particularly like in one of the souvenir shops that line the promenade. I’ve forgotten the Spanish word for ‘mirror’.
“Spiegel?” asks the Chinese girl serving in the shop.
I’m not wearing lederhosen, but no matter. “Como se dice ‘spiegel’ en Espanol?”
“Espeja.”
A look in the espeja confirms that it’s a fine hat and suits me. It’s a steal at only 5 euros. It’ll probably just sit in the wardrobe back home with all the others.
The Puente de las Bolas leads to the 16th century Castillo de San Gabriel on a small promontory, guarded by two cannons and now housing the history museum. Further along, the octagonal wooden bandstand now serves as the main Tourist Information Centre and beyond that, male foursomes are seated at tables playing dominoes watched by interested spectators comprising locals and the odd tourist.
The small El Reducto beach is as far as I walk, resting in the shade for a few minutes before retracing my steps. A statue at the beginning of Calle Real looks out to the promenade and the ocean, in homage to a popular local personality: Heraclio Mesa, a former wrestling champion known as El Pollo de Arrecife. (Being known as a chicken, curiously, seems to have been a badge of honour for many local wrestlers.) He was also an actor and featured in One Million Years BC with Raquel Welch which was filmed on the island. Nearby, resembling a Spanish mission, is the pretty, whitewashed Iglesia de San Gines founded in 1574, rebuilt in 1665 after flooding, with the bell tower added in 1842.
Dozens of small fishing boats dot the lagoon across from the marina. Surrounded by blue and white buildings with the mountains as a backdrop, it looks picture-postcard perfect. I can’t linger too long as the all-aboard time is half past three. As we move away the Captain tells us that fishing nets were removed from the propeller whilst we were docked in Tenerife.
Tonight’s show features Jesse Kazemek in A Tribute To The Beatles - an uninspiring performance of insipid songs characterised by a general inability to hit the higher notes. He introduces his wife (and best friend - pass the sick bucket) whose contribution to the show brings the performance to a new low.
Day 23: Tuesday 03 April 2018
We dock at Agadir at seven o’clock on a bright, warm morning. For those that wish, the ship offers an overnight trip to Marrakesh, rejoining the ship tomorrow evening in Casablanca. For those not taking the trip, the all-aboard time is (a disappointingly early) 1.30pm. The complementary shuttle brings us to Bijaoane Square where local children are taking an outdoor art class with their easels set up in a circle. I’m quoted prices ranging between 40 and 50 Euros for a taxi ride to see the famous tree-climbing goats chowing down on the fruit of the argan tree, but as it’s perhaps a 40 km trip each way I’m not inclined to risk it with such an early departure time. Next time.
I ask a patrolman on the beach to explain the Arabic words carved into a distant hillside. They’re the motto of the county - “Al-lah, Al-malik, Al-watan. Le dieu, le roi, le peuple.”
A hawker selling raspberries approaches. I buy a pack as they’ll go nicely with some ice-cream back on the ship. A few moments later a local boy approaches. He’s hungry, so I give him the punnet.
Tonight it’s Arabian Night and the monkeys outside La Fontaine are seated on embroidered cushions in an Arabian tea house, sheeshas at the ready. A few passengers have gone to town, looking like characters straight out of the Arabian Nights. How many suitcases must they bring with them, and why isn’t the party out on deck?
The ship is very noisy tonight. I can’t fathom it.
Day 24: Wednesday 04 April 2018
I wonder what or where the ‘white house’ is, or was, that gave Casablanca its name. It’s exciting to be in this famous city, but is it only famous because of the movie which wasn’t shot within 5000 miles of here? The all-aboard time is 9.30 this evening so there’s plenty of time, unlike yesterday, to explore away from the city.
The shuttle drops us off at United Nations Square a mile and a half away. In the cool of the nearby Hyatt Regency I sink into one of the plush settees and spend as short a time as possible checking emails. The hotel is just across the road from the Bab Marrakesh where I nearly get run over by a handcart - I’m lost in the sights of the market and the ramparts of the medina and not paying attention to where I’m going. I apologise to the extremely annoyed cart man.
Casa Port train station is a bright, airy and modern station and trains to the political capital of Rabat run every half hour with the journey to Rabat-Ville station taking just over an hour. It may be very warm for me but locals are wearing padded gilets, pullovers or jackets. It’s a scenic ride in comfortable seats, and pounding ocean waves can be made out in the distance, but I can’t get a clean photo through dirty windows.
Turning left out the station along the Avenue Mohammed V lined with palm trees is the parliament building, whilst in the opposite direction lies the Sunnah Mosque, the biggest in Rabat, where unfortunately heathens are not allowed in. Back at the station hawkers are selling tissues and I buy a pack for two dirhams from a blind man before catching a tram to the ivory-coloured mausoleum of Mohammed V. It stands opposite the minaret of the Hassan Tower, left incomplete since the death of its architect in 1199. Separating the two is a wide plaza of stone columns and beyond are vistas to the ocean. Fierce-looking guards in scarlet tunic and scarlet trousers tucked in at the ankles (plus eights?), cream cape and blue hat look down on us disapprovingly. Inside the mausoleum, equally impressively dressed guards wearing shades of green (the traditional colour of Islam) and a solemn demeanour watch over the marble sarcophagi of the first king of an independent Morocco, and his two sons.
A short tram ride across the Bou Regreg river lies the ancient city of Salé, a former pirate haven and where demonstrations against French rule eventually led to the country’s independence. Opposite the station are the city’s battlements and through its gates lies the medina - a jumble of narrow streets, flower-bedecked alleyways, bustling traffic (automotive and human), crumbling buildings, and stalls crammed with trays of fragrant spices and sackloads of legumes.
Returning to Casablanca, a 40-dirham (approximately $10) taxi ride brings me to the Grand Mosque where waves reflecting brilliant sunlight crash against the sea wall. I’m shooed away from the women’s section at the base of the world’s tallest minaret to the men’s section where, leaving my sandals outside, I can peer inside at the great, carved marble pillars and immense woven carpet averting my eyes from those engaged in private devotion.
I walk back to Rick’s Café (a case of life imitating art) only to find it closed for a private function. It lies on the edge of the medina which is fascinating to walk through with its busy narrow streets, whitewashed buildings and small shops.
Ding-dong! Immediately the band stops playing and the Ocean Bar falls silent. The Captain explains that there have been big swells all day, the mooring ropes have broken several times and the thrusters have been operating constantly. Currently there are four-metre swells which means it’s going to be a very wobbly evening so everyone should be particularly careful and grab hand rails wherever possible. Dancing is too risky so we sit it out and listen to the band.
Day 25: Thursday 05 April 2018
The 45-degree Rock of Gibraltar looks spectacular in the midday sun as we sail in whilst behind us, the peaks of the Atlas Mountains can be made out. There is an immense amount of building going on which includes land reclamation from the sea. I wonder if the Spanish are doing something similar at Ceuta.
This is a first visit for the arts and crafts teacher, but my fourth. Is there anything new for me to see? The number 4 bus from the Casemates Gates, destination - World’s End, offers an intriguing option and, in case we’re early for the apocalypse, we buy all-day tickets. Our optimism is well-founded - Armageddon is a whitewashed apartment complex set on a small, clean beach at the base of the rock with views across to Africa.
Not surprisingly, it’s very breezy by the Europa Lighthouse at the most southerly point of mainland Europe where the lighthouse keeper tends his pot plants in the most southerly sheltered garden in mainland Europe. Something that’s new since my last visit is the Sikorski monument, dedicated to the former Polish Prime Minister killed here in a plane crash in 1943. It’s been relocated between the lighthouse and Harding’s Battery from the airfield to make it more accessible for visitors.
A group of us are enjoying antipasti in Canaletto, the stern section of the Lido Buffet that becomes an Italian restaurant by night where my companion for the day tells us that a passenger had to be taken off today with breathing difficulties. She’s incredulous that the husband opted to stay onboard, hoping to meet up with his wife in Valencia where doctors told him she should be able to rejoin the ship. She’s even more incredulous that one or two of the menfolk don’t share her incredulity. Mars and Venus, eh?
A fine day ends up in the Crow’s Nest where the dance instructors demonstrate to the late-night regulars how to do the Lambeth Walk (a jaunty promenade with thumbs firmly inserted in collar lapels) whilst Jim accompanies them on the piano.
Day 26: Friday 06 April 2018
I’ve only just noticed that all the waiters wear wine cups, although I didn’t know what the metal medallion-like things they wore round their necks were until I asked. I thought they were spittoons.
Tonight is White Night and I spend half an hour before the first session of dancing trying to tie my cream jacquard bowtie before giving up, although a second attempt after the dancing is successful. Everyone wears something white (including the stuffed monkeys who sport white top hats and bowties) and the restaurant and Ocean Bar are decorated with white lanterns and streamers.
This evening’s featured entertainer is flautist Andrea Amat. I wonder if wind players actually have a preponderance to suffer from wind - it would certainly explain their many peculiar facial expressions during a performance.
Day 27: Saturday 07 April 2018
My last port of call before disembarking tomorrow: Valencia, a city I’ve never visited previously. The shuttle brings us to the 16th century Serranos bridge where, across the road on a tiny traffic island is a stone archway with two millstones at its base. The plaque reads, “Soc l’arc del Moli de la Torreta” which might indicate the remnants of a gateway to an old flour mill. I wonder why it’s been preserved.
The bridge across the dry river bed leads to the twin towers of the 14th century Serranos Gateway, a gothic fort guarding the old city where many precious works of art from Madrid’s museums were stored during the Spanish Civil War. Pausing to write some diary notes above the archway my entrance ticket flutters away in the breeze, landing somewhere between the two immense iron-studded wooden doors and offering the chance of a free entry to another visitor.
Narrow streets lined with tall buildings in shades of ochre and white with wrought iron balconies provide shade from the sun, or would do if today wasn’t cloudy. In the Placa de Manises is the 15th century gothic palace of the Valencian Government with its gilded ceilings and lush furnishings, the first of many handsome buildings I explore. Its garden housed an air raid shelter built to protect against repeated Francoist bombings of the city during the civil war, but is now adorned with shrubs, flowers and lemon trees. Just beyond is the Plaza de la Virgen with the Fuente del Turia at its centre. The fountain depicts a reclining Neptune surrounded by naked women and referencing the Turia river in ancient times with its eight irrigation ditches that fed La Vega de Valencia, the city’s vale of fields and meadows. Behind the fountain are the rectangular, pink-faced Basilica de le Virgen next to the circular, sand-coloured Catedral de Santa Maria with an immense hexagram in the Rose Window above the doorway.
The twisting streets of the old town are perfect for aimless wanderings and fortunately the hint of rain in the air doesn’t develop into anything worse. My ambling brings me to the Horchateria Santa Catalina, opposite the church and tower of the same name. This long-established café, famed for its colourful decorative tiles produced in the nearby town of Manises, is named for the eponymous Valencian drink, usually made from the milk of tiger nuts (that’s not a euphemism) and whose innumerable health-giving properties include (according to their website) expelling flatulence and fortifying the bowels. Perhaps the café buys the tiger nuts from the nearby iron and glass Central Market. The vast market looks like a railway station from the outside, especially when at first glance the word “Central” is so predominant and only on much closer inspection can the word “Mercat” be made out.
Where the two main avenues of Maria Christina and San Vincent Martir meet is the Plaza Ayuntamiento with the ivory-coloured grand town hall facing an only mildly less grand central post office building with its ionic columns, arches, and allegorical figures above the entrance. Heading away from the plaza down a pedestrian passageway, a thunderous noise comes from the direction of the bullring. Trumpets and drums, and cries of “Es-pa-ña! Es-pa-ña!!” echo and reverberate to spur on Spain in the second day of their quarter final Davis Cup match against Germany. For those of us too cheap to pay there’s a gap in the fencing that gives a clear view of the net play in the doubles match.
Day 28: Sunday 08 April 2018
A fine end to a fine holiday, in the company of some wonderful people, ends in cold and wet Barcelona. Our Natural History lecturer and his daughter have also disembarked. She’s returning home to Canada but he’s heading back to Cape Verde to follow in the footsteps of Charles Darwin, visiting the island of Santiago where we weren’t able to dock, and the volcanically active island of Fogo. The bus to the airport should be here in a few moments (according to the courier) which leads our Canadian friend to pose the question, “How long is a moment?”
Dismissing all answers he explains that, from a scientific perspective, it’s ninety seconds. I ask the courier for her perspective.
“Cuanto tiempo, en Espana, es ‘un momento’? Mas que un minuto, o menos?”
“Depende” she replies evasively.
“Generalmente.”
“Generalmente? Mas.”
The coach arrives (after several more moments) and as suitcases are being loaded, I try again.
“Si ‘un momento’ is mas que un minuto, cuanto tiempo es ‘un momentito’?”
“Debe ser, menos,” she says with a smile.
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Other diaries (on other cruise lines - links correct at time of posting):
1) Southeast Asia
https://boards.cruisecritic.co.uk/showthread.php?t=2489353
2) Macaronesia
http://boards.cruisecritic.co.uk/showthread.php?t=2338971
3) Yangtze River
http://boards.cruisecritic.com/showthread.php?p=45291903
4) Iberia
https://boards.cruisecritic.co.uk/showthread.php?p=39622099#post39622099
5) Channel Ports
http://boards.cruisecritic.com/showthread.php?t=1858505
6) Southampton to New York
https://boards.cruisecritic.co.uk/showthread.php?t=1770405
7) Turkish Riviera on a Gulet
https://boards.cruisecritic.co.uk/showthread.php?t=1792071
8) Western Mediterranean
https://boards.cruisecritic.com/showthread.php?t=1669814
9) Arabia to India
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This is a diary of a Southeast Asian odyssey straddling the Equator that may be of some interest to those thinking of travelling from the Andaman Sea to Indonesia. After reading it myself though, I doubt it…
It’s late September and a letter arrives from the travel agency -
We are very sorry to be writing to you to cancel your upcoming cruise ‘An Insight into Indonesia’, scheduled to sail on 6 December 2016 from Singapore… Our engineers have identified a technical issue… a shipyard in Singapore that has expertise in such work… we wish to pass on our sincere apologies…
Well this is a fine how-do-you-do, I must say! After excessive dithering bordering on trithering, and assurances that the subsequent sailing, which at least includes one port of call in Indonesia, will still go ahead as scheduled, I opt for that.
Tuesday 20/12/2016
Having the middle seat on a full flight from London to Kuala Lumpur is a joyless experience but the time somehow passes even if I don’t manage to sleep. The cold and grey of England is replaced by hot and sunny weather - a most agreeable start to a Xmas cruise. Our guide for the coach transfer to the ship advises us to ask for the Port Klang Cruise Centre if we get lost, rather than its official name - the Boustead Cruise Centre. It takes 75 minutes to get there, is located in the middle of nowhere, is over 50 kilometres from both the airport and the centre of Kuala Lumpur and 20 kilometres from the nearest railway station at Port Klang, and there’s no public transportation available (only taxis).
The only other time I sailed with Voyages of Discovery (five years ago, from Egypt to India) the Captain began his speech at the farewell cocktail party with "This has been a challenging cruise…" I wonder what this adventure will bring.
The first thing it brings, after a quick exploration of the ship, is a very pleasant surprise - the same Filipino cabin steward as last time. Well though I remember Efren, nothing about the ship seems familiar: the library, the promenade deck, the lobby… He explains that’s because this ship is Voyager and my earlier cruise was on Discovery.
The literature waiting for me in my cabin on deck 4 includes the daily newsletter which contains an insert about the guest speakers (including a marine environmentalist and two historians), activity tutors, the ship’s theatre company, and a welcome note from the ship’s liaison for single travellers.
Dinner in the Discovery Restaurant astern is delicious and beautifully presented: Norwegian Gravadlax with a Horseradish Cream and Red Onion Rings, Cream of Pumpkin and Potato Soup with Spring Onion, Fried Crispy Spring Roll (on Asian Vegetables with a Mango and Plum sauce), and I can forgive a Warm Apple Crumble with Calvados Sauce which required sharper apple and much more crumble. I chat a little with another solo - she was also originally booked on the cancelled cruise.
Wednesday 21/12/2016
Kuala Lumpur is the national capital of Malaysia and financially and culturally is the beating heart of the country. Kuala Lumpur probably means "muddy confluence" and the vibrant city lies on the River Klang, and at the point where the Klang meets the River Gombak, the first settlements grew in the early 19th century. Oral history; however, records a much earlier civilisation of the people of the Klang, reputedly descended from the inhabitants of a moon-like planet who nourished themselves with green soup and blue string pudding, and spoke only in whistles.
Our guide for the long drive into Kuala Lumpur, like most guides, has interesting information to impart, if perhaps a little too much. Malaya gained its independence in 1957 and became Malaysia after Saba and Sarawak joined the federation in 1963, whilst Singapore left to become an independent city-state in 1965. He talks about the three predominant communities: Indians, Chinese and Malays, how the Muslim state works, and ends with useful tourist information. Our drop-off and pick-up point is at the imaginatively named "Lot 10" in Bukit Bintang, a major shopping district. Thoughtfully, he hands out his card in case we run into any problems.
I didn’t know KL had a monorail. There’s a stop right above us. The train doesn’t go to the twin towers but, no matter, I’ll go to the stop that’s nearest. Bukit Nanas is a 15-minute walk from the spectacular, glass and steel, tubular Petronas Towers with their famous connecting skybridge. Across the road are lesser twin skyscrapers with foliage trailing from top to bottom, also connected by a skybridge. I take loads of photos from the street side, walk through the central lobby of the Suria KLCC upmarket shopping centre and take lots more photos from the park on the opposite side with its walkways, lake fountain and tropical garden. It’s hot. I need a hat.
A 15-Ringit taxi ride brings me to the National Monument, designed by American sculptor Felix de Weldon and evoking another of his works, the Iwo Jima memorial. It is sited at one end of the Lake Gardens, now known as the Perdana Botanical Gardens, the green lung of the city. Despite the heat I try walking to the Bird Park, take a wrong turn, flag down a ranger and hitch a ride on his motorbike as he kindly brings me to "The World’s Largest Free-Flight Walk-In Aviary", according to my orange wristband. It’s so hot that salty sweat drips into my eyes making them sting. I really need a hat. It’s an enjoyable experience seeing pelicans and peacocks, emus and hornbills, flamingos and parrots, and the bird show at the amphitheatre, before heading back through the waterfall and the Flamingo Pond.
The grassy expanse of Merdeka Square is where the Union Flag was lowered, and the Malayan flag raised for the very first time at midnight on 31st August 1957. The square is flanked on one side by the beautiful pink and rose-hued Sultan Abdul Samad Building (named for a former Sultan of Selangor) with its clock tower, copper domes and colonnades that once housed the country’s superior courts. Its Indo-Saracenic design contrasts with the red-roofed, mock-Tudor style of the Royal Selangor Club opposite where unfortunately I can’t pop into the old cricket clubhouse for a drink because there’s a guard at the desk where a sign proclaims, “100% membership check today”.
Behind the Sultan Abdul Samad Building is the confluence of the rivers where the first settlements were established and nearby is the pedestrianised Kasturi Walk housing a flea market and the adjacent Central Market, where I fail to find a suitable wide-brimmed hat …but succeed in doing so in one of the shops back at the Boondocks Cruise Centre.
