END OF THIS VOYAGE

Tuesday October 25, 2011

AT SEA – BAY OF BISCAY

I was really a bit melancholy when I woke up this morning. The Bay of Biscay had lived up to it’s reputation, relatively speaking, and we had the roughest passage of our voyage on last evening and last night. Of course that got a chorus of complaints going from the whingers, but as I lay in bed in the early hours of the morning, enjoying the swoop and sway of the boat, with the occasional thump of an extra big wave, I realised that it was unlikely that we would ever experience this again.

I know I have said that kind of thing before over the years, but I believe that Rab has not enjoyed this trip as much as others and it is very unlikely that she would approve another sea voyage, especially on Marco Polo. She is still annoyed about their marketing policy which allows people making last minute bookings to gain superior accommodation, said to have been unavailable to us. Indeed, when I tried to get her to undertake the usual listing we have done on other holidays – best and worst experiences etc, she just said that the highlight was Stockholm with Lars and Gerd, which of course it was, no question there, but as to the rest, well it was OK, but……

The weather was certainly not bad enough to stop me packing – the bags had to be outside our cabin by midnight. We had bought very little on this trip, so space was no problem and I didn’t have to break out any of the emergency bags.

By the time we went up to the bistro for lunch, hail was beating against the windows and the back deck was white with it. Unusually for me, I didn't have my camera with me - usually it is like the Ancient Mariner's Albatross, hanging about my neck. Rab suggested I nip back to the cabin to pick it up and although I thought that would be a pretty hopeless task I did so. By the time I got back, the teeming rain had washed the deck clear. I tried to get a shot of the seas, which were pretty rough at the time, but it is extraordinarily difficult to do that, even with a movie.

The dress was "Formal" again for what was termed the 'Last Dinner' which probably sounded rather ominous to those suffering sea-sickness and who probably also feared that the ship would sink - one man in the bistro loudly declared that this was the worst holiday he had ever had and if he could have got off the ship there and then he would do so. He claimed that his wife had been sea sick for the past five days, which would have made her very sensitive to movement. But no doubt there are some such unfortunate souls.

We completed the packing and just read and wrote in the afternoon, amongst the snoozing passengers, before having an early meal in the bistro, thus escaping the formality of dress and enabling us to go to the early show in the theatre where Andy, the comedian was putting on his last show. Or at least we thought it was his last. We were amazed how many people, eating in the bistro, had dolled themselves up - collar, tie and jacket for the men, smart frocks for the ladies, even one floor length outfit. The man in the black singlet hadn't changed into his one with sleeves that he had worn on other formal evenings.

Andy was hilarious and we went to bed still chuckling at some of his material. It was good clean stuff - some just a little risqué but never enough to raise the ire of the blue rinses in the audience or even to cause them to cluc

Wednesday, 26 October 2011

AT SEA IN THE ENGLISH CHANNEL: TILBURY

I didn’t think I’d have a chance to complete this diary before we got home, but Rab was awake bright and early this morning and, because she hadn’t turned her watch back last night (we lost an hour from Central European Time to British Summer Time), was under the impression that it was an hour later than local time.

There were a couple of good events to enliven the afternoon yesterday. The singer, David and the two girls, Cait and the other one, whose name I can never recall, put on a show in Scott’s Bar after lunch singing a selection from various West End shows. They all have good voices, but ……once again the volume was unnecessarily high and we found it somewhat deafening. A pity because their choice of songs was good.

From there we went to a pleasant interview of Andy Rudge by Richard Sykes in the theatre. It was very entertaining and relaxing and amusing as they discussed various comics from years gone by, with good audience participation.

The last dinner came and went – unfortunately the salmon fillets which Rab and some of the others ordered turned out to be cutlets full of bones; Chris compared his pork to shoe leather and as complaints were exchanged, what I have enjoyed so much as a terrific voyage turned out to be less so for the others. Ah well, you can’t please them all!!

There were a couple of awkward moments with Chris, who is an odd-bod in many ways, because he took umbrage at a couple of things I said. I was deliberately not being confrontational since I was under strict riding orders for the entire voyage not to get argumentative. Nothing like a good argument in my book, but I am aware of the fact that I tend to sound much more aggressive (and perhaps even contemptuous?) than feel when engaged, so from Rab’s point of view, it is better to just swallow and refrain.