After the muster drill, I relax on the pool deck with a cup of tea as we sail away past mighty cranes and rusty container vessels on our way to Penang, 210 nautical miles distant and about which there’s a port talk imminently. It’s actually a recording as the port lecturer had an accident and cancelled his cruise at the last minute, but the information about Penang, and our second call, Phuket, is informative and interesting. Curiously, some passengers feel compelled to applaud at the conclusion of the recorded talk.
Whilst enjoying a delicious dinner up in the Veranda Restaurant I’m joined by the dance teachers who are staying on for the next two-week cruise also. There are only four sea-days scheduled for this cruise so they’ll be doing more hosting than teaching. They met at Gatwick on their way to the Caribbean. He was travelling as a dance host and she was a passenger, and when the computerised check-in broke down he hosted an impromptu salsa session. I chat with them about experiences working with other cruise lines, which have all proved to be enjoyable, until they have to leave to host the pre-show social dancing.
After an average show, a better-than-average day ends with some late night nibbles out on the pool deck where the 24-hour hot drinks station is located, as we drift along warm, balmy waters up the Straits of Malacca.
Thursday 22/12/2016
George Town on Penang Island has a fascinating history and the influences of Europe and Asia have endowed the city with a multi-culturalism whose significance places it on UNESCO’s World Heritage List. Penang was one of the Straits Settlements, acquired as British territories for their naval and commercial opportunities in the Malay Archipelago, and so named after several longstanding legal disputes between a group of music publishers and Mark Knopfler were finally resolved there.
There’s a card under my door inviting me to a Single Traveller’s Breakfast at 8:30 tomorrow. The position of the apostrophe implies that they don’t expect anyone else.
This morning’s port-of-call presentation is about Langkawi - the island and the archipelago. So many things to see and do, and so little time. Afterwards our naturalist gives a lecture about local marine life telling us what we might see on our voyage.
Right on schedule, at noon, we arrive at Malaysia’s second city, George Town on Penang Island. The KOMTAR Tower dominates the skyline whilst small, covered fishing boats providing a more traditional foreground. There’s a very-reasonably-priced Hop On Hop Off tourist bus but services every 75 minutes are a tad too infrequent for me. I consider the offers of a few not-particularly-persistent taxi drivers before deciding to explore on my own, and try and visit places I didn’t see on my previous visit 15 years ago.
Just outside the terminal building is the Queen Victoria Memorial Clock Tower topped with a Moorish golden dome cupola, standing at a height of 60 feet to commemorate her Diamond Jubilee. Opposite, with its cannons facing out to sea across the esplanade and promenade, are the walls of Fort Cornwallis. It’s a hot, sunny day, with more than a smattering of thick white clouds under a bright, blue sky.
One of the locals advises me to take the free municipal bus to the KOMTAR bus terminal from where it’s a 30-minute wait and a 40-minute, 2-Ringit ride on the No. 204 to Bukit Bendera and the Penang Hill Railway. A couple of independent travellers from the ship are also on the bus and I join them.
The only way to avoid the immense queue for the funicular is to pay the 100% premium for the fast lane. Unfortunately, rain and low cloud at the top of the hill means there’s no point in looking around, so it’s straight back down again - once we work out where the fast lane is. With all these tourists I can’t see how locals ever get the chance to use the railway.
The rain has eased a little as we board a bus for the short ride to the vast complex of the hill-top Kek Lok Si, the largest Buddhist temple in Malaysia, which we passed earlier. The walkway through a colourful array of stalls selling trinkets and local products leads up to the Turtle Pond and a garden pavilion beyond, with its centrepiece of the 7-tier pagoda comprising Chinese, Thai and Burmese architecture, and surrounded by a rainbow of lanterns, statues, boulder carvings and prayer halls at the entrance of which are wishing ribbons and joss sticks. An inclined lift brings us to the top of the complex and the God of Mercy bronze statue surrounded by hanging lanterns, gardens, temples and carvings of beasts of the forest.
We share a taxi back to Georgetown in the pouring rain past the offices of the Moral Uplifting Society, and the WCC - the Women’s Centre for (the?) Change. My travelling companions want to visit the whitewashed St. George’s Church with its portico of Doric columns, whereas my preference is for physical rather than spiritual sustenance, and coffee and cake on the seafront lawn (the longest in the world in its time) at the historic Eastern & Oriental Hotel. A taxi brings me back to the ship although I could have walked it as it wasn’t far and the heat is much less oppressive after the rain.
Plaques commemorating the ship’s maiden call at ports all round the world are displayed outside the Sunset Lounge and the Veranda Restaurant. From Puerto Limon in Costa Rica comes the wish that the ship, "…sail on smooth seas gently fondled by calm winds". Further favourable fondling is expressed in an extravagantly worded presentation from the Bolivarian Republic of Venezuela commemorating the first visit to La Isla de Margarita, "Con motivo de su visita a la Patria Grande de Bolivar, libertador de seis naciones, y en agradecimiento por su constancia y preferencis al momento de elegirnos como puerto turistico…"
Dinner in the Discovery Restaurant is delicious. Our maritime historian sits across from me. He will give talks on Captain Cook’s Christmases on his three world voyages; a murderous history of the Batavia; and the story of rubber. I’ll look forward to those. I won’t; however, look forward to another encounter with the travel bore on my left holding court describing incidents of deep dullness in places you haven’t visited, and trampling over any attempt at shared experiences of the places you have (such as visiting Freddie Mercury’s house in Zanzibar).
How long can I keep up with the light breakfasts and skipping lunch before succumbing to the cruise curse - arriving as a passenger and leaving as cargo? Probably until the first sea-day, I imagine. It’s warm, mildly breezy and mildly humid, and the hum of the engine is the only indicator of movement on the gentle Andaman Sea. Clocks go back one hour tonight.
Friday 23/12/2016
The island of Phuket is the largest in Thailand whose original prosperity derived from its position on the trade routes between India and China. Nowadays, the Pearl of the Andaman Sea is world famous as a major tourist destination. The island was originally known as Thalong, and the name Phuket gradually gained common currency during the reign of King Chulalongkorn. His summer retreat was on the island and visiting diplomats, when informed that they were expected to greet the revered ruler by his full name of Phra Bat Somdet Phra Poraminthra Maha Chulalongkorn Phra Chunla Chom Klao Chao Yu Hua, were often heard muttering…. an expletive.
Another noonday arrival means that there are interesting lectures in the morning. Firstly there is a port lecture presentation on multi-cultural Malacca, followed by a lecture on the East India Company and East-West Trade, where we learn that France, Sweden, Russia, Britain, the Netherlands, Portugal and other countries besides all had East India companies.
One day I might actually explore the island of Phuket, but today, as on my previous visit, I’m taking a boat trip. Last time it was to the legendary Phi-Phi islands (which incidentally is what the toilet on our boat should only be used for), whilst today’s trip is to the equally legendary Phang-Nga Bay. The skies are grey and drizzly, and the water a little choppy, but the weather improves greatly as we approach a myriad karsts after about an hour. It seems as if the limestone stacks have just exploded out of the sea, and perhaps they have. The scenery is tremendous as we make our way to James Bond Island, around which we have a scenic cruise. Twenty minutes later we stop at the island of Koh Panyi with its houses built on stilts. It’s the home of Panyee FC, a remarkable team famous for its floating football pitch built by local children out of planks of wood attached to fish cages. After wandering the island and clambering partway up the karst forest to take in the views, I send a postcard back to Blighty from possibly the remotest post office in Thailand. Our final stop before leaving the national park and heading back to choppier open waters is in the shelter of one of the stacks to allow time for a little swimming.
As we wait for the bus to take us back to the ship (all of three minutes away), I read the biography of the father of the Thai Navy, Prince Abhakara Kiartiwonges, the twenty-eighth child of King Chulalongkorn the Great, inscribed on a marble plaque below his statue.
At the pre-show dancing in the Darwin Lounge a senior passenger sports an alarmingly low-cut cocktail dress with her belly protruding significantly further than her mammaries. The subsequent concert given by the classical duo on violin and piano, playing classics such as Massenet’s Meditation from Thais (the inspiration for The Gadfly), helps me to recover.
Clocks go back, I mean forward, I mean back to what they were yesterday, I mean two days ago because it’s long after midnight when I write these notes in the cabin. I need to get my head in gear because tomorrow is another port of call. Not tomorrow, I mean today - later on this morning. Help!
Saturday 24/12/2016
The sun-kissed island of Langkawi off Malaysia’s northwest coast is set in a glorious turquoise sea and offers the visitor jungle-clad mountains, beautiful beaches fringed with swaying coconut trees, and mangrove forest. It is the largest in an archipelago of 99 islands, and this is reflected in the island’s flag featuring an ice-cream cone with a chocolate flake through the middle.
A few drivers tout for business in a hassle-free way by the Star Cruises jetty. The ship has put on a shuttle service to Pantai Chenang but I hitch a life there from the adjacent Resort World in a beat-up van driven by Chris, an engineer from Switzerland who’s lived on Langkawi Island for four years. It’s very hot and very sunny and the shimmering white-sand beach is beautiful. At least I had the good sense to bring my hat with me.
Back on the main street where there is light traffic and heavy construction I sit with a group of taxi drivers until another fare comes along to share a ride to the Oriental Village and the SkyCab cable car. Feng is a pilot with Shenzhen Airlines and originally from Chengdu, famous for its panda centre and where I spent an enjoyable Xmas Day three years ago. His international flights are around the Far East and he prefers Airbus to Boeing - its bigger cockpit and advanced avionics makes it easier for the pilot.
The premium for the express lane for the Skycab more than doubles the regular fare, but it’s worth it to avoid the 1-2 hour queue. Unlike Penang, today is bright and clear and it’s gloriously scenic taking the steepest cable car ride on the planet up to Middle Station and onto Top Station at the summit of Mount Machinchang, 708 metres above sea level. A short but exhilarating walk through the mountain forest brings us out onto the SkyBridge: the world’s longest free-span curved bridge with its tremendous views across the island and down to the sea.
Considering Feng’s terrible sense of direction as he repeatedly fails to find the exit, it’s probably a comfort to passengers everywhere that he prefers the Airbus. He has a five o’clock boat to catch to Penang from Kuah, the main town on the island, so we part company as I hitch a ride towards the waterfalls in a beat-up car. It’s an exhausting, uphill walk and a relief to relax by the cooling waters where a larcenous macaque commits daylight robbery, but only of food. Local lads show off for visitors and local girls by jumping off giant boulders into the pools.
It’s an even tougher walk up another 367 steps in sweltering heat despite the shade from the trees up to the Seven Wells where again, it’s a relief to relax by the cooling water. I’m going to be particularly disappointed if I put on weight on this cruise.
I walk back to the cable car and share a taxi with a young couple who are conveniently staying at the Resort World. He’s an English teacher from Glasgow and she’s a Maths teacher from Stroud, and last week they were in East Malaysia getting up close and personal with orangutans.
I feel like I’ve earned my afternoon tea out on deck looking across to islands rising steeply from a placid blue sea as our pot-bellied naturalist chats about a white-bellied sea eagle that’s been flying around for the last hour - it’s thought that Langkawi is named for the eagles to be found here.
I should head back to Pantai Cenang as we don’t need to be back on board for another four hours (the hotel has a free shuttle running every two hours between 1am and 9pm), but I’m too tired, so much so that I can’t be bothered to attend the Captain’s Cocktail Party.
Sunday 25/12/2016
Xmas Day in the Tropics, and our first sea day. How wonderful! I ask Efren if today is any different to any other working day. He doubles up with laughter. As I stroll around the decks, treasure hunters prowl the ship in search of fifty hidden Xmas icons - they have until ten o’clock this evening to try and find them. A cursory look around the ship reveals a sum total of none to me, so good luck to them.
A beautiful fruit platter is on display for breakfast: dragonfruit, guava, chico, longan, mango… A post-prandial promenade brings me to the naturalist and his wife at the front of the ship vainly looking for marine or bird life, then to the well-equipped gym at the back of the ship, looking out to a calm sea dotted with bobbing fishing boats, and mountains to port. I gradually move up the gears on a jogging machine to a dizzying five kilometres per hour, although leaning over to the adjacent machine to retrieve my bottle of water results in a comedic prat fall. 10 minutes burns 25 calories which must at least entitle me to a cup of tea.
After ceilidh dancing in the Darwin Lounge there are season’s greetings from ze Captain as part of his noonday update from ze Bridge: Beaufort Scale - 1, sea temperature - 27 degrees Centigrade, speed - 10.6 knots, average speed since leaving Langkawi - 10.2 knots, required speed to arrive at Malacca pilot station at 7 o’clock - 9.8 knots.
The afternoon and evening melts away on a calm sea of relaxation…
Monday 26/12/2016
In 2008 UNESCO added the city of Malacca to its World Heritage List, where the coming together of Malays, Indians, Chinese and Europeans has created a fascinating melting pot of culture, religion and architecture. A frequent visitor in the 16th century was St. Francis Xavier, one of the founders of the Society of Jesus. After his death a later Jesuit detached his arm and brought it to Rome as a holy relic to fulfil Francis’ oft-quoted wish that he’d give his right arm to be buried there.
“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. It's 8am this morning,” announces out tautological Entertainment Manager. The ship has anchored offshore in placid waters and tenders will operate until 4pm this afternoon. The traditional and the modern are showcased as the tender brings us to the jetty at the mouth of the Malacca river with the beautiful, “floating”, gold and blue-domed Malacca Straits Mosque on our right and two futuristic wing-in-ground AirFish8 sea-skimmers on our left.
A short walk from the jetty is the Menara Taming Sari, and at the base of the tower by the waterfront are bright yellow, triplet Goodie bikes for hire, as are gaudily decorated trishaws. Today I think I’ll walk, notwithstanding the heat. I head past the replica of the Portuguese carrack Flor Do Mar that houses the Maritime Museum and buy a riverboat ticket from the adjacent kiosk. There’s a steady stream of returning boats (eventually) and a steady stream of spray for those sitting too close to the front as we slowly motor past colourful buildings along the restored riverfront and under multiple bridges named for illustrious Peranakan (Straits) Chinese, accompanied by informative commentary as we pass each landmark.
From the reconstructed bastion I head towards the red buildings of the historic centre and to the Stadhuys, the former Dutch Governor’s residence and now an extremely interesting history museum. In an annex upstairs is the Gallery of Admiral Cheng Ho, a great maritime explorer whose voyages took him down to Indonesia and across the Indian Ocean to East Africa, and about whom I was hitherto completely ignorant.
Nearby, up St. Paul’s Hill in an elegant white building is the Governor’s Museum, and outside is a wonderful old Daimler, originally purchased for His Excellency Tun Hj Abdul Aziz bin Hj Abdul Majid, the third Governor. The former Governor’s mansion is next to the ruins of St. Paul’s Church, built in 1521 and the oldest in Malaysia, and at the entrance stands the statue to St. Francis Xavier (minus his right forearm - broken off in a storm a day after the statue was unveiled, allegedly).
At the base of the hill is A Famosa, or, more accurately, the Porta de Santiago, as the gatehouse is the only surviving remnant of the old Portuguese fortress. Opposite is the Proclamation of Independence Memorial, a museum dedicated to the struggle for independence, and where the Malayan entourage returning from London in February 1956 announced that the date for this momentous occasion would be 31 August 1957.
Ah! Something I recognise from my previous visit here - the beautiful, wooden, replica Malacca Sultanate Palace, which is built on stilts. The palace is the home of the Cultural Museum and showcases more than 1300 items of Malacca's past, including photographs, weaponry, drawings, musical instruments and gifts from foreign emissaries.
It’s still hot and sunny as I head back to the river, past tri-bikes and trishaws, when torrential rain arrives, but armed with a plastic poncho, an umbrella and a waterproof camera I splash through the rain in sodden sandals retracing part of this morning’s boat ride before heading back to the shops, houses and museums around the historic Jonker Walk.
Afternoon tea is still being served. I take the lift up. A sign reads, "In case of emergency: Please do not panic and stay calm." Surely it's either one or the other. As I tuck into a cucumber sandwich a passenger with a medicine-ball belly wearing a red t-shirt proclaiming "I beat Anorexia" engages our desperate-to-escape photographic expert in conversation, which he only succeeds in doing after explaining that his wife is about to start her lecture on Malaysian Fine Art. She tells us that Malaysian art was originally influenced by British watercolours applied with the pointed Chinese brush and is much sought after, with works by Abdullah Arif and Abdul Latiff Mohiddin selling for six-figure sums.
"Zis is ze Captain from ze bridge… Calm seas expected… Ve should cross the Equator tomorrow at about 14:00 hours… Sank you."
By knowing the answers to six of the questions, correctly guessing another six, and being closest to the correct answer of 32 with the tie-breaker asking how old Richard III was when he died, our team of four wins the Singles Quiz up in the Sunset Lounge. Touch-screen pens make for very agreeable prizes.
The Theatre Company puts on, and just about manages to pull off, a performance of some of Victoria Wood’s best known songs and sketches to round off the day. We’re steaming closer and closer to the Equator, and to Indonesia. It’s exciting…
Tuesday 27/12/2016
… and the 9.30 talk about our visits to Kraratoa and Semarang add to the sense of anticipation. The second talk is on the subject of Captain Cook’s Xmases with fascinating and mundane observations recorded by him and others. Examples from his first voyage include:
1768 - James Cook (somewhere between Rio and Cape Horn):
"Yesterday being Christmas Day the people were none of the Soberest."
1769 - Joseph Banks (North Island, New Zealand)
"Our Goose pye was eat with great approbation and in the Evening all hands were as Drunk as our forefathers usd to be upon the like occasion."
1770 - James Cook (Batavia, now Jakarta)
"Departed this life Mr. Sporing, a Gentleman belonging to Mr Banks's retinue. Wind Variable and Calms; course South 30 degrees East…".
…and so it continues for all his incredible voyages.
“Zis is ze Captain from ze bridge with noonday update…cross ze Equator in 10 minutes time.”
As the ship sails into the southern hemisphere upon blue water shimmering in the sunlight, I chat with the naturalist up on deck 8 looking forward, not only literally, but also to his next cruise. When he arrives back at Heathrow there should be a taxi waiting to take him to Bristol from where the Marco Polo is due to sail across the Atlantic and up the Amazon. A former primary school head teacher, he occasionally earns a little money skippering boats out of Whitby - a neat connection with our lecture an hour ago.
It's two o’clock, blistering hot under a scorching sun, and time for the main event of the day. Our Entertainment Manager is the Master of Ceremonies and looks resplendent in a navy and white Breton t-shirt, white sailor’s hat and trousers, and camper than Campbell McCampbell from Campbeltown singing several choruses of The Camptown Races in a Campervan. The Herald of His Oceanic Majesty having inspected the ship when all were asleep last night, Neptunus Rex himself comes aboard to oversee the trials of those who have never crossed the Equatorial line, to determine if they be permitted to cast away their former Pollywog selves and be admitted to the Ancient Order of the Mysteries of the Deep as true Shellbacks. The royal entourage follows: his Consort, Amphitrite (resembling a drag queen, she should really be called Am-ugly-rite) two mermaids (whose 'beauty' would also only be appreciated by the severely myopic), a doctor, a pirate, a surgeon and a rather fetching cabin boy. The initiates receive their judgement and their screams can be heard beyond the horizon as they are held down on the operating table, covered with bile the colour of mustard, blood the colour of ketchup and entrails resembling spaghetti, before being finally flung into the bottomless depths - of the swimming pool.