So in the spirit of this, when he told an extraordinary tale of how his insurance company had treated him, I, in an effort to empathise with him, said I’d never heard of such a thing before. He took that to mean that I wad doubting his word and swelled up like a bullfrog in a pond saying something to the effect that the last person who had called him a liar had had to answer for it.

Having smoothed that one over, I tried what I thought was a more neutral topic on a subject in one of his many areas of expertise and raised a question that had been puzzling me – Why have the Russians spent so much time and money on restoring the symbols of the oppression against which they revolted? The Winter Palace in St Petersburg was, after all, shelled and then ransacked by mutinous troops as the opening round of the revolution, yet there it is beautifully restored. Surely it is still a symbol of the tsars and all they stood for

Well, this led to an outburst about people who misunderstood Communists and how much good they had done: Western propaganda; etc etc. I tried to intervene to say that was not what I was talking about, but was told to be polite enough to allow him to continue. Ooooer! So I did, and when he had wound down, I repeated what I had tried to say, that I was not criticising Communism or any kind of ism; I was just puzzled by the retention of these symbols of oppression since in my experience in Africa, revolutionaries aimed at obliterating the past dominance by colonialists. His explanation, which made a deal of sense, was that historic pride and patriotism were behind the restorations.

I guess that little exchange must have triggered some kind of reaction because although he passed us two or three times in the Captain’s Club as we waited to disembark and gave us a wave, neither he nor Coralie sought us out to say farewell.

Our arrival in Tilbury didn't improve Rab’s somewhat jaundiced outlook about the last part of the cruise. We had early breakfast and grabbed a spot in the Captain's Club as we knew that seats would be at a premium. At 10.00 Andy, the comedian, was conducting a reverse interview with. Richard Sykes, the Cruise Director. I went along to that while Rab kept my seat and repelled boarders. Again it was an interesting chat with a lot of laughs but I was quite surprised by one of the questions from the audience to Richard, asking if he had any children and if so if they would follow him into the cruise business. In answering he mentioned that he was gay, a point that I would have thought was pretty obvious to anyone with half an eye.

One of the points he mentioned was that in his five years on Marco Polo, there had been four suicides (all German nationals and men) and one death he said might be regarded as murder or at the very least assisted suicide. The man in question could only walk with the aid of two sticks, both of which were still in his cabin ...... so how did he get to the ship's rail and how did he get over that? I wanted to ask if these men had left their shoes behind when they jumped. The Purser on the RMS St Helena had told us on one voyage that this was a sure fire indicator that a fall overboard was not accidental. Those jumping always left their shoes behind. It occurred to us, when Rab and I were talking about these deaths that she had probably come across the Marco Polo site when looking for articles on deaths at sea - there is an amazingly high number of disappearances and murders on cruise liners, although of course this number is still a small percentage of the millions of people who cruise each year these days.

Ro, the South African Cruise Guide, had been good enough to get us Yellow Labels for our luggage which would ensure that it was taken off first - normally this colour was for the people in the most expensive cabins - and I had sent Jen a text message telling her we should be off by 13.30, an hour after we docked. We actually docked about twenty minutes early, so our hopes were high that we'd be off quickly and this thought was reinforced when passengers with Gold Labels were called to disembark at about 12.45 - we assumed that Gold and Yellow were synonymous in the circumstances. Regrettably they were not and we, and all the other suckers who made the same mistake were condemned to stand around near the exit for the best (or worst) part of an hour. The staff knew about the misunderstanding and must have known how long it would take before we were allowed off. So why didn't they tell us to go back and sit down?

We finally got off and then I couldn't find one case amidst all the luggage. Our cases are purple in colour and in a bright light I can usually spot them: in a more dull light they look black to me. So after my unsuccessful search I sent Rab in and naturally she spotted it right away. We didn’t have to wait too long for Jen – she had texted us to say she had been held up in traffic and then we were off to her house for the night.

Since we got to her little village in the early afternoon, Rab and Jen had to have a stroll and check on the shops, including (somewhat bizarrely for me) a check on whether the shop in which Rab had bought a track suit some ten or so years ago might still have stock as a replacement. A nice cup of coffee and a pastry warmed us up – it was chilly and drizzling and we hadn’t had lunch – and then it was home to meet Jen’s two new kids.

Leyla and Louis are Burmese kittens that Jen got at the end of September. They are lovely little creatures and made me realise how much I miss not having cats. We had a string of Siamese when we were first married and they were such delightful creatures. It was so awful when the last of these darlings – Pedro – succumbed to cancer that Rab can’t bear the thought of having another cat. She has displaced her love to the boys – especially Rudolf who adores her.

It was a lovely evening just chatting to Jen about the trip and other historical matters. Amazing the detail those women can recall over the years! Despite firm instructions from Rab, Jen, as expected provided delightful snacks and an excellent lamb stew on cous cous. She just can’t help herself from treating her guests like geese being prepared to produce foie gras.

Finally to bed at about 23.00

Thursday, 27 October 2011

HEATHROW TO KUALA LUMPUR

We slept well and headed off to Heath Row in good time. The countryside was looking lovely in the morning sunlight – green fields and autumnal colours in the trees and hedgerows. Rab became quite enthusiastic about the prospect of another drive around Britain. Since she will ultimately get her way on any project, if she pursues it, I guess I may be in for this, but it certainly wouldn’t be my first choice. It is a beautiful country, no doubt about that, but the roads are crowded, many of the people, especially the English in the southern states are miserable and disgruntled and I positively dislike the officiousness of Heathrow which is one of the airports I most dislike. I feel there are many better countries still to explore, plus of course those US States that we haven’t yet visited.

Meeting no heavy traffic we got to the airport at 10.00 for our noon flight. Farewelling Jen, with thanks again for her hospitality we plunged into the petty Security for which Heathrow is renowned. I know, I know, Rab is right, I shouldn’t get annoyed with these little people carrying out their orders. I should just accept it as part of life’s burden but it does really piss me off because it is so senseless, so useless, so unnecessary. Why do I have to unpack my back pack and take my computer out of it’s case? why don’t I have to take my iPad out of it’s case? and my iPod, what about that? Can it stay in my bag without being exposed to the remorseless glare of the X-ray machine, which presumably cannot see through the thin carrying case of my computer? And why do I have to take off my belt? What on earth could be hidden in a belt? And why don’t I have to take off my shoes when this is mandatory in the US, where even Rab’s thin open sandals had to be removed? The shoes in the US are a legacy of the daft incompetent who allegedly had explosives in his shoes. Following that train of thought, why do we not have to take off all our underwear since another idiot packed his jocks with plastique? And, as those who flew in the months and years after Lockerbie will no doubt recall, it was forbidden to take any battery powered items into an aircraft without removing the batteries and abandoning them. If that was such a risk then, why not now? Have the terrorists forgotten about the use of batteries? And if so many IED in Iran and Iraq are detonated by mobile phone signals, shouldn’t all these devices be rendered impotent by the removal and disposal of their SIM cards and/or batteries before flight? Grrrrr…..umpy old man speaks out!

Having re-packed my bags we found ourselves in a new, for us anyway, and delightful Malaysian Airlines lounge. Comfortable chairs, the morning newspapers, nice snacks, cold drinks – all went a way to calming me down. Rab decided to do a bit of last minute shopping with the last of the sterling and I just relaxed. She managed to find me some Fahrenheit Aftershave in a spray bottle. For some reason this, my preferred choice, is only available in limited outlets, like a shop in Warsaw, Heathrow and the Dior counter at Galeries Lafayette in Paris. Why this odd marketing plan? Who knows.

We boarded and took off on time sitting in the upper deck of a 747 in our usual seats. The satay sticks came around soon after take off, with the drinks and soon after that a delicious meal. We do enjoy using Malaysian. The staff are very pleasant, caring and polite. A nice touch is that they always address their Business Class passengers by name – we’re not just anonymous cattle.

The flight to Kuala Lumpur (KL) is about twelve hours, depending on conditions and we usually manage to get three or four hours sleep in, but for some reason neither of us felt particularly sleepy and only got a couple of hours in before we landed – 07.30 local time, just after midnight British time after an excellent breakfast – I went for the Nasi Lemak as usual, a lovely combination of spicy prawns and side dishes. What a way to start the day!!

We had a couple of hours there on the ground – it was such a pleasure to start downloading mail with a free Wi-Fi service that was fast – and were soon on our way again.