Wednesday 28/12/2016
As our guide says, a tour of the Bridge nowadays is a privilege, but he stipulates: absolutely no photos, no videos, no touching of machinery, no pressing of any buttons and no distracting officers on duty.
"Are you able to say anything about the maintenance work done in Singapore that caused the Indonesian cruise to be cancelled?" I ask our Captain, in a gently inquiring tone.
"I vill say it like zis," he replies in a steely voice, eyes boring into me, "it vas essential maintenance vork!"
Well, the guide did warn us against pressing any buttons.
My lunchtime waiter’s badge proclaims himself to be Randy. Too much information, methinks. Afterwards I join the dance class where I’m paired with a very pretty blonde girl from London whose husband is sitting out a leg injury.
At five o’clock the Captain announces we’re in the Sunda Strait between Java and Sumatra. It’s a beautiful, balmy evening as I head to the Darwin Lounge for "Batavia: A story of madness, murder and mayhem", a breathless account of the bloodiest mutiny in history, following the wrecking of the eponymous Dutch ship off the western coast of Australia in 1629.
On the pool deck I chat with the Italian doctor, now resident in Panama with his father. He tells me his contracts are three months on, three months off. He and a nurse look after 400+ passengers and 200+ crew, half of whom were sent home for a short break whilst the ship was in dry dock in Singapore (repairing leaking propeller seals, apparently). He had to remain on board as a ship in dry dock can be a dangerous place.
There it is! Krakatoa, with her cone shrouded in cloud. Even the Captain has never been here before, and if that wasn’t enough, there’s another remarkable sight that most of us have never seen - a vertical rainbow which our naturalist tells us is called a 'sun dog'. As the sun begins to set, fiery red and orange hues sandwich the rolling clouds atop the caldera. What a sight! To use that appalling overused Americanism - it’s awesome!
Thursday 29/12/2016
There are hundreds up on deck to watch a new day dawning over Krakatoa. The sky is cloudy but the views are clear as the sun rises over the Sunda Strait. With commentary from the Bridge from one of our historians, we start to circumnavigate Anak Krakatoa (the child of Krakatoa), which emerged from the caldera formed in 1883 as a result of the earth-shattering explosion, and is currently growing at the rate of five inches per week. We look on in wonder at the smoking volcano as we make our leisurely way around the island before sadly pulling away and retracing our route back through the Sunda Strait, en route to Semarang on Java’s north coast.
Further Bridge commentary a couple of hours later tells us about the Battle of the Java Sea as we sail past Sangiang Island where some of the sailors from the stricken ships USS Houston and HMAS Perth were carried by the prevailing current, to be later gathered up by the Japanese and slave-worked to their death. The ships lie in about 30 feet of water, but neither are visible.
The microphone fails at the start of the afternoon history lecture. No, it hasn’t - it’s the Captain on the tannoy announcing that we’ve deviated from our course to evacuate a passenger for medical reasons at Jakarta. Three hours later he broadcasts an update - he was promised an hour ago that a helicopter would arrive in 25 minutes. A few minutes later we watch as a white helicopter arrives, circles the ship twice then leaves! The passenger can’t have been evacuated so quickly. What’s going on?
Up on deck there’s only one topic of conversation. In the far distance we can just make out the city of Jakarta, and our thoughts are less with the medical emergency and more with speculation about how this will affect our itinerary. The Captain is deep in conversation out on the port Bridge Wing with one of his officers as the sun starts to sink. Is it taking our Indonesian dreams with it?
At 11 o’clock a boat pulls alongside to evacuate the passenger followed by an announcement, which at this time of night can only be bad news.
"As we couldn’t arrive until 5.30 pm we’ve made a decision to cancel our call to Semarang and sail straight for Singapore."
Two cancelled cruises to Indonesia in the space of one month? Surely that qualifies for the Guinness Book of Records? One of the officers on the Reception Desk explains that a request was made for a helicopter with a winch, and a helicopter without a winch came out, and there’s nowhere on the ship for a helicopter to land!
Friday 30/12/2016
In a change to the printed schedule there’s a late-morning lecture telling the incredible story of Kazuko Higa, the lone woman of Anatahan, marooned on an island with 31 men from 1942 - 1950, and by the time she was rescued, only 19 were left.
At noon the Captain announces that we have a berth available in Singapore a day early, and we’re scheduled to dock at 2pm on New Year’s Day. After lunch there’s a Q&A session with him and, unsurprisingly, the first few questions focus on yesterday’s events. He explains that the doctor reported at noon that a medical repatriation was required. Trying to pass customs, port authority and security procedures all meant that the best option was mooring offshore to request a helicopter, but it wasn’t equipped with anything suitable (i.e. a winch) as Jakarta didn’t have a proper search and rescue helicopter available. We therefore had to wait several miles offshore until a boat could come out to us.
A fellow passenger is a dance host who took up ballroom five years ago, but he’s not hosting on this cruise because VoD only employ dance teachers. He says that sharing a cabin could be the biggest problem, although he got on fine with his fellow dance host on the one and only experience he’s had so far. The uniform requirement could mean a hefty outlay though: white dance shoes (don’t have), patent black dance shoes (mine are black and burgundy), navy blazer (don’t have), white slacks (mine are beige), white evening jacket (don’t have)…
The main event of the evening is the Filipino Folkloric Show - "Our talented crew present a display of music and dance from their beautiful islands". It’s utterly charming, and lovely to see the performers’ friends watching on from behind the screens at the side of the show lounge with huge smiles on their faces. Particular highlights include a fine ballad from Glen the pastry chef and the boys’ wacky coconut dance. Efren performs in the Paso Doble and then returns for the finale - the tricky Tinikling where dancers weave in and out of clashing bamboo poles. You could do yourself some damage if the timing is even slightly off…
Saturday 31/12/2016
…which Efren confirms when I see him hobbling around the corridor this morning!
"Good afternoon ladies and gentleman. Zis is ze Captain with noon update from ze bridge…"
We’re 198 nautical miles from the Singapore pilot station and this is our fifth consecutive day at sea. It’ll be nice to get off the boat tomorrow.
Due to the mid-afternoon downpour the New Year’s Eve party has been moved inside to the Darwin Lounge. There’s music and dance, including a ceilidh, and as the countdown begins towards midnight, the ship’s bell is brought out onto the dance floor. Glasses are raised, the seconds are counted down, the old year is rung out by the oldest passenger on board, and the New Year is rung in by the youngest - the son of the art lecturer. All evening, he has stubbornly resisted pleading by his sister to get up and dance…but at the disco up in the Sunset Lounge, he’s still going strong and even inventing dance moves to the delight of all when it’s time for me to admit that I’m all danced out at 3am. A fellow passenger tells me that the following 2-week cruise has been cancelled, although she doesn’t know why. I’m disappointed for her.
Sunday 01/01/2017
At the southern tip of Asia, Singapore continues to re-invent itself as a holiday destination in its own right rather than just being a stopover to somewhere else. The island city state was founded as a trading post of the East India Company at the beginning of the nineteenth century by Sir Stamford Raffles whose family made its fortune selling lottery tickets. The man who was to change the fate of Singapore first stepped ashore in 1819 at Raffles’ Landing Site. What are the odds?
Despite last year’s Indonesian disappointments, sailing into Singapore is a fine way to start a new year. By eleven o’clock, the city state cityscape is clearly discernible on the horizon, with dozens of container vessels in the foreground. Heavy rolling clouds punctuate a bright blue sky on a warm tropical day as we lazily drift around Sentosa Island and the (arguably, artificial) southernmost point of continental Asia, to be alongside our berth at the Singapore Cruise Centre at the scheduled time of two o’clock.
The Harbourfront metro station is right at the Cruise Centre, but it takes an annoyingly long time getting through customs. As a cruise ship passenger I’m used to getting off the ship, waving my cruise card and walking straight through, so this inefficiency and delay creates an unfavourable first impression. The only ticket office selling the Singapore Tourist Pass has just closed for a late lunch (or early tea), and judging by the queues at the ticket office and ticket machines it’ll save time as well as money, so there’s nothing for it but to window shop in the Vivo City mall until the office re-opens.
A Circle Line train, with signs stating No eating or drinking, No smoking, No flammable goods… and No durians, brings me to the Singapore Botanic Gardens. Foliage glistens in the rain and rivulets of water cascade down the pathways through the maze of gardens and down to Symphony Lake where, even if a performance had been scheduled for tonight, it would have been cancelled. After an atmospheric walk through the Rain Forest in the fading light I enter the Orchid Garden although it’s dark by the time I reach the colonial, plantation-style Burkill Hall set on a hill so it’s time to head out…but I can’t. I seem to be going round in circles and keep ending up at padlocked gates. Calls for "Help" eventually brings others visitors to my aid - and a man with a set of keys!
This calls for a stiff drink - a Singapore Sling in the (relocated) Long Bar at the legendary and beautiful Raffles Hotel. It’s too busy and noisy downstairs so I slip upstairs where the atmosphere is more sedate, rattan armchairs are more plentiful, and couples dance to the relaxing live band. Some of my fellow passengers are also there, on a shore excursion. I chat awhile before picking up my drink and, crunching discarded peanut shells underfoot, return to my table to savour the appallingly over-priced cocktail (a larcenous 36.50 dollars after tax) and complementary nuts in hessian sacks.
At the cruise terminal I take the lift to an upper floor leading to the ship with one of the shore excursion managers who’s been spending the evening in Chinatown. Suddenly the lights go out, the lift judders to a halt, and for the second time this evening I have to call for help.
Monday 02/01/2017
It’s a warm cloudy day, the rain has stopped and this morning it’s a breeze getting through customs. Two MRT trains and a bus bring me to the Changi Museum next to the notorious Changi Jail. The carved eulogy of Pericles in the simple outdoor chapel is set as a memorial to the dead whilst inside the museum, letters, drawings, photographs, personal effects and other exhibits convey unimaginable and unvarnished madness and evil perpetrated by the Japanese, and the fortitude and heroism of their victims.
With the weather still holding I head back into the city. From City Hall I cross to the War Memorial Park dedicated to the civilians who died under Japanese occupation, onto St. Andrew’s Cathedral which is inexplicably closed, and past the Parliament building dwarfed by skyscrapers in the background, to the Singapore River where bum boats carry tourists on scenic cruises. Along the Jubilee Walk by the river is the historic, iron, Elgin Bridge and beyond that is Raffles’ Landing Site. The nearby Cavanagh Bridge still displays a sign prohibiting its use by cattle and horses - but can they read it? Installed at the adjacent quays by the Fullerton Hotel is the First Generation sculpture, a dynamic bronze of a group of boys jumping into the river, one of a series intended to reflect scenes from old Singapore. A more modern sculpture is on the opposite bank, outside the Asian Civilisations Museum - 24 Hours in Singapore - whose polished stainless steel globes act as an interactive audio installation capturing sounds of the city.
In the garden below the clock tower that joins the Victoria Theatre to the Victoria Memorial Hall is the statue of the man who changed the destiny of a quiet fishing village, looking out to a skyline he could never have imagined. After pausing awhile to enjoy a free indoor concert between the wings of the City Hall and the National Gallery I cross the Padang to the Cenotaph and reflect at the modest memorial to Lim Bo Seng, the Chinese resistance fighter who set up the SOE’s Force 136 and died in captivity in Malaya in 1944.
It’s still warm and sunny and at Marina Bay, by the Merlion, the symbol of Singapore, tourists position themselves for a photo, heads tilted back to create the illusion of swallowing water spurting out of the mythical creature’s mouth.
From the walkway that lines the historic and carefully preserved shophouses of Boat Quay with its profusion of bars and restaurants I decide that, as it’s now late afternoon and the weather is still holding, I want to visit the Kranji War Memorial a few miles out of town (but still accessible via the MRT). By the time I arrive an hour later the rain has started, but it doesn’t detract from the beauty and calmness of the war cemetery that is the final resting place of over four and a half thousand Commonwealth casualties of the Second World War. At its heart is the memorial on which are inscribed the names of 24,000 allied soldiers and airmen whose last resting place is unknown to earthly man.
By the time I return to town the rain has stopped and conditions are perfect for the nightly, kaleidoscopic sound and light show at the beautiful Gardens By The Bay.
An excellent if thought-provoking day ends with a little walk through Little India. Narrow pavements, jasmine garlands, Hindu temples, fragrant restaurants, colourful shops, tailors working outside on sewing machines… But it’s called Little India because it’s only a little like India. There’s no incessant honking from a constant stream of pollution-belching traffic, no rubble strewn all over the place, no mounds of filth everywhere…
Tuesday 03/01/2017
The ship sails at 12.30 so it’s back to the Bayfront MRT Station (where the little girl sitting next to me on the train is engrossed in a copy of Quidditch Through The Ages) for a daytime exploration of the Gardens By The Bay. It’s warm and sunny - perfect weather for enjoying the lakes, gardens, pavilions and bio-domes, and the 22-metre-high Skyway connecting two of the supertrees where there are prominently posted strictures against smoking, eating and drinking, littering, leaning, jumping….and flying kites! This vantage point was the setting for David Attenborough’s final piece to camera at the conclusion of his Planet Earth II and I reconnect with Planet Earth by eschewing the lift back down and taking the staircase inside the supertree instead.
There’s time for one final Singapore experience before the ship sails, back across the Dragonfly Bridge to the iconic Marina Bay Sands hotel where its gentle curves afford those on the lower floors a balcony with views to the sky rather than their neighbour’s upstairs. My ears pop as the lift rapidly ascends to the 57th floor and the SkyPark Observation Deck to admire the views across Singapore and have a quick look at the curved, ark-like roof garden that straddles and overhangs the three skyscrapers.
The queue is too long and time is too short for me to return my travel card and the situation is significantly worse at customs with seemingly half the passengers from Holland America’s Volendam returning to their ship. My only option is to tailgate one of their wheelchair passengers, apologising as I go.
We slip our moorings and the pilot boat guides us out past ships as far as the eye can see before leaving us to make out own way back to Kuala Lumpur. The sun shines brightly casting a million pinpricks of dazzling light on the water.
At the final lecture by our maritime historian we learn that Captain Cook’s charts were so good that only satellite navigation could improve on them. His first world voyage was bankrolled by the appropriately-named gentleman botanist Joseph Banks whose entourage included two greyhounds who had their own cabin. The crux of the lecture is that, with the passing of Tupaia, the Polynesian priest who joined them from Tahiti, where the hell-hole that was Batavia was literally the death of him, a great opportunity to learn much about the South Pacific was missed.
Whilst I pack my suitcase, “Code Blue - Discovery Restaurant” comes over the PA system. That must mean a passenger has turned that colour.
At the farewell cocktail party the Captain tells us that the woman taken off at Jakarta should be repatriated in two or three days.
“The cruise was challenging” he says.
Now where have I heard that before? He has no more information to offer about the next cruise being cancelled apart from the fact that he has to return the ship to dry dock in Singapore as soon as possible which is why everyone will have to be off the ship tomorrow morning. This is backed up by a letter from the Shore Excursion Office -
We would like to reassure you that your tour is taking place tomorrow. You will first have free time in Kuala Lumpur, followed by a complimentary lunch and then have a tour of Putrajaya including [a] visit to the Botanical Garden. Thereafter the normal description of [the] tour will be followed and you will end at the airport at approximately 19:00.
You would have returned to the ship after your tour, but as Voyager will depart as soon as all passengers have disembarked, this was not an option…
There’s also a paragraph about Back-To-Back Passengers -
Our guests who would have stayed on for the cancelled Voyage, Riches of the Orient, will enjoy the Putrajaya Intelligent Garden City tour, followed by a complimentary lunch and continue to the hotel.
After one final extremely tasty dinner in the busy Veranda Restaurant, including "Bloody Mary" Tomato Soup with Vodka, I thank Efren for everything and give him the time-honoured token of appreciation before finishing my packing and ensuring the case is outside the cabin door by midnight.
Wednesday 04/01/2017
Our guide on our coach into Kuala Lumpur tells us that, remarkably, the twin towers were built in only two years, between 1996 and 1998, so as to be ready for the Commonwealth Games. She will guide us through some of the shops in the KLCC complex, for those that want, but I decide to take the metro to have a look at the Old Kuala Lumpur Railway Station, built in 1892, and the administrative offices opposite. I try and cross the road to get a better photo of the Indo-Saracenic architecture with its pillars, arches and domes, but can’t beat the traffic.
The tropical botanical garden (Taman Botani) in the administrative capital of Putrajaya is a rather lovely work-in-progress and the Canopy Bridge is an innovative introduction to the diverse flora from around the world, set amongst the gardens, hills and lakeside, across from which is the Prime Minister’s mansion. Heliconia, bird-of-paradise flowers, cannonball trees (my favourite) and many others abound, and there’s a small pond where turtles swim or bask in the shade.
Exiting the gardens, we semi-circumnavigate the world’s largest roundabout (a ridiculous 3.2 kilometers in total) on our way across to the rose-tinted domes and pink granite of the lakeside Putra Mosque (curiously, travel literature describes the colours the other way round) with its vast courtyard and prayer hall, a five-tiered minaret representing the five pillars of Islam (faith, prayer, charity, fasting and pilgrimage) and where the purple modesty gowns that women are required to wear makes me think I’ve stumbled on a Hogwarts reunion.
My wonderful holiday straddling the Equator in Southeast Asia is at end … and paradoxically, the only person aboard MV Voyager, passenger or crew, who has ever set foot on Indonesian soil, was the woman taken off to the hospital in Jakarta!
Other diaries:
1) Macaronesia
http://boards.cruisecritic.co.uk/showthread.php?t=2338971
2) Yangtze River
http://boards.cruisecritic.com/showthread.php?p=45291903
3) Iberia
http://cruiseforums.cruisecritic.com/showthread.php?t=1900867
4) Channel Ports
http://boards.cruisecritic.com/showthread.php?t=1858505
5) Transatlantic
http://cruiseforums.cruisecritic.com/showthread.php?t=1770405
6) Turkish Riviera
http://cruiseforums.cruisecritic.com/showthread.php?t=1792071
7) Western Mediterranean
http://cruiseforums.cruisecritic.com/showthread.php?t=1669814
8) Arabia to India
http://cruiseforums.cruisecritic.com/showthread.php?t=1584868
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This is a diary of a 21-night cruise aboard the MS Balmoral taking in the North Atlantic islands of the Azores, Cape Verde, the Canaries and Madeira. It may be of some assistance to those with chronic insomnia. Then again, it may not...
A letter arrives from the travel agent to advise of a change of itinerary - the call to Sao Filipe on the island of Fogo in Cape Verde has been dropped because it "… not only required a ship-to-shore tender service but necessitated a bus transfer to the main tourist area". And that wasn't known when the itinerary went to press? La Palma in the Canary Islands has been added to the itinerary. At least the ship is still calling at the Azores, which is what first attracted me to the cruise.