The flight to Melbourne is usually about seven to eight hours and as we are pretty tired at this stage, we get our heads down for another three or four hours, but again neither of us could sleep well – just dozed for an hour or so.

On the ground in Melbourne at about 20.30 it was a cool wet evening but our luggage came off the carousel as some of the first items and we were not required to submit our baggage to examination this time. Nick the limo driver was waiting for us and we were home by about 21.45.

We usually unpack everything on arrival and Rab will often get a load of washing in before we go to sleep, but she didn’t this time. Instead we had a wonderful shower – what a pleasure to have non-fluctuating pressure and temperature and to be able to move about without a plastic curtain wrapping around your parts! – and then we were in our own beds and sleeping like lambs.

It is always exciting to leave on trips but it is great to be home.

Saturday, 29 October 2011

AT HOME WITH THE BOYS

Up bright and early – we find it difficult to sleep in late after all these years of early rising, we were unpacked and Rab was on her third load of washing by the time we headed off to pick up the boys.

The kennels they go to are a little unusual, since the owners feel that small dogs like ours are mostly house dogs and that they should feel at home when they are in the kennels. So our boys stay in the Fluffy House which is like a Gentleman’s Club for dogs. They mix with other dogs, have old sofas and chairs and carpets to sit on and a TV is on during the day – not sure if the dogs can tune this or not. In fine weather the sliding glass door is opened and the dogs have access to the garden. No wonder they don’t complain about going there.

Of course they were delighted to see us and after a quick walk around the block when we got home – to check on the pee-mail - they were soon settled contentedly in their beds. At least until Bilbo decided that our bed would be more comfortable and slept there until he was joined by Rab and Rudolf for an afternoon nap.

Good to be home indeed.

MORE SEA & LA CORUNA

Sunday, 23 October 2011

Nothing to report on our day at sea from Gibraltar to La Coruna, our last stop before heading for the Bay of Biscay and Tilbury. There was a bit of bouncing around which started people off to their cabins and with worse weather predicted, our cabin portholes had the heavy weather steel covers bolted in place and the movables about the ship were all strapped down again with gaffer tape. I had a look at the forecast maps which seemed to imply that the weather would worsen but that it would be better tomorrow. We’ll see – they haven’t been too accurate in their forecasts so far. Early on, Rab overheard one bloke asking about the likely weather at one of the ports and when he was told that they didn’t have that information yet, he suggested they log on to the Internet and get it from there. Not a bad point!

I felt a bit flat when I woke up today, I must say, although there seemed to be no good reason for this. I slept well and we only got up at about 08.00 in the end-unheard of for us. There were some hardy souls on deck – because there was some sun – but it was nippy out there and one couple we spoke to admitted that they had finally given up trying to find a warm enough place to sit and read and had retreated to the inside lounges.

I won’t recall any more of the sundry complaints raised because of the potential damage to my sunny reputation, but I will record what must be the daftest question of the voyage. so far. When our lunch companions realised we were from Australia, the question was….. “How did you get here? Did you fly?”. I bit my tongue and said that we had indeed, forbearing to say we had walked the entire way.

So we just loafed around the whole day, reading and eating and sleeping – and ignoring all manner of temptations to games, quizzes and handicraft sessions. I suddenly remembered the caramelised almonds we had bought in Ajaccio (seems like months ago we were there) so I started on those because we will not be able to take them into Australia. Books back to the library – apart from the books in the library which have to be signed out when the librarian is there, there are also two shelves of passengers’ swaps. You can just leave your old books there and pick up any that have been left behind. A great idea and Rab has picked up a couple of good ones which she has read and returned.

The comedian – Andy Rudge - was on again tonight, so we went to early dinner in the bistro so we could go to the early show at 20.00 rather than the late one two hours later. There were very few people about and we thought they had succumbed to mal de mer, but there was a pretty full house in the end, so I guess these old folks are hardened sailors. They should be with all the voyages they have undertaken.

Andy was excellent again and we had many a good laugh at his jokes and his songs. And so to bed, rocked to sleep on a sea that did get a bit wild during the night and woke me a couple of times as very large waves made the hull ring.

Monday, 24 October 2011

After rocking and rolling through the night we woke to a very wet and dark La Coruna. Of course we could not see anything from our cabin because the storm covers were still on the portholes, but they were disembarking from the deck above and that gave us our first view of the day.