Saturday 21 November 2015
The 6am train from Manchester to London comes to a halt a few miles outside Crewe due to a "technical fault". After all else fails, someone has the good sense to call the Microsoft help desk. Turning everything off then turning everything back on resolves the problem - enough to get us moving again anyway. The train won't be able to literally go full-tilt (unseemly behaviour for a virgin anyway) so we'll be a few minutes late arriving into Euston. Lugging a case up and down twisting staircases is part of the 19th century London Underground experience and trying to find somewhere to park a case in the narrow overhead bins or narrow aisles of Southern trains just adds to the fun.
Gosh! If those already waiting are anything to go by, I could be the youngest on the cruise by at least a generation! I hand my case over to the baggage handlers and then join the queue for security, wondering how many 80-year-old, white, middle-class, pot-bellied terrorists using hearing aids and walking aids have been identified in the least 50 years?
Boarding doesn't start for at least a couple of hours so I head back into town to explore Southampton's medieval walls. According to a plaque on the Westgate, some of Henry V's army marched through on their way to Agincourt in 1415, and the Pilgrim Fathers embarked the Mayflower from the adjacent West Quay in 1620. The Mayflower's sister ship, the Speedwell, sailed at the same time but was abandoned after proving itself to be devoid of speed and definitely not well. A walk by the town walls, past the Arcades and the splendidly-named Catchcold Tower brings me to the West Quay Shopping Centre where the 100-strong Rock Choir is performing in aid of the Marie Curie Trust. Tracks include Queen's Don't Stop Me Now, George Ezra's Budapest, and a medley of Chesney Hawkes' greatest hit.
At three o'clock it's time to head back, step aboard and check out my inside cabin on the Bridge Deck. Proper wardrobe hangars, a kettle and tray, a double bed, a washing line in the en-suite... Things look good so far. The Daily Times newsletter of on-board activities includes a tear-off strip with a precis of the information contained in the newsletter - a clever idea.
I haven't eaten all day, and will have to wait a little longer as the imminent lifeboat drill means the buffet food is whipped away before I can get my gel-sanitized mitts on any of it. The annoying, over-use of the emphatic verb is much in evidence during the Cruise Director’s presentation with phrases such as "We do have...", "We do welcome" and "We do request” which most assuredly DO irritate! I think it's an affectation of the ignorant.
I'm allocated a table in the main restaurant, the Ballindaloch, on deck 6 aft. My four fellow diners are also solo travellers and are, respectively: my age; much older; much, much older; and much, much, much older. Ah well, a three week cruise in November isn't really going to attract the younger, still-working population, I suppose. The conversation is forced, but the food, of which I can only manage four courses, is fine.
We are introduced to the cruise staff in the Neptune Lounge. There are also four gentlemen dance hosts, an arts and crafts couple, two bridge tutors, and three lecturers. I quickly learn that on a wobbly ship it's best not to leave one's feet where passers-by in search of their sea legs can crush them.
The lead singer in tonight's show sports an alarming comb-over, but kudos to anyone who can sing whilst roller skating around and between other performers on stage in a spectacular technicolour costume on a ship ploughing through a not-insignificant swell.
An enjoyable day ends in the Morning Light Pub where Ian Jacks, described in the Daily Times as "simply great music and great fun" lives up to his billing.
At two o' clock I ask that Reception finds someone to put a stop to the incessant clattering and banging coming from the galley on deck 10 which is directly above my cabin.
Sunday 22 November 2015
Our first day at sea begins with an illustrated talk about the first two ports of call: Praia da Vitoria and Ponta Delgada. The first European visitors to the Azores may well have been sailors in the service of Prince Henry the Navigator, the son of King John I of Portugal who must have been very prescient when naming his offspring. A historical nugget about the island of Terceira includes the Battle of Salga Bay in 1581 where the Spanish Armada was defeated by a herd of cows. A slide of sunset over the UNESCO world heritage site of Angra do Heroismo is accompanied by the observation, "If you see this view yourself, you've probably missed the ship.” The main island of Sao Miguel has much to commend it, including Sete Cidades with its blue and green lakes caused by eutrophication, and the capital, Ponta Delgada, although we’re asked not to buy scrimshaw which will be openly on sale.
It's a sunny day with blue skies and fluffy clouds above calm seas - calm for the Bay of Biscay, anyway - as the Captain gives his daily noonday broadcast from the bridge:
1065 nautical miles to go at an average speed of 15.4 knots...expect to be alongside at Praia da Vitoria at 8am on Wednesday the 25th of November...sea temperature is 13 degrees Celsius...please be careful and hold on to handrails...clocks go back tonight one hour...
Plaques commemorating inaugural visits by the Balmoral are clustered around a stairwell on deck 6. The presentations from the ports of Kagoshima and Yokohama dated 2009 bring back happy memories of that sector of her world cruise on which I sailed, a sector which also included stops in Vietnam, China and Korea. In the centre of the lobby on the same deck is the beautiful globe sculpture, Sfera Con Sfera, by the Italian artist Arnaldo Pomodoro. I chat a little with a fellow passenger who's equally captivated by it.
I join one of the dance hosts having a hot drink in the Palms Cafe. He first started dancing when he was 17 and took it up again when he became a widower. His first hosting cruise was two weeks on the Queen Mary to the Canaries. So far he's always got on with his fellow hosts - essential when you share a cabin.
There's at least one comedian on board - he's posted a note on the door of his cabin on Deck 9 which reads, “My wife dresses to kill. She cooks the same way.”
It's the Captain's Formal Cocktail Party tonight and the Daily Times informs us that although the captain will be pleased to greet all of us, “he and the other staff receiving you shall refrain from shaking hands. This is in order to provide the most effective sanitary measures.” Quite right! Who knows where “he and the other staff” might have been?
I watch a couple of the afternoon activities, the Social Foxtrot dance lesson and Singing For Fun, but bumping along Biscay Boulevard means I have to go for a lie down, waking up just in time to miss afternoon tea.
Even though I'm in my tux, the ship's too wobbly and I don't feel up to forced conversation so, after the cocktail party, I decide to eat in the Palms Cafe where the waiters confirm that cutlery apart indicates that the plate should be left whereas cutlery together indicates that the plate can be taken away.
Tonight's Evening Showtime stars BBC2 Radio 2 Recording Artist Geoff Taylor. He's not known to the audience which wounds him a little, but he has a fine voice and he's certainly playing to an appreciative crowd.
The midnight clattering and banging resumes in the galley above my cabin so I try out the alternative cabin on Deck 6 forward offered to me earlier in the day. There's the sound of a loud motor that kicks in every few minutes, the source of which I can't trace, so I give up at two o'clock, hand the key in to Reception and go back to my original cabin - then ring down to complain about the noise.
Monday 23 November 2015
There's a new note on Joe King's cabin door: “We've had 10 happy years together. We've been married for 40.”
This morning’s port talk is about the Creole-speaking islands of Cape Verde which was once a clearing house for slaves offering a value-added service - having been held captive for months, the weaker ones would have already died. Our first call will be at Mindelo, the cultural centre and beating heart of Cape Verde, and after its discovery, populated for 300 years by goats. The second call will be to the capital, Praia, where the first biped settlement was established. One of the main streets is Charles Darwin Avenue because the celebrated grandson of Josiah Wedgwood made landfall here on his famous voyage.
Out of the lecture and onto the deck where we're out of the Bay of Biscay and into the relative millpond that is the Atlantic where it's sunny and breezy, 260 nautical miles from Cape Finisterre, with a wind blowing at Force 3.
This afternoon sees the first of several classical recitals with pianist Nicholas Durcan and violinist Miriam Kramar, followed by afternoon tea in the Palms Café. I eavesdrop on a couple on the next table making arrangements for tonight's 10.30 show in the Neptune Lounge:
“If you're there before me, will you look out for me?” she asks.
“You'll easily spot me,” says he.
“Of course not,” replies his wannabe squeeze, “you're all grey-haired old men!”
Tuesday 24 November 2015
Today's pearl of wisdom from Mr. King is, “If you think money can't buy happiness you obviously don't know where to shop.”
The first part of today's port talk deals with a short history of the Canary Islands, including Tenerife, from where Franco made those on the mainland regret not heeding the maxim, “Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer still”. A common souvenir is the idol of Tara, the god of fertility - buy a reproduction to assist your, er, reproduction, is the advice. On this ship that'll be a medical miracle.
Morning coffee is served between 10.30 and 11.30 and, having missed breakfast, I have a coffee and an apple Danish out on deck outside the Palms Cafe. It seems that everybody who isn't having a coffee is taking a brisk walk around the fine promenade deck, except the (fool?) hardy couple in the pool.
Copies of the Daily Mail news digest are available in the library from noon. Today it includes a report of the merger between the makers of ****** and the makers of Botox (insert innumerable jokes here).
Now, what should I have for lunch? Well, the soups are particularly delicious with a selection of the tasty freshly-baked breads although with the ladle being the same size as the bowl, it's always a challenge to actually pour the soup into the bowl rather than all over the tablecloth.
“There's No Business Like Show Business” is an unsuccessful second song for those taking part in Singing For Fun. There's a great deal of female falsetto warbling - everything about it is unappealing...
After a lecture on Protecting Valuables and Avoiding Tourist Scams, punctuated with amusing videos illustrating the utter gall of some thieves, I discover that the worst thing about being aboard a floating old age home is going for a brisk walk around the excellent promenade deck and having to repeatedly give way to much older passengers breezing effortlessly past. 4 laps = 1 mile and after two laps I retire to the Lido Lounge to catch my breath.
“I'm wondering who'll sit there, and how big they are,” says a passenger to his wife, concerned about who'll sit in front of them in the Neptune Lounge. Like me they've come early and are watching the social dancing. Tonight's showtime features BBC Big Band and Ronnie Scott's Vocalist and Trumpet Player (both at the same time?), Georgina Jackson. It's entertaining, as is the fun quiz in the Lido Lounge afterwards, hosted by the Deputy Cruise Director who quips, “We arrive as passengers, and leave as cargo.”
Wednesday 25 November 2015
Our berth is 5 kilometres from the centre of the capital, Praia da Vitoria, and an all-day shuttle ticket is £5. The drop-off point is at the top of the main shopping street and buses will run until nine o'clock tonight. At half past ten I've finished faffing and am ready to go, except I can't. Water-tight doors are being tested and I don't get out in time.
Walking down the elegant Rua de Jesus with its beautiful, typically Portuguese, geometric patterns towards the harbor I stop to listen to a group of gentlemen musicians playing for passengers relaxing in the sun at a cafe opposite the customs house twice destroyed by earthquakes. I pick up the bus timetable to the UNESCO-heritage town of Angra Do Heroismo from the tourist information office nestled at the foot of the Miradouro then ascend the 283 steps to the viewpoint with its statue of the Virgin Mary looking down on the lovely town. Retracing my steps back through the town, past the blue and white tiles commemorating local poets with quotes of their work that line the main street on the Passeio dos Poetas, I make a small diversion to take a closer look at the ochre and white Church of Santa Cruz with its stark trees and supplicating branches, before catching the one o'clock bus for the one-hour ride to Angra.
On the way down to the sea along the Rua Dereita (the first street in Angra that connected the square and the Palace of the Captains General to the quay) is the fabulous shopfront of the Brasil Optical Center with its beautifully tiled street entrance, and at the end of the street opposite the quay is the blue and white Misericord, the Church of Mercy, the site of the first hospital in the Azores.
On the other side of the square is the Palace of the Captains General on the site of a former Jesuit college built in 1595 and now a presidential retreat, whose history is brought to life by the engaging guide. Next to the palace is the garden of the Duke of Terceira and its beautiful flora and decorated walkways. From there I use the town map to look at other historic buildings whilst making my way to the peninsula of Monte Brasil. The fortress (the largest built by the Spanish outside continental Europe) is still in use as a military camp and its paths give fine views of the island and the sea.
After a fine day on a beautiful island I find a gift in my cabin from the Executive Chef - a plate of chocolate-dipped strawberries with white and dark chocolate straws, nestling in a brandy snap basket. I consider using the strawberries as ear plugs.
Thursday 26 November 2015
Just outside the port are non-aggressive taxi touts offering very reasonably-priced excursions, but I want to explore Ponta Delgada first. It's a short walk to the town centre, along a wide, tree-lined, gently curving promenade which again has beautiful walkway patterns.
From the plaza close by the tourist information office with its statue of mariner and monk Goncalo Velho Cabral who helped to colonise the islands, I head past the clock tower of the main church and up the streets to explore the meandering pathways of the Borges Botanical Garden, named for the 38-year-old Jewish doctor from Ponta Delgada burnt at the stake in 1559 by the Inquisition. It's such a pleasant place to wander around with its pretty, narrow streets, and houses with small metal lattice-work balconies.
I catch the hourly bus to Ribeira Grande on the other side of Sao Miguel and the 40-minute ride offers a pleasant opportunity to see some of the island. The bus station is next to the tourist office and the very pretty girl working there marks out a walking tour of the town, in the direction of the Municipal Garden across the Ponte Do Paraiso. The bridge affords the most famous view of the town - the river running alongside the historic centre, under the viaduct that is the Bridge of Eight Arches, and out into the Atlantic. An archway by the town hall leads into the historic centre with its churches and white-washed houses and out onto streets leading down to the beach affording views of the Praia De Monte Verde and the ocean.
Across the road from the ship's berth back in Ponta Delgada is Azorean Souvenirs which sells local products including scrimshaw. Some of it looks like fine, detailed artwork but, heeding the earlier request from our port guide, I look but don't buy.
It's time to be back on board. After wanting to come here for many years it's sad that this all-too-brief visit to the Azores is over. They definitely warrant further, detailed exploration.
It's 1252 nautical miles to our next port of call, Mindelo in Cape Verde, and the required speed is 14.8 knots. As we begin our journey to Africa I settle down to write up my diary on the pool deck whilst nibbling biscuits and drinking tea as pink and orange hues streak the darkening sky and winged silhouettes fly over the calm ocean waters.
Tonight's entertainment is a vintage comedy performance - the material is significantly older than the passengers - but there were still some giggle-inducing jokes such as -
Elderly wife - “George, why don't we go upstairs and make love.”
Elderly husband - “I could manage one, but not both.”
Chatting with a fellow passenger from the dining table I abandoned I learn that it has only three diners now because Mme. Much Older tripped and broke her femur yesterday in Praia da Vitoria and had to be left behind.
Friday 27 November 2015
Taking in a 360 degree panorama of the sea and the sky, there's nothing to be seen: no ships, no planes, no birds and no marine life, just wild horses. How lovely to have nothing to do and so much time not to do it in. Actually, there is plenty to do on days at sea such as listening to our resident social historian on The Stories Behind The Stores with nuggets such as - after using the revolutionary travellator at Harrods, men were offered a nip of brandy, whilst women were offered smelling salts! Afterwards our classical duo will play...just as soon as our pianist can find his sheet music...any moment now...no, not that one...no, not that one either...nor that...nor that...and...er...maybe...yes,that's it...Hungarian Dance in D by Brahms, Air on a G String by Bach, The Blue Danube Waltz by Strauss, three pieces by Kreisler (who used to claim they were by other, usually non-existent, composers, just to confuse the critics) and other equally enjoyable pieces.
Tea with scones, strawberry jam and cream out on the deck of a gently pitching ship under warm, late afternoon skies... What could be finer? Well, the scones don't seem to have quite the right texture, the jam is Austrian and the cream isn't clotted, but never mind.
Tonight's featured entertainment is the Balmoral Crew Cabaret, where the biggest cheer of the night deservedly goes to, “Ray, your sanitation officer, singing - There Goes My Everything.”
Saturday 28 November 2015
“I'll see you later,” says the husband with a sizeable paunch, leaving his wife at the Secrets To A Flatter Stomach seminar - in the Ballindaloch restaurant.
“The Fitness Center and Aerobic Room is an adult only facility. Children between the ages of 13 and 16 are only permitted to utilize the fitness equipment, if accompanied by an adult.” Even more astounding that the crushingly bad grammar is the concept of children on a Fred. Olsen ship. It does however occupy a terrific location, right at the front of deck 10, with better forward views than the Observatory Lounge.
I'm seated in the Ballindaloch for lunch with a charming retired couple from Portland who are upset at not winning as many of the quizzes as they ought because they keep allowing themselves to be overruled by more serious but less knowledgeable quizzers. I mean, how can you not know that the Dee is the river that runs through the Balmoral estate? The pizza station is a lacklustre affair and I don't know why they bother. If it's going to be put anywhere it should be out on deck as the centrepiece of a pool party.
This afternoon's social history lecture is - By Royal Appointment. Apart, em, from the, em, distraction of, em, a great many 'ems', it's, em, very interesting to learn about merchants on whom royal favour has been bestowed, such as Floris (for perfumes) and Henry Poole (for tailoring).
I take a crustless smoked salmon sandwich (what do they do with all the crusts?) and a slice of strawberry loaf cake into the Neptune Lounge to watch the Argentine Tango dance class. Not surprisingly, it isn’t a success and, not surprisingly, even the dance hosts need help.
After dinner I listen to the Rosario Trio play in the Bookmark Cafe. In the adjacent library is a small but wide selection of books and also an internet cafe for those who don't mind their message packets delivered by carrier pigeon.
Why do the show company and cruise hosts line up outside the lounge to say, “Thank you for coming” after the show?
Sunday 29 November 2015
I don't bother with breakfast but take a coffee into the Neptune Lounge to listen to this morning's port talk on Madeira. Columbus first visited the island in his role as a sugar merchant - he married the daughter of the governor of Porto Santo, the second largest island in the archipelago.
The talk is followed by Fruit and Vegetable Carving in the Lido Lounge, something I always enjoy watching, but not this time - I forgot about it! I was too busy relaxing over morning coffee with an apple danish and a doughnut, wondering why I'm putting on weight.
I try and catch the shimmering light on the blue Atlantic waters from the angled windows of the Fitness Centre, but the photos don't do it justice at all. The gregarious and affable comedian, Simon Sands, is warming down after his daily exercise. He has one more show to do and then flies back from the Canaries. His style has always been silly, cheeky jokes, but never filthy. Clichéd though it sounds, he swears it's little old ladies who tell him the filthiest jokes on his travels.
It's very warm out on the pool deck which means there's an over-abundance of saggy, wrinkly, portly flesh on display - and the men aren't much better. In weather like this the best places to sit are the little alcoves, one deckchair wide, that are dotted along the port and starboard sides of the Promenade Deck. Putting your feet up on the railings and looking out at the calm waters for (so far, elusive) marine life is soul-soothing. Above the empty sea is an empty sky, save for a few specks of cloud.
Our musical duo plays in the Observatory Lounge for those who have shelled out £6.95 for “...an indulgent White Glove Service” classical afternoon tea. The music ranges from a Strauss waltz to Cheek To Cheek, which is probably how the Viennese vhirlers vould have preferred to dance.
I wonder if there's an outbreak of norovirus. I was refused the usually complimentary nuts and Twiglets with my drink out on the pool deck. The salty snacks are usually served in narrow-necked glasses so you can't dip into them anyway but have to pour them out onto a palm or plate. Even so, I'm told the instructions are not to hand them out anymore, as a health precaution. This continues at dinner where the colourful Indonesian self-service buffet isn't - we have to ask the waiters to serve us.