The ship had come alongside at a little before 08.00 and sunrise was not until 08.58, so the first tours went off at 08.30 in the dark. We had decided to do our own thing today as the tours described in the booklet did not sound very interesting for us at this stage of our journey when we really would not be able to absorb anything from the torrent of information the guides provide. So we had a leisurely breakfast, on the basis that shops would not be open before 09.30, according to the Newsletter. We went out on deck to check the temperature and the weather. It felt warmer than the predicted 15C and had stopped raining, but, guessing the direction the weather might come from by the movement of the clouds, it seemed there might be more on the way.

Ashore at about 9.45, we found a cold wind made us feel quite chilly and with a temperature of 11C we were glad we had opted for our warm wet weather gear. We were moored within easy walking distance of the town, so we set off. There was a lovely building at the end of the quay, which turned out to be the local parliament and behind that was a very nice square. It was cordoned off with that red and white tape that police use to keep crowds away from a crime scene – for what reason we couldn’t ascertain, but since the locals were simply ducking under the tape and walking through the park, we did too.

There was a very unusual memorial in one corner of the park and I’m hoping that brother Pad, or, failing him, Wikipedia will give me a bit more background to this area. In the rear of the monument were obelisks like Stonehenge, while in the foreground were carvings of animals that looked almost Aztec or Toltec. Very odd. The handout with the Daily Newsletter had said that this was an ancient Celtic land, so perhaps it is one of those areas with a plethora of old burial mounds and stone circles. In which case it might be added to the list of places we are considering driving around if and when……

We crossed a fairly busy road, learning that, apparently, the “green man” on a pedestrian crossing means that some cars may exercise their option to slow down a little – there seems no requirement to actually stop, a point we had noticed in Barcelona too as we dodged the traffic. We walked through the empty streets and alleys in town, realising that although there were indeed some shops open, most only opened at 10.30 or later. There were some good photo opportunities though with wet streets, not much light and few people – arches too which always get me clicking away. Rather like sunsets in the tropics, which I also find difficult to resist. It was always a joke on Lake Kariba every time we went up there that we would NOT take any more sunset shots, but we would inevitably reach for cameras as the dust in the atmosphere created the most wonderful of sights and colours.

We reached the main square and I was looking at a memorial to a feisty lady by the name of Maria Pita who seems to have done some pretty good infighting with a spear in one of the attacks on the fortifications – at least if the panel on the memorial is to be believed (another Wikipedia look up later) – when there was a loud bang and the heavens opened. Rab had her umbrella open already because it had been spitting intermittently, but I was soaked pretty well before I could get mine out of the backpack. We legged it across the square to the large, and very good looking, building that formed the focus and sheltered on it’s wide portico.

There were some magnificent doors there – and two excellent archways at each end with eminently photographable views, so I was happy there until the storm passed. Within ten minutes the skies were blue and shortly after that we had the first sun of the day. By the time we sailed it was clear skies everywhere.

Rab was hunting down a mantilla, although it turned out that these items are part of the dress in the South, rather than here in the North. We hadn’t seen any, but she asked a bloke who was also sheltering from the weather and he gave us directions, so we set out in accordance with those in due course. The shop he had guided us to was near a very curious little square. All the sculptures in it were odd – for example the one fountain was a fat cat with the water coming out of its mouth and there were two stone benches on opposite sides each with a man lounging on it with room to sit next to them. Inscribed in the base of the square were cartoon characters and even a caricature of Oscar Wilde. Very odd and amusing.

As we headed back to the boat, most of the shops were open, but for once we didn’t buy anything beyond a Grande Italiano Cappuccino which was up to Melbourne standards. A short shower sprinkled us as we got back to the ship and the male nude statute waved us goodbye, as the female nude statute had welcomed us. We set sail soon after 14.00 and as I write this we are bouncing over a very interesting sea – the roughest yet – as we enter the redoubtable Bay of Biscay. One more day at sea and we’ll be back on dry land and heading for home.

AT SEA AGAIN & GIBRALTAR

Friday, 21 October 2011

Slept like a log last night, I did – must have been all the excitement and tapas. Rab had a very disturbed night – she’s convinced it was the tapas. One man’s meat is another man’s poison.