Monday 30 November 2015
It's a pleasant walk into town from our dock in Mindelo, with its colourfully painted concrete blocks commemorating previous maritime visitors, and there isn't much hassle from touts at the port gate offering tourist services. On the pleasant promenade is a simple monument commemorating the signing of the Treaty of Tordesilhas in 1494 where a line drawn between Cape Verde and the New World tried to settle the competing territorial claims of Spain and Portugal.
Walking past pastel-coloured buildings, on to the busy, colourful Municipal Market, out again along relatively traffic-free cobbled streets and back to the waterfront to the fishing boats laid up on the beach where locals scale today's catch under a mildly oppressive sun... It's a fine day to take in African island life.
The beach-side Belem Tower, modelled on the tower in Lisbon, contains an interesting marine museum with much in English, and a mildly challenging ladder climb up to the roof offers fine views across the town and the bay. Next door is the fish market and a couple of minutes away, in the Praca Estrela, is the Senegalese Market, scattered around the outside of which are beautiful blue-tiled murals of town life. More meandering brings me to the Kings English School which is closed. Perhaps it's been shut down by the authorities until the missing apostrophe is located.
Whilst queuing at the coffee station a fellow passenger tells me she's just been let out of her cabin after being incarcerated there for three days. So it's her fault that we can't serve ourselves. I get the lowdown on her low down, in far too much detail - a certain 'slackness' has to be attained before you can be tested and considered for parole. Having not eaten all day I was quite looking forward to a coffee and a chocolate biscuit.
It's St Andrew's Day, and to celebrate there's a ceilidh in the Neptune Lounge before the evening show which is a great success. Afterwards I can't get a seat in the packed-out pub where Ian Jacks is going down a storm as usual and even the bar staff are having a head-bangingly great time, so I head for the funereal Lido Lounge, at the back of which are two gaming tables which never seem busy.
Tuesday 01 December 2015
By half past nine we're approaching Praia, the capital of Cape Verde on the island of Santiago. I watch the crew from the windows of the Fitness Centre as they go through their harbour-approach routine, working the winches and ropes. Whilst waiting for the announcement that we can go ashore I sit out on Deck 8 aft where the executive chef and his deputy are chatting. They've been with the company for four years and ten years respectively. They prefer to go ashore at a port like Tenerife where you can easily walk into town rather than here where you can't. I thank them for the superb food.
It's a 15-minute ride up to the centre of the city where the free shuttle bus (due to extensive construction work at the port) brings us to the cobbled plaza on Rua Abreu in front of the peach-coloured Supremo Tribunal de Justicia, adjacent to the city ramparts with cannons ranged along them pointing directly at the ship.
At the top of the street is the celebrated church where Columbus is reputed to have prayed on his way to the Americas, although La Igreja de Nossa Senhora de Gracia looks so pristine I can't believe it's that old. Across the road is Praca Alexandre Albuquerque with its abundant trees and flowers, and benches occupied by shade-seeking passengers of the good ship Balmoral.
There's a local boy chatting with the woman running the tourist information booth and, hearing me ask about buses to the Cidade Velha, he offers to be my guide to the UNESCO heritage site that is the old city. Denilson says he can't afford to go to school and, agreeing upon a price in Euros, leads me to the bus station by the main market where colectivos also wait. Conveniently, a return journey for both of us will cost exactly the 400 escudos I have left. It's a ten-minute wait before there are enough passengers and a bit stop-and-start whilst in the city, then a scenic drive to the sleepy old town by the water.
A plaque on the town's most famous street tells me that, “Rua Banana is the oldest street urbanized by Europeans in Sub-Saharan Africa and the tropics.” Denilson continues to be the perfect guide leading me along the streets of Ribeira Grande (the modern name for Cidade Velha) with their wandering hens and pigs, and into its famous church, Nossa Senhora do Rosario, which has seen visits by Vasco da Gama, Christopher Columbus and Sebastian del Cano. It's a beautiful, sunny, lazy afternoon as we continue past banana trees, stone ruins, shacks and stone dwellings making our way back to find the same colectivo that brought us here waiting for us.
Back in the centre of Praia, there's enough time for me to explore Rua 5 de Julio, a smart pedestrianised street with shops and restaurants, and at no. 45, the small Museu Etnografico with interesting historical exhibits of everyday island life, before heading back to the pick-up point by the ramparts and cannons where a shuttle van is waiting.
Afternoon tea by the pool is a mozzarella and tomato open sandwich (held together by a plastic spear that I almost swallow), a square of lemon cake, a slice of apple cinnamon cake, a scoop of chocolate ice cream, and four cups of weak coffee and four cups of hot lemon water served by the busboy manning the hot drinks station because we're still not allowed to serve ourselves.
We cast off at six o'clock, the pilot boat Damao leaves us half an hour later and we head off on our way out of Africa. Back in the atrium the band is playing Xmas carols, others are wearing traditional red hats and singing, and despite it being a bit previous, it's all rather pleasant.
We're not even halfway through the cruise yet!
Wednesday 02 December 2015
After watching the cooking demonstration in the Lido Lounge it's only appropriate I go to the weight loss seminar in the Ballindalloch restaurant. The Fitness Instructor knows his stuff, but his broken English means he can only give a stuttering presentation. I think I'll take up his offer of a free 15-minute consultation, though.
Over coffee I have an enjoyable chat with Ian Jacks, the extremely popular pub musician. It's his first cruise season which he's trying because it's very quiet back home on the Costa del Sol, where he's lived and worked for thirty years. This time of year is the 'debaja', the low season when many places shut down and this is a chance to try something new that a friend has been suggesting for years.
The title of our social historian's lecture after lunch (where I somehow manage to restrict myself to just salads and bread) is "Ladies' and Gentlemen's St. James's" which is also a good demonstration of how apostrophes work. Famous residents included Nell Gwynne (for whom Charles II was her Charles III) and Ada Lovelace, the mother of computing.
A classical recital, including Oblivion Tango by Oscar Piazzola and Zigeunerweise by Sarasate, shows off our talented violinist's skills in maintaining poise, balance and musicality on a rather wobbly ship.
The day ends in the Morning Light Pub which is heaving with some serious head-banging and coronary-inducing (gran)dad dancing.
There's still late-night noise from the galley above (I don't know when it stops but I usually manage to drift off at about 2am) but at least the a/c has been fixed - for the fourth time so far (the cabin has been too cold).
Thursday 03 December 2015
At breakfast I catch the tail end of a despairing litany of ailments, misfortunes and general decrepitude from the next table which concludes with, “...but I keep smiling.” Don't people understand that the sympathetic nod masks a desperate longing for the monologue to end? I think of asking the talented waiters at the morning's Napkin Folding demonstration, if, in addition to the swans, orchids and sailboats, they can also show me how to make a noose.
Dear Captain,
Please note that:
a) The plural of 'advice' is 'advice', not 'advices'. It's an uncountable noun (not that any of your crew would know what that is); and,
b) The plural of 'information' is 'information', not 'informations'.
In addition to that, 'in addition of that' is incorrect.
Lunch is delicious bread, soup and salad. I somehow manage not to succumb to the lemon tart, but only because I know I'll be indulging in some irresistible delights at this afternoon's Grand Tea Dance. Over tea and finger sandwiches (served at the table), and a fruit tartlet and (of course) a scone with jam and cream (served at the lounge bar along with eclairs, cakes, biscuits, gateaux, and a chocolate fountain to coat a cornucopia of fruit) I chat with a fellow passenger who tells me of his working life in an agricultural college. He retired 37 years ago at the age of 49, which makes him one of the youngest passengers on board.
Friday 04 December 2015
18 Euros buys an excellent-value all-day ticket on the Las Palmas tourist bus and includes a 1-hour lunchtime walking tour of the historic and beautifully preserved Vegueta quarter. Afterwards I catch bus 216 for the 1-hour scenic ride (once you're out of the extensive Las Palmas conurbation) to the beautiful town of Teror, the center of which is only a 10-minute walk from the bus station. Everything about it, from its wooden balconies, cobbled streets and colonial architecture says 'picture postcard' and just off the Plaza Teresa de Bolivar (named for the wife of the South American liberator and great-granddaughter of a local dignitary), a period drama is being shot.
The five o'clock guagua (local bus, pronounced 'wah-wah') takes me back across the 75m high, aptly-named, Teror Viaduct and into Las Palmas where, in a park by the bus station, a school choir is finishing a concert of Xmas carols.
Back on board I ask one of the restaurant managers how long this nonsense of not being allowed to serve ourselves will continue. No information has been forthcoming about how many have been affected, nor how long it will be before things get back to normal. The poor waiters seem to be working 30 hours a day instead of their usual 25. I don't get any reply, just an attempt at a disarming smile.
Geoff Taylor gives an enjoyable Neil Diamond tribute show in the Lido Lounge and up on Deck 11 the Rosario String Trio plays under the stars as we gently glide away and head off towards our next island. Another fine day ends, as it must, in the Supper Club with an unnecessary light snack of tuna sandwich and chips, and a small piece of lemon meringue pie.
Saturday 05 December 2016
During breakfast aft on Deck 10 I notice a black fleck in my plain yoghurt, then another, and another, then suddenly the whole table is flecked. It must be from the bunkering operation - the ship is taking on fuel at the moment.
I turn right and head along the promenade in the warm Tenerife sunshine towards the Almeyda. The magnificent military museum is housed in a 19th century fort at whose entrance stands replicas of the cannons that helped defeat Nelson during his failed raid on Santa Cruz on July 25th, 1797. The Spanish victory is given much prominence upstairs where plaques outside the main hall celebrate two previous Spanish victories at Santa Cruz over the English, in 1657 and 1706 over Admirals Blake and Jennings. Exhibits include facsimiles of letters published in the London Gazette reporting the defeat, flags taken from the British fleet, and Nelson's letter to the Spanish commandant, Admiral Antonio Gutierrez, thanking the Spanish for their care of, and chivalry towards, the wounded.
I'm just in time to catch the 3.30 titsa guagua up to the town of La Laguna 25 minutes away. It's a few minutes’ walk from the down-at-heel modern town to Plaza Del Andelantado and the old town. The tourist office is housed in a beautiful colonial house and the town's plazas, churches, convents, historic houses with covered wooden balconies, and gardens with palm trees and lemon trees are as picture-postcard as Teror.
Trams from outside the bus station run frequently and at half past six I'm settled in my seat thinking about the impressive engineering that enables them to get up and down such steep inclines.
Santa Cruz comes alive at night and the Plaza de la Candelaria, like everywhere around, is brightly lit with Xmas lights and the whole area is a joy to walk around.
Our new comedian, Phil Melbourne, is mightily impressed when a couple at the front tell him they've been married for 51 years.
“Can anybody beat that?”
Half the hands in the audience go up. He runs to a raised hand at the back of the show lounge.
“How long have you been married?”
“56 years,” he replies to appreciative applause.
“And where's your wife?”
“She passed away three years ago.”
“I think,” says our entertainer shaking his head, “that at some point, you have to stop counting.”
Sunday 06 December 2016
Another day, another Santa Cruz. This time is Santa Cruz de la Palma and we're berthed very close to the port entrance, next to which is a local market, on a cloudy, warm day. The main street of O'Daly is adorned with seasonal decorations and it's perfect weather for wandering along the pedestianised street with its historic whitewashed buildings, plazas, flea-market stalls and quirky statues. Parallel to O'Daly is the Avenida Maritima with its elegant houses in hues of red, blue, green and brown, fronted with flower-bedecked single- and double-storey wooden balconies.
The hourly bus in the direction of El Paso (which because we're only here till 5 o'clock today I won't have time to visit, but would have if I'd got off the ship an hour earlier) takes me up into the mountains and to the Visitor Centre from where it's a 10-minute taxi ride (8 euros each way - prices are posted up by the taxi rank) to the rim of La Caldera de Taburiente where I'm left for a while to explore the tree-covered slopes of the immense crater.
We cast off as the sailaway party is in full swing aft with passengers across four decks enjoying the atmosphere, the music and the island views. I write up my diary in the library whilst listening to the Rosario Trio, occasionally looking out of the large picture windows, in vain, for a glimpse of marine life, although there was a whale spotted in the swimming pool after the party.
The captain tells us we'll be changing berths tomorrow once the QM2 leaves Madeira so we shouldn't be alarmed if we see the ship on the move whilst we're ashore.
What could be more authentic than a good old British Night singalong hosted by a Union Jack-waving Slovenian hostess aboard a Norwegian-owned vessel? I do have to say though, how much I do regret that she’s picked up an emphatically bad affliction.
Monday 07 December 2015
“Code Alpha! Code Alpha!!” booms over the PA system. They might as well just announce there's a medical emergency.
The sea is a little choppy and some of the mountains around Funchal are lost in the clouds. Ahead of us, already berthed, is the Queen Mary. Our scheduled arrival time is 11 o'clock and every arrival thus far has been right on time, but this one won’t be if we keep laboring towards the harbour. I'd hoped to profit from an overnight stay by visiting the village of Santana with its famous A-framed houses, but the captain soon puts the kybosh on that. The swell is too much for us to dock so we'll have to wait for Cunard's flagship to vacate the premises at half past five. It also isn't safe to tender passengers ashore so we'll enjoy some scenic cruising until 4 o'clock instead. This is very puzzling - we can all see that inside the harbour walls the water is calm. The disappointment and confusion is palpable. I think the reality is there's been a message from the Commodore of the Queen Mary saying, “You ain't parking that old tug anywhere near us! We know about your slack-bottomed passengers!”
The signs in the toilets state, “Please wash hand after use”. I'll have to check with the medical officer which hand that should be.
My agricultural interlocutor chases me down to apologise for pouring his heart out to me the other day. We have an enjoyable chat over coffee, enjoyable, that is until the subject gravitates downwards and he tells me he's got colitis so, when he's gotta go, he's really gotta go. Perhaps that's a sign of old age - when you feel compelled to pour forth (but hopefully, not literally) with problems of the posterior. He's also gotta go and find yet another dining table - his eccentric paramour keeps finding him and moving to his new table.
It's a pleasant scenic cruise east as far as the lighthouse island of Sao Laurent, then back west past Funchal and beyond to Cabo Girao where I can just make out the viewpoint atop Europe's highest sea cliff with my binoculars. As the forecast back to Southampton is good, we’re told we'll have an extra hour in Funchal tomorrow, leaving at 3.30 instead of 2.30.
“How are you today?” I ask one of the waiters.
“A little unhappy, sir.” It's disarming but refreshing to hear such honesty.
“Why?”
“Because we cannot go ashore - we have to come back for the evening.”
“Can't you go off the ship tomorrow?”
“No, sir. We only have time after lunch.”
These guys work hard enough as it is, and the unresolved health problems, about which there’s still no information, means an even heavier workload.
Dolphins at one o'clock!! (Twenty past one, actually.) Every cloud....
I unwillingly share my lunch table with a heavy breather for whom the act of buttering bread utterly exhausts her. I fear if she tries a second slice there’ll be another Code Alpha.
Leaning on the aft, port-side railings on the Promenade Deck I chat with the tours speaker. He gets his work through an agency and his future bookings include a Fred. Olsen trip to the West Indies and a Saga trip to Venezuela next year. He tends to use the Baedecker and Bradt guides and local blogs for research on places he's not previously visited. I tell him my preference is for Footprint guides but he hasn't heard of them.
The Queen Mary moves away at five o'clock, we're docked an hour later and by half past seven the shuttle bus (a ticket for today and tomorrow costs £5) has brought me into town. I walk along the pleasant sea front to the cable car station and the nearby bus station, just beyond the Praca da Autonomia. At one of the stops the schedule for Santana is posted up and even if I caught the early bus, I wouldn't make it back to Funchal in time - tomorrow is a public holiday and consequently the service is reduced. I continue on weaving up and down and up and down the old town, resisting the entreaties of restaurant staff to try out their cuisine, before heading back along narrow streets busy with diners to the shuttle stop at the Marina Mall.
Chatting with one of the officials at the port, he advises me to spend tomorrow visiting Monte...
Tuesday 08 December 2015
...which is how I decide to spend our last day in Macaronesia. Fittingly, it's warm and sunny again and after a light breakfast (finally, we were allowed to serve ourselves) I retrace my steps from last night to catch the bus to Monte - a 20-minute, scenic ride up twisting roads to the famous hill station.
Passing men in straw boaters waiting outside the Grande Hotel Belmonte to take passengers down the mountain in wicker basket sleds I find a second cable car station below which is a mountain track. According to my map, it leads down to a levada which would bring me back to Funchal. If only I had the time. Still, a short walk through the cool mountainside forest is most enjoyable.
Back at the hotel there is a long queue of people for the wicker sleds. I watch the action and take photos at the first corner as the sleds slide by. It looks fun but I don't see the point of shelling out for an armchair ride that only takes you to Livramonte halfway down.
Up a flight of steps is the church of Our Lady of Monte, the last resting place of the last of the Hapsburg rulers, Charles I of Austria-Hungary who was exiled to the island, whilst all around are steep, twisting streets and alleyways, and barking dogs. After a walk through the small municipal park, I catch the bus back to Funchal. The driver hurtles alarmingly down twisting roads offering fine views down to the sea, and back on the coast it's several degrees warmer - perfect for another walk through the old town where poetry adorns the walls and quirky street art adorns the doors.
Sadly it's time to board, but as we sail away from our final port of call in bright sunshine and to the sounds of the sailaway party aft, we're escorted by dozens of acrobatic dolphins. Ah, wonderful!
One of the senior waiters sneezes into his shirt sleeve as he lays out the buffet, then carries on laying out the food. That's not on. If strict hygiene is demanded of the passengers I expect the staff, particularly senior staff to be vigilant also.
Wednesday 09 December 2015
You can tell we're heading back to England - today is cold, cloudy and windy, and those outside are well wrapped up.
At eleven o'clock there's a glimpse behind the curtains as the Cruise Director interviews the Show Company. “Is there any tricks to coping with a lurching ship?” “Is there any secrets to quick changes?”
“Is there any way you can speak English?” I long to ask.
Nevertheless, it’s interesting learning about the charming performers from Aberdeen to Essex, and the paths that brought them together. There's a land-based choreographer but the Dance Captain is ultimately responsible for the routines. If some performances have seemed to be of variable quality, it's probably due to “re-blocking” where roles have to re-assigned, for instance, when the Dance Captain injured her foot earlier in the cruise.
Lectures, music recitals, dance classes, inexhaustible food.... It's just another relaxing day at sea.
Our new comedian for the Late Night Comedy Club has finally arrived after being delayed by a couple of days. After his performance most of us wish he had been delayed by a couple more days.
Thursday 10 December 2015
Today it's calm and sunny, but that won't last long as the Captain informs us in his noonday broadcast that we're 37 miles west of Cabo Finisterre in Spain and in an hour and a half we will enter the Bay of Biscay. This is followed soon after by a broadcast from the Cruise Director.
“Apologies for interrupting your afternoon. This is a PA test on accordance with our, er, class which we, er, are actually in at the moment.”
She follows this up a couple of minutes later with a nursery rhyme about a turkey called Chummy followed by a charming tale of a flea and a fly in a flue. Code Alpha! Code Alpha!!
A strange compulsion draws me to the Guest Talent Show at 3.15 in the creaking Neptune Lounge. (Somebody needs to screw down the ceiling panels.) Our first performer warbles her way through “Who's Sorry Now” and I'm sure she was looking directly at me. Fortunately, the final act saves the day - a joke-telling washboard player (who the hell brings a washboard on a cruise?) whose naughty jokes (e.g. the website for incontinence sufferers - http://www.slash-slash-slash...) have the audience in stitches and the terrific piano accompanist almost falling off his stool.
After a third and final laundry of the cruise (having on-board launderettes is a big plus) before dinner, it's off to this evening's entertainment - the Balmoral Crew Show. Like previous shows I've seen on Fred. Olsen cruises, it's one part terrible to three parts excellent. In the mix are Filipino, Thai and Punjabi dance routines, classic songs and the (truly) Crazy Engine Boys in orange boiler suits and bin liners with the wackiest disco dance routine any of us has ever seen.
The wacky theme continues at the spectacular if superfluous Grand Gala Buffet in the Ballindaloch restaurant where a fellow passenger tells me about Knaresborough's annual Great Bed Race and shows me pictures on his phone of his team competing in this year’s event dressed in Thunderbirds outfits.
The final edition of the Daily Times includes the Cruise Log. We will have travelled a distance of 5606 nautical miles on our 2008-refitted ship and, courtesy of the magnificent galley team of 93, will have consumed 4486 kilograms of poultry, 5118 kilograms of fish, 14.1 tonnes of vegetables and 44,360 portions of butter. Why are there are no stats for sugar?
Friday 11 December 2015
Oh, what I'd give to be able to walk just ten feet in a straight line. I wonder why such a large expanse as the Bay of Biscay seems always to be anything but smooth. This morning is, er, um the last, er, um, social history talk from our er, um, engaging if breathless, er, um, social historian whose subject matter today is , er, um, Picture Palaces which I can vaguely remember before the onset of the multi-plex.
The captain's noonday announcement tells us we'll be entering the English Channel in half an hour so ocean motion should slowly reduce (the ship has been all over the place this morning).
I've almost packed everything and, having managed to shrink a pair of linen trousers in the wash and read through half the complementary magazines I took prior to boarding, I might be lugging back a little less weight in my case, if not about my midriff.
Agricultural Man comes to sit next to me in the lounge before the evening show to tell me that his final dinner table move proved successful - he's happy with his dining companions and finally escaped his paramour. The Grand Variety Spectacular isn't but the last night ends with raucous head-banging pensioners (including one guy gingerly out of his wheelchair) singing and dancing in the pub.
Friday 11 December 2015
Ah, England! Cold. Grey. Wet. Miserable.
Other diaries:
http://cruiseforums.cruisecritic.com/showthread.php?t=2025230
http://cruiseforums.cruisecritic.com/showthread.php?t=1900867
http://boards.cruisecritic.com/showthread.php?t=1858505
http://cruiseforums.cruisecritic.com/showthread.php?t=1770405
http://cruiseforums.cruisecritic.com/showthread.php?t=1792071
http://cruiseforums.cruisecritic.com/showthread.php?t=1669814
http://cruiseforums.cruisecritic.com/showthread.php?t=1584868
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Two hours reading my reviews? Are you, like, doing penance for a very serious transgression?:D Either that, or it takes a couple of bottles of wine to get through them all!
Look forward to the meeting!
Jack
Hello Jack,
Isn't that the nicest compliment?
I post infrequently on here and one other cruise site and have been fortunate to receive such compliments occasionally,
(e.g. http://cruiseforums.cruisecritic.com/showthread.php?t=1770405).
It makes up for all the time spent editing down diaries into something that fellow travellers hopefully find informative and entertaining.
Regards
JakTar
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Hello Chris,
Yes, it's the same system - just show your room card.
At the end of the cruise I gave a tip to both the table waitresses and left a tip for the room steward who I never saw.
On my trip three meals per day were included but other lines may be different.
You can read my diary at -
http://cruiseforums.cruisecritic.com/showthread.php?t=2025230
which will give you much more information about the whole enjoyable experience.
I hope you have an excellent time.
Best regards
Jak
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This is a diary accompanying the review of the same title which can be found at -
http://cruiseforums.cruisecritic.com/showthread.php?t=2024596
It may be of some interest to anyone contemplating a cruise through the spectacular Three Gorges. Then again, it may not...
Yangtze Gold Cruises - Golden No. 8 (20 - 23 December 2013), Chongqing to Yichang.
Thursday 19/12/2013
It's good that I booked a 2-week holiday to China as it looks like that's how long it'll take to clear immigration at Jiangbei Airport. I'm the last one through after hopping from queue to queue proves to no avail. At least my burgundy case is still on the carousel which has probably long since stopped going round.
"To avoid pinching, please do not touch doors when opened" is repeated ungrammatically at each stop of the CRT (Chongqing Rail Transit) metro as we draw into a station. After three or four stops I notice the lock on my suitcase has been broken. TSA locks are supposed to help personnel open a case without damaging it but I thought that's to allow them to use a master key rather than a pair of bolt cutters. Fortunately nothing appears to be missing.
I’ve arrived in China with a clear idea of the things I want to do but with nothing planned or booked. After chatting with the delightful Angelina at the Green Forest Hostel I have all my holiday planned and a cruise through the Three Gorges booked. Even at this time of year there are sailings and after a few phone calls to various companies she books me on Yangtze Gold Cruises' Golden No. 8 (I wonder what her siblings might be called), a supposedly "super 5-star" boat, for a 3-night all-inclusive cruise down the Yangtze River from Chongqing to Yichang starting tomorrow night. Amazing!
Friday 20/12/2013
After a day spent exploring the city (and discovering culinary delights such as "A Traditional Special of Chongqing - Strange Taste Horsebeans") I return to the hostel for an early evening meal as dinner isn't served on the cruise boat on the first night. At six o’clock the taxi arrives to take me down to the pier at Chaotienmen. It’s a crisp, dry evening as I hurry past the hawkers and make my way straight onto the white, 446-capacity, 6-deck boat that was built as recently as 2012, acknowledging the greetings from the welcoming crew dressed smartly in their burnt-orange coats.
The taxi driver books me in with the reception desk whilst I take photos of the impressive, grand central lobby with its decorated Xmas tree, spiral staircase and crystal chandelier before checking out my cabin on the same deck as the reception desk. There's nobody else (yet) in mine. I’m hoping that, as it's the low season, maybe I'll get away with a cabin to myself although I’ve booked a share.
The tastefully decorated restaurant has a central food station surrounded by tables for ten with purple chair coverings and gold tablecloths. I chat with a couple of Chinese students who are waiting for a problem with their booking to be sorted out.
There's a route map at the entrance to the restaurant showing all the places we'll visit. I can’t wait. Upstairs there are small shops selling mainly souvenirs, and a calligraphy stall with exquisite cards laid out. Further exploration reveals a VIP dining room, a show lounge and a small library. Carpets, soft furnishings and wood convey a feeling of understated class.
"I hope you have a memorable and unforgettable trip" is the tautological wish over the PA system as we slip away down the Yangtze at half past eight. All announcements are in Chinese and English and I haven't seen another European face yet. Chongqing is colourfully lit up by night and Chaotienmen, or a boat cruising from Chaotienmen, is the best way to see the spectacle.
I reckon I must have got lucky with the cabin but when I go back to confirm, I’m sadly disappointed. I enquire at the reception desk about spare cabins and am told it will cost me another 1000 yuan if I want one to myself. That’s too much. Anyway, how bad can it be, having to share with a stranger, on a luxury boat for three nights? A single flatulent explosion from the bathroom that propels Golden No. 8 most of the way back to the pier answers my question. The girl at the reception desk is more understanding this time after I genuflect and prostrate myself before her and she offers me a smaller but perfectly adequate cabin a couple of decks up.
A sign in the cabin en-suite reads, "For fresh towles [sic] place unclean ones in basket." They've spent so much on building the boat you'd think they could have invested in a decent proof-reader. It's a shame that there are no activities at all tonight, not even a sailaway party. Ah well, I’m sailing down the Yangtze on a beautiful boat and that’s all that matters.
Saturday 21/12/2013
Breakfast is served between seven and eight o'clock at assigned tables as indicated on the table plan by the entrance. A large and varied buffet of hot and cold dishes is laid out, catering to both Eastern and Western tastes. Being a vegetarian doesn’t present a problem and I try a little cooked cabbage with French toast which works very well. There are many more hot dishes that I could have if I was hungry but some semi-sweet buns, bread and tea, and a fruit cocktail made up from the strawberry, pineapple and orange juices suffice. Two exchange students from Stuttgart are the only other westerners on my table and, as far as we can see, we're the only Westerners on the boat. Fortunately they speak excellent English and tell me they’re studying process engineering (whatever that is) at Beijing's Tsinghua University. One of the other guests on our table is travelling with his parents and speaks a little English otherwise the international language of smiling and nodding is much used. The tables have a central rotating dias which is very useful for picking up stuff such as sugar or milk without having to lean over anyone. After breakfast I say Hello to the Chinese students from last night who have happily sorted out the booking problem.
At eight o'clock we three Westerners are asked to wait by the reception desk where our English-speaking guide for the morning's shore excursion to the ghost city of Fengdu will be pointed out. It's a misty day as we make our way ashore to board waiting buggies that take us to the grand entrance at the base of Ming Mountain guarded by a wizard from Hogwarts, or perhaps he's the King of Hell.
There are many steps to climb to the mountain top and if we make it all the way up we'll live till the age of 99, our guide tells us. I'll certainly feel that age by the time I've finished.
Onwards and upwards we walk past shrines and temples containing fantastic figures, up to the stone Bridge of Troubled Water that dates from the Ming dynasty and reputedly links this world to the underworld. When we step off the bridge we should turn right for health and left for wealth. The more steps we take on the bridge, the more we will have of what we desire. Everybody opts for health but I point out to my German friends that if wealth is chosen you could pay for your healthcare.
We continue up, passing myriad stone carvings, from the Jade Emperor Hall to the very Gate of Hell where fire offerings are made by many, before heading back down via a different route (it would be bad luck to take the same route) chatting with other English-speaking passengers. Hot towels and delicious ginger tea await us as we board our boat.
"Are you a vegetarian?" asks the meet-and-greet girl at the entrance to the restaurant where lunch is served between 11:45 and 12:45.
She gently takes me by the arm to show me what I can have from the buffet, but it's too crowded so she says she'll ask the chef to make me something. It isn't necessary but it would be rude to refuse. A few minutes later I have vegetable sushi, sweet potato, mushroom soup, boiled rice, warm tomatoes, chopped omelette and delicious greens. I'm somewhat overwhelmed. The buffet has Coke, Sprite and black tea to drink. There are also tempting cakes but I resist. I’ve brought a travel kettle with me, and some coffee, milk and biscuits which I’ll have at about four o’clock because afternoon tea isn’t served on the boat. My German friends tell me they arrived in Chongqing from Xi'an by train - on a hard-seat. After the cruise they’re off to Guilin then to Shanghai to see in the new year. I will visit Chengdu before Guilin and will be back in Chongqing for New Year’s Eve.
The day is by turns misty and sunny as I relax on the cabin balcony where just drifting down the river is extremely relaxing, especially with soft music playing over the PA system. There's a pay movie being shown in the cinema on deck 3 this afternoon but I'm not interested, and unfortunately I forget about the lecture on Chinese medicine and acupuncture.
At half past three it's the Captain's Welcome Party in the lounge on deck 5 where my German friends learn an important lesson - don't sit in the front row of a performance, although there are worse things than being dragged on to the dance floor for a waltz by a pretty Chinese girl. I watch in amusement from a safe distance having previously endured a similar fate in Tahiti (notwithstanding the breathtaking beauty of those Polynesian girls).
At 4 o'clock there's an optional excursion to the Shi Bao Zhai Pagoda but despite its description as "A brilliant pearl on the Yangtze River" I’m content to look out at it from the boat.
How depressing. I'd hoped to be safe from spitting whilst on board but at least one passenger is so irredeemably uncouth that he clears his throat and just spits on the carpet! Even worse, I don’t say anything or even indicate my disgust.
I take photos of the setting sun casting an orange reflection in the river before going down to dinner which is served between 18:30 and 19:30. I'm gently accosted again as I walk into the restaurant (where I seem to be one of the last in even though it’s only 19:35) to be told that a vegetarian meal has been specially prepared. Tomato and cabbage soup, boiled rice and a dish of scrambled egg with cabbage and cucumber is brought out for me. It's very tasty but I can't manage it all. I ask my German friends what they like best about China. The girls, they say, and with whom I imagine they engage in a form of process engineering not on the curriculum. And the strangest thing they've encountered? Being given a shoulder and neck massage whilst having a wee in a public toilet. As we eat and chat, copies of tomorrow's itinerary in English are brought to our table.
The Yangtze Gold Cabaret Show is at half past eight. It's an excellent hour's entertainment - primarily a crew talent show although my German friends are amongst the audience participants for some games and dances (will they never learn?) - then everyone goes to bed! We can't believe it. It's Saturday night, man!
Sunday 22/12/2013
After breakfast most of the passengers go off on the optional excursion to the White Emperor City - a temple complex that has become an island since the Three Gorges dam was built - but I have a slight tummy twinge and anyway, prefer to indulge in a lazy Sunday morning on-board. I ask the guy on reception to write out "battery charger" for me in Chinese - they don't have so I'll have to buy one.
I watch the calligrapher-artist creating a new work before heading up to the library. The Chinese do like to keep their coats on indoors even though I'm wearing a t-shirt because it's far too warm for anything else (apart from trousers). I pick up a copy of Selected Works of Jiang Zemin, Vol. II and start to read the first essay - The Great Banner of Deng Xiaoping Theory. It's not as dry as might be imagined as the crux of the theory - to build 'socialism with Chinese characteristics' - is a brilliantly simple way to have carte blanche to pick and choose any convenient aspect of any social, economic and political theory. Now I understand how rampant capitalism can flourish in a supposedly communist state.
The optional excursionists have returned and at 11 o'clock an announcement tells us we're about to enter Qutang Gorge, the first of the Three Gorges. It's cold and misty, but not enough to spoil the experience. It's hard to imagine how even more spectacular it must have looked before the dam was built.
A tasty buffet lunch (plus a vegetarian dish cooked for me) is served at 11:45 and an hour later the three Europeans assemble by the reception desk to be introduced to our English-speaking guide for our excursion through the Lesser Three Gorges on the Daning River. We transfer to a smaller boat that takes us under the red arched bridge and along the Yangtze tributary. 'Lesser' is a misnomer as the gorges are just as spectacular as, and perhaps even more colourful than, their big brothers.
It takes about an hour to sail through the dramatically scenic Long Men, Da Wu and Di Cui gorges and as we head back our English-speaking guide tells us a little about the famous dam down river. It initially supplied 20% of the country’s electricity and has raised the water level from 85 metres to 175 metres above sea level in Winter (145 in Summer), and was created for three reasons:
1) To control the 100-year flood (although it appears they occur much more frequently)
2) To provide power
3) To provide better navigation
His own family was affected, being moved to Wushan. The compensation amounted to a similar-sized property with better facilities. He doesn't give any indication of any lingering bitterness - quite the opposite - stating that 1.3 million people were displaced to protect 50 million at risk.
We return to the boat and warming ginger tea and at about half past four we arrive at Wu Gorge, the second of the Three Gorges. I enjoy afternoon tea out on the cabin balcony before going out on deck to take dozens of photographs.
I’m five minutes late for the Captain's Farewell Banquet at half past six and my entrance is greeted with loud and appreciative applause, having walked in at precisely the moment the MC, looking very pretty in her white officer's dress uniform, was introducing the captain and crew. (I wondered why they were all lined up outside the restaurant.) Ah, those inscrutable Chinese… Neither she nor any of the passengers bat an eyelid and fortunately there are no other idiots around to ruin Take 2.
It’s my first Chinese banquet, and what a feast! The food just keeps on coming - platter after platter after platter…..after platter. The chef has even made a vegetarian pizza for me which I offer round and end up managing only a single slice for myself. The chef has also made me up omelette with sliced tomatoes and noodles in a clear vegetable soup and it’s very tasty. The waitress then brings me a plate of sushi which I decline although I instantly regret it - even though I couldn't manage it I could and should have shared it with the others. There’s no dress code for dinner but most are in sober wear anyway.
At half past eight it's Karaoke Time in the bar of Deck 5 - apparently. Surprisingly there's only the three of us in the bar. We chat with a drinks waitress and ask about the ring she’s wearing. She explains that rings are worn on the left hand for women and the right hand for men. She wears a ring on her first finger which means she's looking for a boyfriend. A ring on the second finger means - I have a boyfriend; on the third means - I'm married; and a ring on the little finger means - I'm not looking for a boyfriend. So where's the karaoke? In the adjacent KTV room, obviously. Disappointingly there are only three guests there although there's an expansive fruit and snack spread laid out on the table, along with bottles of whisky. They can't speak English but still bid us enter.
At eleven o’clock we approach the first of the locks and down and down the boat goes as the water drains away, the pressure of the water behind the gates keeping them shut . Despite the cold it seems as if everyone is out on deck, well wrapped up. It'll take hours to get through all the locks and it's an early start tomorrow so a couple of hours of this amazing experience suffices before I head back to the cabin.
Monday 23/12/2013
After a full English (or a vegetarian version) I give a tip to both the table waitresses and leave a similar amount on the bed for the cabin steward whoever he or she is, before being introduced to the English-speaking guide, for our trip to the Three Gorges Dam.
A short ride brings us to the complex in the middle section of the Xiling Gorge comprising dam, hydropower stations, and locks. The entrance is by one of the locks where four ships are either being raised or lowered (I can’t tell which). A succession of open-air escalators brings us up to the Tanziling Ridge scenic area comprising gardens, water features, sculptures, viewpoints and the visitor centre.
Wendy tells me that whereas the Panama Canal has three locks, there are five at the Three Gorges dam due to the greater difference in water levels. Also, tellingly, due to increased demand, the dam may have supplied 20% of the country's electricity initially, but now, due to China's rapid growth, it's only 1.7%. She also gives a fourth reason for building the dam - water supply.
The 185 viewing point, the last stop on our visit, overlooks the dam. Unfortunately it's too misty to see more than part of the way across the river but the two-hour visit has still been fascinating.
Hot tea again awaits us before we cast off for a final scenic sail through the rest of the misty Xiling Gorge. An hour later, sadly, it’s time to leave because this outstanding journey is over. Like my German Friends I take the bus organised by the boat to Yichang train station where I bid them Goodbye and a Happy New Year. They’ve been good company and I doubt I’ll see them again - but I’m wrong. Four days later, whilst trekking in the remarkable and immense LongJi rice terraces with a group of Norwegians on a day-trip from Guilin, who do I spy coming towards us along the Devil’s backbone…?
Other diaries:
http://cruiseforums.cruisecritic.com/showthread.php?t=1900867
http://boards.cruisecritic.com/showthread.php?t=1858505
http://cruiseforums.cruisecritic.com/showthread.php?t=1770405
http://cruiseforums.cruisecritic.com/showthread.php?t=1792071
http://cruiseforums.cruisecritic.com/showthread.php?t=1669814
http://cruiseforums.cruisecritic.com/showthread.php?t=1584868
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Note -
The website does not have an "Other" option for reviews of companies that don't appear in the drop-down list, which is why this review appears in the Forums section.