Not much to report about today; nothing happened, really. I tried to reach Jo with a couple of text messages about tomorrow in Gibraltar without success, so sent her a message on FaceBook which she received and gave me an alternative number to contact her. We exchanged texts successfully and aim to meet at noon tomorrow outside the British Home Stores shop. She assures us that you can’t miss it – and Richard the cruise director agrees. So we are aiming to get off early and head for the cable car that takes you up to the top of the Rock so we can see the apes. That’ll be followed by a shopping expedition in the one and only shopping street and a nice lunch with an old pal – seems like a good plan.

We were very late for breakfast, having slept in later than we have for years – what a difference it makes not having anxious hounds waiting for their morning walk. Even though they are very good about any nagging, you know they’re just there and occasionally if you listen carefully you’ll hear the faintest whine from the pup. We’re looking forward to trading late sleep-ins for that little sound. Anyhow, we went up to the bistro for breakfast, came through to the Captain’s Club to make sure we got our seat – there is only one plug that we have found so far that is close enough to the wi-fi zone to give me at least an even chance of connecting to the Internet. I must say it does make me appreciate the stability of our connections at home. It is so annoying to lose connections in the middle of a download. I must have five or six hundred e-mails piled up waiting to get in my In Box but have given up trying to download them – or to answer the ones I have downloaded. That’ll all have to wait until we get home - seems strange to think that we’ll be home by this time next week. At times it seems as if it is months since we had a shower that we could move about in and Copenhagen is a dim memory. At others it seems only yesterday that we set off on this journey.

We spent a lot of time chatting to Chris and Coralee who have had a very interesting life and have travelled to many countries, but after lunch we collapsed in our comfortable beds and snoozed the afternoon away. Hope we can sleep tonight. I had planned to load this and the Barcelona piece today but Chris’ stopped by and that put paid to that idea.

Rab says my pieces are too long to hold any interest for readers. But that comment misses the point. This blog is the published version of the diary I keep for my pleasure in years to come, to refresh my memory of the days we have enjoyed. If I rabbit on at times, I won’t mind. But since there is nothing more to say today, I’ll call it quits.

Saturday, 22 October 2011

Claps of thunder, bolts of lightning, buckets of rain – that was the welcome we had to Gibraltar this morning, with no sign whatsoever of the chunk of rock that is so important still to Britain. It was hidden in the mist and clouds and that led to a review of our plan of a cable car ride and shopping before meeting Jo our pal from the old days who now lives in Spain.

Going out on deck, it seemed unlikely that the day would clear up, even if the massive storm blew over. Of course I had no idea from which direction Gibraltar weather came but that really didn’t matter. There was rain and low clouds 360 degrees around the ship. We decided to give it an hour and review the situation again – the same delay the tour people announced a couple of minutes later, while cancelling the tour to watch the dolphins. I also got a text off to Jo telling her about the weather and the fact that the ship was leaving two hours earlier than I had told her in case she wanted to call off her trip. She replied that they were on their way although she told us when we met that they had almost turned back when they ran into the storm as it headed off to Spain.

We canned the idea of going up The Rock by cable car when we left the ship at nine(ish) because although the heavy rain had stopped and given way to the occasional shower, there was heavy cloud covering the top of the island and it didn’t really seem worthwhile going up there. We have, after all, seen the inside of clouds before and Rab had even met the Barbary Apes on her previous visit and I’ve seen a few monkeys and apes in my time.

So that left us with the shopping and we caught a taxi into town. It was within a walking distance but for £1.50 a head we though we’d spare our feet. The entrance to the town is through a massive arched doorway, unadorned and not very attractive which gave way to a paved square of rather unattractive looking shops. There were very few people about and it struck us that this could be St Helena on a slightly larger scale. People have commented before that very few of the British Colonies and Dominions have the panache of the French, Spanish and Italian settlements and this seems to be true, although Bermuda may be an exception. We walked up the main street, past the British Home Store BHS where we were to meet Jo and Chris, but there was not much of interest to see.

Most of the shops were closed – it was Saturday morning, so maybe that was the reason; it was only 9.45 – maybe it was too early; whatever the reason, the wet and the lack of signs of life did not immediately endear us to Gib. There weren’t even many memorials or statutes around and one commemorating the First World War had been damaged, with the soldier’s bayonet broken off his rifle. He looks as if he’s trying to see where it has gone.