A diary of the same title describing the experience will be published later.
Introduction:
This was a 3-night cruise from Chongqing to Yichang (20-23 December 2013) which afforded the opportunity to fulfil a long-standing ambition of sailing the Yangtze River through the amazing Three Gorges.
The Boat:
Yangtze Gold Cruises Golden No. 8 (can you guess what her siblings might be called?) is a luxury, 446-capacity, 6-deck boat that was built as recently as 2012. It is a friendly, easily navigated boat offering a relaxed river-going experience. There are plenty of public spaces both inside and out including wide viewing and promenade decks. It has a clean, white exterior and an elegant, tastefully decorated, clean interior.
Announcements were in Chinese (or perhaps Mandarin to be strictly accurate) and English, and the passengers were all Chinese apart from two exchange students from Germany, and this reviewer from England.
Embarkation and Disembarkation:
These were quick and efficient, the former particularly so as my taxi driver did it for me. The passenger safety drill was, I think, conducted as we moved away from the port, but strangely, I can’t remember. Perhaps it was a series of announcements rather than a drill.
Cabin:
My clean and comfortable balcony cabin was well-furnished with an adequate en-suite. It was made up twice a day and sitting out on the balcony drifting past spectacular scenery was a delight.
Dining:
All meals were served at single sittings in one restaurant at assigned tables for ten (the table plan was posted up outside the restaurant). There was no dress code, even for the last night banquet, but sober, sensible dress was the natural order of the day anyway. There was a huge variety of buffet food although vegetarian meals were made specially, even though there was much vegetarian food available from the buffet. I brought a travel kettle, coffee and shortbread biscuits with me to ensure that the experience was as perfect as possible.
Entertainment:
There were shows in the lounge which were very entertaining but no night-life as such because the Chinese seem to favour early nights. Pay films were shown as alternatives to optional excursions and there was at least one lecture on Chinese medicine, but I missed it. There was a KTV (karaoke) lounge that surprisingly, was hardly used. There were no port lectures but the English-speaking guides were very informative.
Public Rooms and Spaces:
The boat has a small library although you are advised to bring your own reading material unless collected essays of Chinese leaders is your thing. They’re not as boring as they might appear though, for those wishing to get an insight into Chinese leaders. There is a small cinema room, a bar and lounge and plenty of deck space, and a couple of small pools.
The only inside space where I saw people smoking was the KTV room.
The onboard shops sold interesting souvenirs but little in the way of clothing or bathroom necessities so you’d be advised to make sure you bring whatever you might need with you.
Ports of Call:
I did not take any of the optional shore excursions but those that did seemed happy with them. The included shore excursions were hugely enjoyable. None of the excursions lasted more than three hours.
The included shore excursions were:
1. The ghost city of Fengdu
2. The Lesser Three Gorges
3. The Three Gorges Dam
The optional shore excursions were:
1. The Shi Bao Zhai Pagoda
2. The White Emperor City
Summary:
This was a terrific cruise to see the iconic Three Gorges which are still dramatic even though the water level has been raised by as much as 90 metres. There were few English-speaking tourists but the international language of smiling and nodding went a long way with the Chinese guests. Previous visitors to the country will know that the Chinese suffer terribly from catarrh but apart from one ugly expectoration episode this was not a problem on such a fine boat. It was cold and misty but dry so the weather hardly detracted from the experience. A final word for the staff, all of whom spoke some English - they were pleasant, friendly and helpful. In short – an experience not to be missed.
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Hello Jack,
Just to re-iterate and add a little more information on this post which I've just come across -
My holiday diary reminds me that the Fuji-like cone is that of Mount Osorno and the shimmering lake is Llanqihue in the Chilean Lake District (although curiously the area is associated with settlers from Germany rather than New England). The falls are Petrohue Falls. You probably drove from Puerto Montt through Puerto Varas to the shores of the lake. If you also visited Frutillar (where you might have enjoyed some kuchen or apfelstrudel), two other volcanoes may have been pointed out to you - Puntiaguido and Tronador (the latter, our guide informed us, is actually in Argentina).
Regards
Jak
Ancient Worlds and Ancient Entertainment - A Celebrity Infinity Diary
in Celebrity Cruises
Posted
This is the (overlong?) diary of a solo passenger’s 11-night cruise in the eastern Mediterranean with ports of call in Greece, Turkey and Cyprus: Athens, Thessaloniki, Kusadasi, Limassol, Rhodes, Crete and Nafplion.
It may be of interest to those contemplating a similar cruise.
Note: Names may have been changed to protect the guilty, and transliterating from Greek to English inevitably means eccentric and inconsistent spelling.
Monday 12 February 2024 - Day 1 - Athens (Piraeus)
It’s my first flight since Covid and one thing I do notice is that cabin crew still do like to use the emphatic verb to excess, and I do wish they'd stop it! It’s sunny and warm on landing at Athens Airport which has the longest walk to baggage reclaim (over 15 minutes) I’ve experienced - and the luggage belt is at the farthest end of the reclaim hall.
Celebrity reps are waiting in the arrivals hall to shepherd us to the transfer coaches and it’s a 1-hour ride to Piraeus and the 23-year-old Infinity which carries a little over 2000 passengers across 12 decks and looks smart in her blue and white livery. I haven’t bothered downloading the Celebrity app (whatever that is) or printing labels or tickets, expecting my passport and reservation details to be sufficient, and so it proves (as it did at the airport). The boarding process is quick and I’m soon relaxing on the balcony of my deck 9 cabin, happy to have escaped the grey days of an English winter.
Celebrity Today is the daily, 4-page, activities guide, except it isn’t - the full schedule of what’s on, a full listing of eating and drinking options, and a timetable of opening hours for shops, offices and services is on a separate insert. A second insert contains introductions to the chief personnel such as the Master, Staff Captain, Cruise Director, Chief Engineer and Executive Chef whilst a third insert offers laundry and dry cleaning packages.
At 5pm it’s the Sailaway Party, except it isn’t - our departure is delayed (but who cares?) and passengers are chatting, drinking and relaxing round the pool area rather than partying. I don’t stay long because, just for today, there is a hosted Solo Travelers Get Together at 5.30 in the plush surrounds of Cellar Masters. (Any future get-togethers will be posted up on the Community Board by Guest Services.) About a dozen of us show up and, after introducing ourselves and chatting, a few decide to dine immediately afterwards in the Trellis Restaurant. It’s early for me but I decide to join in, at least for tonight.
My fellow solos include: Marit from Amsterdam - a KLM cabin steward, Miles from Edmonton - a retired member of the Albertan legislature, Bill from Iowa - a nursing practitioner, Anne from Norwich - a civil servant, Farid from New Hampshire - a car dealership owner, and Steve from York who sadly flew home partway through the cruise when his father became ill. Farid is an oenophile and keen to educate this oeno-nothing, particularly about ice wines. He orders a Muscato but there are none (perhaps after a re-stock later in the cruise) so asks for a bottle of Riesling instead. Conversation, like the wine, flows easily, and I add Riesling to my list of favourite wines, which now totals…one.
At the welcome-aboard show, Captain Dimitrios introduces his executive team comprising: Chief Engineer, Staff Captain, Hotel Manager, HR director, and the Executive Chef who is responsible for 9000 servings every day. This is followed by Hollywood Cabaret - a curiously amateurish presentation with weak singing, particularly from the boys of the ship's company.
The DJ and bar staff outnumber late night revellers (the plural form is barely warranted) in the forward Constellation Lounge, unsurprisingly for the first night, so I have a light bite before bed (the Oceanview café is open until 1am).
Tuesday 13 Feb 2024 - Day 2 - Thessaloniki
At 9am there’s a 1-hour ports talk with the Cruise Director during which the Dodecanese and the Peleponnese are words she cannot pronouncewithease. The talk, which isn’t a hard sell for excursions and helpfully includes information for those going ashore independently, finishes as the ship comes alongside. We have an overnight stay in Greece’s second city, the capital of Macedonia and less than 30 miles from Pella, the birthplace of Alexander the Great, so I disembark at leisure, picking up a map from the tourist information desk on the quayside from where it’s only a short walk to the port gates opposite the grand Passenger Terminal building.
I turn right walking along the waterfront towards the city centre - it’s warm and sunny with a light breeze coming off the Thermaikos Gulf - pausing at the holocaust memorial - a menorah engulfed in flames dedicated to, “… the 50000 Jewish Greeks of Thessaloniki … exterminated in the gas chambers of the Auschwitz-Birkenau death camps.”
Aristotelous Square is the main city square and a statue of Alexander’s teacher is sited in front of a world-renowned icon of the modern era - a branch of KFC. Across the square is the 5-star Electra Palace Hotel where I ask at the reception desk how to say in Greek - I’m sorry, I don’t speak Greek. Do you speak English? They write - Signomi, den milao ellenika. Milas anglika?
Further along the wide promenade is the round, (off-)White Tower - once part of the old walls of the city, a fortress, a prison and a place of execution, but now a national monument and a museum. In a plaza beyond stands a statue of Alexander astride Bucephalus.
Inland from the tower and the adjacent Aphrodite Fountain is the Hamadiye fountain, dating from the late 19th century and named for His Imperial Majesty, The Sultan Abdulhamid II, Emperor of the Ottomans, Caliph of the Faithful, also known as Abdul Hamid II, Abd Al-Hamid II Khan Ghazi and The Crimson Sultan (or just Dave, down at the Dog and Partridge). I continue to the Sintrivani Fountain then turn left along Egnatia (one of the city’s main thoroughfares) to the Arch and Rotunda of Galerius, built by the 4th century emperor.
I lose my way a little when looking for the house where Kemal Ataturk, Turkey’s founding father and first president, grew up. It’s now part of the Turkish Consulate compound and a couple of policemen point the way. The white house is now an interesting museum.
Along the same street, heading back towards Aristotle Square, is the church of Agios Dimitrios, dedicated to the patron saint of the city and standing on the presumed site of his martyrdom. Building materials for restoration work in the 1940s included tombstones taken from the Jewish cemetery - now the site of the Aristotle University which also used the tombstones as building material.
My circular exploration of the lower town finishes at the Roman Agora between the church and Aristotle Square and where some of the columns and lower arcades that comprised the ancient forum have managed to survive to this day.
It’s late afternoon as I take a taxi for €10 up to Ano Poli - the upper town - and the main gate of the Heptapyrgion (a misnomer because the Byzantine fortress has ten rather than seven towers), close by the Trigoniou Tower. The acropolis, unlike the city below, was largely untouched by the great fire of 1917, and it has the feel of a separate village where it’s pleasant to wander through the colourful plaza and along the city walls, and in and out of hilly side streets with views of the bay below. As the sun starts to set I walk back to the plaza and buy a bus ticket from the Hellenic Kiosk opposite the bus stop for 90 cents and where I’m told the no. 23 to Egnatia (the g is pronounced as an r) will be fine for getting back to the port.
"In the orange box, you can cancel your ticket," the driver tells me and when the bus stops descending and heads away from sites I recognise, I get off. The guy on the reception desk at the Ilisia Hotel opposite the bus stop tells me it’s straight down to the port. "Efharisto," I reply and, indeed, it’s only a 10-minute walk.
Tonight’s Headline Entertainer, Cellist Andre Cavassi, includes rather too much of his homespun philosophy on the meaning of life - more music and less musing, please. Later, in the Constellation Lounge later, Alex Bellotto performs close-up magic. The greatest illusion of all is that some still consider magic to be entertainment.
I chat with Farid in the Oceanview café talking about wine and US politics till 1.30 - he predicts calamitous consequences for a Trump victory in November.
Wednesday 14 Feb 2024 - Day 3 - Thessaloniki (part 2)
I have breakfast in the Spa Café by the pool where the healthier options include an unhealthily sweet organic granola. The all-aboard time is 1.30pm and it’s a serendipitous start to the half-day because opposite the port gates is the 5-star Mediterranean Palace Hotel and the no. 23 bus stop is right outside.
I return to Ano Poli where, on the street corner across from the bus stop, there is a flower-bedecked tavern. Its terrace is a perfect spot for peratzatha (although there are few people around to actually watch) whilst sipping a Greek coffee, served in a cup not much larger than a thimble half-filled with coffee grounds. Back down at sea-level I return to the ship via the remains of the Vardaris Fortress and Tower opposite the port, and which are also part of the city walls.
As we prepare to get underway, Captain Dimitrios tells us that it’s, “268 nautical miles to Kusadasi at an average speed of 16.8 knots. For the romantic couples out there, sunset will be at 6pm."
Pink and heart-shaped creations are very much the order of the day in the Oceanview Café, and the celebration desserts look even more sickly-sweet than usual.
There’s an afternoon salsa dance class in the Constellation Lounge, and if the couple from the theatre company teaching on stage had thought to place a colleague where I’m sat, they’d see, and fix, the basic errors that those furthest from the stage are making.
Notting Hill is the appropriately romantic, cinematic offering on the Rooftop Terrace where there are comfortable settees and loungers. One deck down is Qsine where some of my fellow solos are planning to dine later in the cruise. It’s $60 a head for the gastronomic and 3D table-top animation experience so I’ll settle for hearing about it afterwards.
Foregoing the Unveiling The Histories of Kusadasi and Limassol talk, I try the General Knowledge Trivia in the Constellation Lounge instead. It’s hosted by Marianna, the Activities Manager from the Ukraine who isn’t a fan of the article, whether definite or indefinite. What is definite, she tells us, is that whenever she runs the trivia quiz, “Russia” will never be the right answer.
At the solos meet before dinner, I chat with Bill who used to be an army medic. He’s travelling through Europe to escape a messy divorce from his second marriage - his first ended when his wife decided, after being with him for nine years, that she was a lesbian.
This evening the captain officiates at the Vow Renewal At Sea ceremony in the Grand Foyer where our cellist sets the mood with romantic classics as crowds gather - spectators around the balconies and participants on the stairs. The captain takes over, vows are declared, couples hug and kiss and everyone applauds. It’s all rather lovely.
A glass of Muscato wine is waiting for me at dinner. It looks and smells like a Riesling but tastes very different, being much drier. However, like the Riesling, it’s a very agreeable digestif. I tell Farid I’ll add it to my list of favourite wines, which has now doubled.
You’d think that, with an Evening Attire suggestion of Evening Chic, the highlight of Valentine’s Night would be a Valentine’s Ball, but there isn’t one. Go figure!
After an anodyne offering in the theatre by the Production Cast dancers and singers, I join Marit at the Abba Sing-a-long in the Constellation Lounge. It’s wobbly tonight, and forward and high up in the crow’s nest is the worst location for a dance party, but who cares? The star of the show is Brian from the Philippines. Darling, he’s an absolutely fabulous activities host whose fluidity and fun is infectious - as I might be soon because a tickly throat indicates that a cold is probably imminent.
Before turning in for the night, I pick up a gratuities sheet from Guest Services which tells me -
$18 per person per day in a standard stateroom (which can be adjusted), shared as follows: Dining and Culinary - $10.81; Housekeeping - $5.19; and Other - $2.00
Thursday 15 Feb 2024 - Day 4 - Kusadasi (pronounced Ku-sha-da-se)
My first view of Kusadasi (whose name means - Bird Island) is of the Pigeon Island fortress, first built by the Genoese in the 13th century and now connected to the mainland by a causeway. The all-aboard time is 9.30pm so there’s plenty of time to explore today. We’re docked by the upmarket Scala Nuova (shopping) village where an agent from Kropki Tour is offering excursions to Ephesus, an ancient harbour city that has shifted over time with the shifting shoreline, and where excavations have revealed many grand monuments. I pay 1526TL (£39.61) for the excursion, (it would have been slightly less if I’d paid in cash rather than by card) and we soon have enough to fill a minivan.
After a scenic, 30-minute drive through the countryside we arrive at the House of the Virgin Mary - a place of pilgrimage where some believe she lived out her final years - then continue on to Ephesus a few kilometers away, driving through fertile valleys of fig, peach and olive trees.
It’s sunny and temperate as we enter the legendary site through the Upper Gate. There is much to see: the Baths of Varius, the State Agora, the stone carving of the goddess Nike, Trajan’s Fountain, Hadrian’s Temple, the latrine and the brothel before arriving at the Library of Celsus, considered to be, like those of Alexandria and Pergamum, one of the great libraries of the ancient world. The Commercial Agora and the 25000-capacity Great Theatre conclude our excellent, unhurried 90-minute tour and we exit Ephesus at the Lower Gate.
Our excursion continues with an unwanted visit to a leather factory where we are treated to a private fashion show with two of our group co-opted as models, and they sashay down the runway modelling leather jackets to the accompaniment of raucous applause and booming rock music.
The last stop on our excursion is at the site of the Temple of Artemis, one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World and where all that remains now is a single, forlorn column.
Re-energised after a bite to eat onboard, I wander through the Grand Bazaar - the largest in Turkey after Istanbul although this modern bazaar is rather soulless by comparison. I find a store selling a huge array of embroidered zippered bags and buy several as they’re very useful for holding odds and ends such as loose change, first aid items, and electrical leads and plugs.
On the street, I watch a game of backgammon (tavla in Turkish, I’m told) being played on a board beautifully decorated with wild horses, and am invited to play if I can wait until this first-to-five finishes. I have to decline because the light will fade soon and leave to take photos of the fortified caravanserai (inn and storehouse) and the waterfront sculptures.
I should have a Turkish coffee before I leave and although there’s no baklava at the Patisserie Agora Firin Café there are other sweet delights such as appel kurabiya. How much? Only 50TL ($1.50)? For a coffee and an apple pastry? Apparently so.
I have a cold so dine alone in the Trellis Restaurant where my waiter is Nabi from Kolkata who’s actually heard of Nilambur where I taught for a short while. Tonight's excellent vegetarian entrée is Toasted Israeli Couscous Cake - Asparagus Spears, Cherry Tomatoes, Zucchini Ribbons, Balsamic Vinaigrette which is so beautifully presented that I have to take a photo.
You’d think that a Full Moon Party would be held under the stars, but it isn’t. Go figure! Simple line dances are taught and the floor is packed so the party is a success despite being held indoors.
Friday 16 Feb 2024 - Day 5 - At Sea
Today’s breakfast bakery special in the Oceanview Café is chocolate bread, sliced into doorsteps, and there’s plenty of available seating even on a sea day because the boat is only half full. How do I signal not to clear my table? A waiter tells me to tip my chair forward. I also put cutlery at 9.15 and a napkin on the back of my chair as per other cruise lines, just to emphasis the point.
Sailing on calm waters watching Mediterranean islands and their whitewashed coastal villages slip by as you sip a soothing, Lemsip Max Cold & Flu… This is the life. A more energetic life was that of Arabic adventurer Freya Stark about whom I’m reading at the moment, having been inspired to so after a talk on my first solo cruise - from Egypt to India. Afterwards I watch the Golf Putting Challenge in the Martini Bar where Bill from Illinois looks a sure-fire winner with his score of only five from the first three holes, but defeat is snatched from the jaws of victory with a four at the last.
At noon, the irrepressible Brian, ok, from the Philippines, ok, leads the poolside line dancing, ok, finishing with his favourite track, ok - Gangnam Style. Ok? He’s good, but he’s no Ed Balls. Time for some lunch - a very hot and very spicy Manchow mushroom soup which should clear my sinuses, and any other blockages.
The musical duo in the Al Bacio café end their fine set with four-handed piano (Mozart, The Beatles and Astor Piazzola) to much deserved applause. Afterwards there’s the afternoon trivia quiz run by Alejandro from Mexico. It's only his fourth day with Celebrity and, it would appear, his fourth day learning English! It's illegal to sing whilst wearing a swimsuit in Florida? Who knew?
I’m late for dinner, captivated by an amazing performance by the Martini Bar staff: thirteen cocktail glasses are ranged along the counter and, to cheers and applause from onlookers, are filled simultaneously from a tower of thirteen cocktail shakers. (This proved to be the best show I saw all cruise.) Afterwards, I listen to Brazilian Waves in the Rendezvous Lounge as a couple dance the same tango routine, replete with kicks, dips, hooks and lifts, to every track.
Finally, I meet Yolanda, my cabin steward. She’s from Cusco and impressed that I’ve been there. She has one daughter and goes back home in five months, her day starts at 8am and she has 17 cabins to look after.
An irresistible force draws me to the sure-to-be-dreadful Live Band Karaoke. Annabelle dedicates Besame Mucho to all her friends onboard (presumably, no longer after that performance), Peter's rendition of The Time of my Life wasn't, but redemption is ultimately at hand with Roger's version of Unchained Melody which fully deserved its wild applause.
Saturday 17 Feb 2024 - Day 6 - Limassol
Limmasol is a commercial port so a shuttle bus brings us to Syntagma Square in the heart of the old town. The square houses the Carob Museum (today hosting a diabetes conference), restaurants (most are closed for the winter) and Limassol Castle (now a museum surrounded by lemon trees and where, according to tradition, Richard the Lionheart married Berengaria of Navarre in 1191).
It’s a warm, sunny day - perfect for a leisurely exploration of the old town, including the Agia Napa cathedral, through arcades and along alleyways, on one of which is the Nut Cracker House with an immense variety of nuts and dried fruits, and outside which is imprisoned a very large parrot in a very small cage.
The morning’s meanderings give way to an afternoon’s ambling along the Molos - a picturesque promenade lined with palm trees that starts at the Old Port marina. It’s the location of the Sculpture Park with its twisting walkways, statues, water features and sundial, and Birth by local artist Maria Kyprianou - 96 colourful stone eggs which are a magnet for small children playing hide-and-seek.
Captain Dimitrios welcomes us back and invites us to join him at The Liars' Club tonight at 10pm, but how can we be sure he'll be there, or that it’s starting at 10pm, or that it’s even happening at all?
After another enjoyable dinner with my fellow solos, Ukebox - a quartet of ukulele players from Liverpool - is tonight’s headline act. It’s a poor show: a medley of 80s songs (or was it 80 songs? FFS, lads - pick two or three tracks and play them through instead of a bit of this and a bit of that) and comedy falling flat.
Ah! The captain wasn’t lying, and it’s our job as the audience to guess the correct definition of obscure, rude-sounding words from those given by the captain, cruise director and comedian. It makes me think that there doesn't seem to be entertainment catering for Spanish speakers, unless they receive a copy of Celebrity Hoy containing activities tailored for them.
Late night revellers at the optimistically-named Club Constellation Party are outnumbered by bar staff but it’s busy in the Rendezvous Lounge for the last musical session of the night from Brazilian Waves - the lead singer has a fine voice although she's hopeless at singing lyrics in English.
Sunday 18 Feb 2024 - Day 7 - At Sea
This morning’s bakery special is Raisin Rolls aka Chelsea buns. Why can’t I find them anymore in supermarkets back home?
"Good morning. This is Captain Dimitrios. The time is 10am and this is your wake-up call. Our current position is latitude somewhere north and longitude somewhere east..."
Foregoing the talk on “Heraklion Unveiled”, I chat with Miles in the cafe. He tells of his incident-packed ministerial visit to Brazzaville (travelling in a lawless country) during which a government minister asked for help getting his son back home from Canada. He managed to trace him and asked about his reticence to be in touch.
"You've been to The Congo?" he asked Miles.
"Yes."
"So quit trying to ship me back home!"
It’s a warm day in the Mediterranean so I give my knees an airing whilst relaxing on my balcony and reading more about Freya Stark before a buffet lunch where the skills of a contortionist are needed to reach food under low Perspex covers. I ask to be served with egg salad (with so much mayo you can't tell it's egg), potato salad (where you can just about discern the potato) and tomato (pronounced "toe-may-toe" so I’m understood).
It’s time to check the answers from the final round of Scattergories, hosted by the irrepressible Brian - countries beginning with the letter S. "Are we considering Scotland as a country?" he asks.
At the Live Music: Ballroom Dancing with The Infinity Orchestra, you’d think there’d be music for dancing, but there isn’t. It turns out to be a jazz session. Go figure!
There’s nothing tempting from tonight’s menu. Ah, but the restaurant also has a separate vegetarian menu, our waiter tells me. None of us knew about that. After another enjoyable dinner, tonight’s featured entertainment in the theatre is Star Factory which is very old school but saved by glorious aerial acrobatics. The Totally 80s gameshow afterwards was silly but fun, but the subsequent 80s party was ruined by the sound system failing.
Monday 19 Feb 2024 - Day 8 - Rhodes
A day of blue skies and warm sunshine begins with a Bakery Special of Chocolate Babka and a beautiful breakfast backdrop of the medieval walls of the old town. There’s a Hop-On Hop-Off sightseeing bus opposite the port gate - a day ticket costs €15 so I hop on for a tour of the old and new towns. The 1-hour ride goes up to the acropolis and ancient stadium on Monte Smith, and the clifftop ocean road beyond with views across to Turkey, before descending to the statue of Diagoras (a famed Olympic boxing champion), past hotels and beaches, and then round to the Town Hall and back to the harbour.
There are several gates to the old town including the Gate Of The Virgin where, appropriately enough, the barrier is down and there’s a No Entry sign. The old town is a 1000-year walk through time, through a labyrinth of winding streets with shuttered houses, ruined churches and bastions. The central point is Jewish Martyrs Square (dedicated to 1604 Jews of Rhodes and Kos who met their end in the extermination camps) with cafes and tourist shops around a charming seahorse fountain.
I pick up a map from the tourist information office at the base of the Street of the Knights before exiting through the Arnauld Gate for an exploration of the moat, and the gardens around the city walls. A walkway at the Gate d’Amboise leads to the Palace of the Grand Master, originally a Byzantine fortress which later housed the administrative centre of the Order of Knights. It was destroyed in an explosion in 1856 caused by a lightning strike on a gunpowder magazine, and rebuilt by occupying Italian forces where it was used as a holiday home by Mussolini. The palace lies at the top of the Street of the Knights, much restored by the occupying Italians, housing inns of the tongues denoting the knights’ birthplace, each of whom was responsible for part of the fortifications. How many tongues? Eight, according to my tourist information map (Castile, Italy, Provence, England, Spain, Auverne, Germany and France) but seven, according to the UNESCO world heritage page at https://whc.unesco.org/en/list/493/, although it only actually lists five! There hasn’t been as much confusion of tongues since the Tower of Babel.
Dozens of tractors are parked outside the town hall and I chat with protestors sitting in the shade of an arcade and drinking coffee. Their placards demand respect for traditional ways of farming, and protest a lack of political representation. Behind them, on the waterfront, is a winged statue dedicated to World War II fighters, a clock tower and, at the end of the pier, two columns topped with a stag and a doe (representing unique deer species found on the island) at the alleged site of the Colossus of Rhodes (the sun god Helios) that stood guard at the entrance to Mandaraki Harbour.
An enjoyable visit ends with a performance by a folklore troupe by the pool, and kudos to them for making the dance steps fool-proof for the mandatory audience participation.
There’s a message from Kelly, the cruise director - she's passed on my feedback to the orchestra about yesterday’s ballroom music that wasn’t. They're playing again this evening, same time same place, and they'll be playing a completely different set. And so it proves - a completely different jazz set!
I take a few photos of the setting sun and the reddening sky before the first performance by tonight’s
headline entertainer - Comedian Dave Kristian. I’ve heard it all before (as had Plato and Socrates, probably) but you can’t please all of the people all of the time and his set seems to go down well with everyone else.
At 10pm in the Constellation Lounge there’s a packed 60s dance party, although I’m irritated by snippets of 60s classics being played rather than complete tracks - a Celebrity trait, it seems.
Tuesday 20 Feb 2024 - Day 9 - Heraklion (Crete)
It’s cool, cloudy and dry as I board the complimentary shuttle bus to the Venizelos statue (which, confusingly, isn’t in Venizelos Square), honouring the local statesman and former Greek Prime Minister.
A day’s Ho-Ho ticket is €15 - buses stop round the corner from the statue - and there are 12 stops. It’s a half-hour drive out to the village of Knossos and the famous palace, passing sites such as the Venetian-built Koules Castle fortress, and the final resting place of Nikos Kazantzakis, the author of Zorba the Greek.
An entry to the legendary, labyrinthine home of King Minos and the Minotaur is €8 and I spend an hour exploring the ruins, and the partial reconstruction by adventurer, spy and archaeologist Sir Arthur Evans, of the throne room, apartments, halls, shrines and frescoes.
Back in town I make for the landmark Morosini Fountain, named for a Venetian Doge. It’s also known as the Lions Fountain, four of which (a symbol of Venetian power) support the main basin. In a corner of Lions Square (officially, Venizelos Square) on the pedestrianised August 25th Street (the date of a Turkish massacre in 1897) is the elegant, neoclassical-style Loggia - the Venetian-era city hall - and behind that is Agios Titus, the cathedral of the Archdiocese of Crete. Continuing down the street, I stop at the Treasures Art gift store to buy a tablet case embroidered with Cretan motifs of the eye of knowledge and waves of the sea.
The gently sloping street ends opposite the causeway to the Koules fortress where I linger for a short while before heading back to the fountain, turning left along Daidalou and arriving back in good time for the last shuttle back to the ship.
After half an hour steaming in the sauna (where there’s a little too much meat and two veg on show) and relaxing in the thalassotherapy pool, I join my fellow solos at our usual table 228 where Farid and Marit nearly come to blows in the US vs. Europe debate - the land of the free vs. the land of the (social care) freeloader.
Jorge Lindan’s enjoyable set in the Rendezvous Lounge afterwards (including a terrific rendition of Chris Isaak's classic Wicked Game) is followed by a set from Brazilian Waves where the only dancing couple on the ship impress all with their tango routine - all that is except for one blasé passenger.
The silent disco at 10pm in the Constellation Lounge is silly but fun. The children particularly love it, with three channels to choose from - each identified by a red, green or blue light on the headphones - and the dance floor is very busy.
Wednesday 21 Feb 2024 - Day 10 - Nafplion
According to Celebrity Today, which contains an insert about the tendering operations in both English and Spanish - the first concession to the considerable numbers of Spanish speakers on board that I’ve noticed - we’ve arrived at, “…a seaport town in the Peloponnese in Greece that has expanded up the hillsides near the north end of the Argolic Gulf. The beautiful old city has a wealth of narrow alleyways and streets…a lively seafront promenade and enough sights to fill a week.”
It’s a 15-minute tender ride to the dock side, scenic even in the mist and drizzle, with the 15th century, Venetian-built Bourtzi Fortress that protects the harbor in the foreground and mountains all around. Taxi prices (70 Euros for Mycenae, 130 Euros for Mycenae and the Corinth Canal, 250 Euros for Ancient Olympia…) are reasonable for a group of four but not for a group of one so I’ll stay and explore locally. The visitgreece website tells me that Nafplio was the first capital of the newly born Greek state and that Frankish, Venetian and Turkish conquerors left their mark with ancient walls, medieval castles, monuments and statues, fountains and neoclassical buildings.
A few steps inland, in a small plaza lined by palm trees, is a statue of Ioannis Kapodistrias, Modern Greece’s first head of state who was assassinated on the steps of the nearby church of St. Spyridon. A few yards away, at the foot of the hilltop fortresses of Palamidi and Acronauplia is a statue of Staikos Staikopoulos who captured Nafplio in the Greek War of Independence. Palamidi looks far too imposing for me, so I walk up a cobbled road where cacti cling to the hillside to the remnants of the peninsular fortress of Acronauplia.
Looking across to Palamidi on my way back down, I see people walking along pathways to the top. A sign at the base of the steps states that the fortress is open until 15.30, a little over two hours’ time. If there are steps all the way then how hard can it be? Forty minutes later, after climbing over 900 of them, I have my breathless answer. The Venetian fortress (built in only three years - 1711-14? Incredible!) is well-preserved and there are more steps that need to be climbed to explore the chapel, cells and bastions.
I have an hour and a half before the last tender back to the ship so I go searching for a cafe serving coffee and baklava whilst exploring the town, starting at the Square of the Three Admirals, named in honour of Admirals Codrington of England, de Rigny of France, and van Haiden of Russia (via Holland), who defeated the Turkish-Egyptian fleet at the Battle of Navarino in 1827. The town hall, the monument housing the remains of Greek independence fighter Dimitrios Ypsilantis, and the statue of Otto, the first king of Greece, are all located in the square.
My (ultimately, unsuccessful) café search takes me along drizzle-washed, side streets looking lovely with potted plants set against the walls and balconies overflowing with flowers and foliage. The heart of the town is Syntagma Square around which are restaurants, the Archaeological Museum and two mosques: the Trianon which is now a cinema and cultural venue, and the Aga Pasha Mosque, now called Vouleftiko because the first Greek parliament (Vouli, in Greek) was housed in it.
At dinner (minus Farid and Marit) where my inedible risotto was so al dente, I feared an imminent visit al dentist, Miles tells us he got separated from his excursion - having taken a long time using the facilities at Palmidi then taking a wrong turn out of the facilities, he ended up walking all the way down with dodgy knees. It took him an hour!
Everything ok? asks the maitre'd on the way out. Well, it was disappointing that our Crepe Suzette wasn’t flambéed at the table, and last night’s Baked Alaska literally lacked the traditional sparkle. Apparently, such displays are no longer allowed.
An anodyne Broadway Tribute show (apart from the graceful aerialist couple) is followed by a Late Night Adult Comedy set in the Constellation Lounge with Dave Kristian. It’s another routine dating from the ancient world (which wasn’t really ‘adult’) but it went down extremely well with all, particularly the bar staff!
Thursday 22 Feb 2024 - Day 11 - Athens (Piraeus)
It’s a cool, sunny day as I board a Ho-Ho shuttle bus to the Acropolis where we can change for a real Ho-Ho bus. A ticket costs €20 and is valid for 2 days - very useful if I miss my transfer bus to the airport tomorrow. It’s a 40-minute ride from the port, passing the Agios Nikolaos church with its striking portico, clock towers and blue domes; crossing over to the marina at Pasalimani bounded by palm trees and orange trees; then heading along the freeway past the FC Olympiakos stadium before a first glimpse of the Acropolis whilst crawling along in city traffic.
The shuttle stop is between the Acropolis and the Hills of the Muses (aka the Hill of Philopappos - an aristocratic Greek of the Roman Empire who lived at the turn of the 2nd century) so I explore the latter first, walking along stone walkways and paths through the woods to the Soctrates Prison (part of the Diateichisma fortress built to protect the Athenians from the Macedonians), the 12th century chapel of Ayios Demetrios Loumbardiaris, and up to the start of the Deme of Koile (an ancient road and suburb through a ravine). There’s much more to explore of the hills, but I have much more to explore of the city, so head back towards the Acropolis where I see Anne puffing on a cigarette. I tell her I’ll be staying in Athens till late so won’t be dining at the solos’ table tonight.
An entrance ticket is €10 and hollowed out of the hillside is the Odeon of Herodes Atticus, a 5000-seat, semi-circular theatre built as a memorial to his wife and still used today. In the distance, atop the Hill of The Muses, is the mausoleum and monument to Philopappos.
From the steps by the Monument to Agrippa leading up to the fortified Beule Gate, there are fine views down to the Temple of Hephaestus on the west side of the ancient Agora. The gate is the entrance to the Acropolis which thankfully, because it’s out of season, isn’t overrun with tourists. The incarnation visible today (the Propylaia ceremonial gateway, the Parthenon, and the Athena Nike and Erechtheion temples), was the vision of Pericles, a prominent Greek statesman of the 5th century BC. After an hour’s exploration of the legendary site it’s time to explore more of the city but it’s a long, long wait for a bus due to multiple demonstrations by beekeepers, students, teachers, nurses and lawyers.
We hit a police roadblock approaching the Temple of Olympian Zeus so I get off the bus and improvise a plan B, finding myself close to the chic, touristy neighbourhood of Plaka at the foot of the Acropolis and which I could have reached within 10 minutes if I’d just walked it. Ah well! The Acropolis Museum and metro stop is to my left, the tourist information office is to my right and blocking my path are gypsy women trying to pin roses on me, and to whom I forcefully suggest they might pin them somewhere else.
An all-day transport ticket is only €4.10 (good for both Athens and Piraeus) and I take the metro one stop to Syntagma Square, named for the constitution that King Otto was forced to grant after a popular uprising in 1843 against his Otto-cratic rule. Marble steps lead up to the Old Royal Palace opposite where the changing of the guard is taking place in front of The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier: two soldiers of the elite Evzones infantry unit, dressed in tasselled red caps, navy tunics, white hose and hobnail pom-pom shoes, march in slow motion between their guard huts under the watchful eye of a sneering, blue-capped officer in battle dress.
A Ho-Ho bus approaches so I hop aboard to see more sights - the Olympic plaza, the National Library, Omonia Square and Hadrian’s Gate, busy Monastiraki (whose bazaar I’d explore if I had more time) and the National Garden before arriving back at Syntagma Square.
The sun is beginning to set so I take the metro back to Akropoli where I wander through the narrow streets of Plaka looking for a café serving coffee and baklava, preferably on a rooftop terrace with views of the now-illuminated Parthenon. The little Café Plaka at the end of Tripodon (street) has the terrace, the views and the muddy coffee (served in a traditional briki), but not the baklava. Ah, well. The sullen girl serving me asks for a tip. I’m happy to oblige, and suggest an addition to the menu.
Getting back to Piraeus is easy, but it’s a long, long walk from the start of the port area to the cruise ship terminal and gate E12. There are buses that go there, but I should have researched which and where from.
Fri 23 Feb 2024 - Day 12
I leave a tip for Yolanda before heading up for breakfast where the scrambled eggs look like curdled yellow water and there's no Greek yogurt left. My number is called so I head for the lifts which, not surprisingly, are all full going down. It doesn’t seem to have occurred to anyone waiting to get in a lift going up, and stay in it!
At the airport I bump into Miles, waiting for the first of his flights to Edmonton. He tells me yesterday’s excursion, “Athens and the Temple of Poseidon”, included a meal at a village restaurant that was, for him, the best meal of the cruise.
Well, I think I’ve seen enough ancient ruins for now. If I do feel the need to see more, I only have look in the mirror…