Rab was just about to go into Marks and Spencers to see if she could get some cosmetics she needed when we got a text from Jo saying that they had arrived, a little earlier than planned. Since it seemed unlikely that there were any really interesting shops in the part of town we hadn’t seen and since there was no prospect of the cloud lifting, we said we’d meet up with her in about half an hour and started heading back down town. Rab was quite startled a couple of blocks down the road when Jo ambushed her, grabbing her and giving her a big hug.

It was good to see her again and to meet Chris, a friend who was visiting from England. Jo and I worked together in South Africa about 38 years ago and we have kept in touch over the years, if only because our birthdays are a week apart and that has given us an excuse to track each other down to send good wishes. We have met up from time to time; as far as we could calculate, the last time was when we were living in Kalk Bay about ten or twelve years ago. We see each other from time to time on Skype, but it was tremendous being physically together.

There was a lot of ground to cover – poor Chris must have been a bit bored – and after about an hour and cup of cappuccino, we paused the verbal exchange and checked the weather again. No change, so we moved down hill closer to the busses and found a pub where we had a couple of beers and more chat.

Finally it was time to head back to the ship for us – to the supermarket for Jo. Who knows if or when we’ll meet again? Based on previous experience, it could be anywhere from Iceland to Antarctica.

BARCELONA

Thursday, 20 October 2011

The day started badly. It wasn’t the predicted storm that was the problem. We hit a ‘bump’ in the sea at about 03.00 this morning and there was a bit of movement, accompanied by the usual creaks and groans – from the ship, not us. But the movement was quite soothing, rather like being rocked in the arms of a loving mother – and that was part of the problem.

The other, more serious problems was that I stirred, as I usually do, a little after five and took the first pills of the day as I have been doing. One of these is my ‘piddle pill’ to drain my body of surplus liquid and thus help my failing heart to cope. I take it first thing so that the emptying can be complete before we start our day and thus avoid any timing problems. With these pills when you gotta go, you gotta go: if you don’t know where the facilities are, you’re in strife. Unfortunately, instead of lying abed dozing, I went back to sleep and woke to a very wet bed. I swore a mighty swear which got Rab giggling. I was indignant and said it was undignified for an old man to wet his bed and it wasn’t funny, but she just went on, especially when I stripped the bed, battling with a series of Russian knots which tied the bottom sheet down and uncovered the mattress which looked as if it had been gnawed by rats. I had pointed out that the rat guards were not in place when the ship was in dock at Corsica so this may have been the work of Corsican rats.

We both had a laugh in the end, although at times, it isn’t funny getting old. Right now when I overheat and am not standing in the sun I am not sure if this is because:

· It is hot because the air-conditioning has been turned up

· My beta-blockers have disturbed my internal thermostat again

· That darned Zoladex is giving me a hot flush (or even flash to use US English)

· The remnants of the bronchial cold is still messing me about

· It is just a warm day

Ah well, as Rab’s brother says, it is better than the main alternative.

The whiners are gathering force. As I worked away here in the Captain’s Club I had a table of three women discussing for a good half hour how iniquitous it was that the bistro and Waldorf were not opening before noon, the time we are due to dock. Although we are here for ten hours, although the first tours are not leaving for at least 45 minutes after the ship is cleared, although they no doubt had a hearty breakfast, although they were only planning to have a roll and some soup (does that really take longer than 45 minutes to eat?) they all went on and on about how uncaring management was not to open early. The wind was somewhat taken out of their sales by an announcement that the bistro would be opening half an hour early – at 11.30. collapse of stout parties, not without parting shot about how it would have been better to make the announcement earlier.

Rab says all my moans and groans put me in the same position as these people and that I must be giving the impression that I’m a real old grump myself. But I see a difference between commentary and complaint. I’m not suggesting that these people should be thrown off the ship because I don’t like their behaviour (although that might not be a bad idea!) but merely reporting what I see are some curious quirks of human nature: like the people who complained about the cold on the river cruise last December. Living in England were they not aware of the fact that Central Germany does get a bit of snow most winters? I should also perhaps stress that these people are a minority – perhaps the non0silent majority. Most of the folk we chat to are very happy with the ship and the crew – and there seems to be a relationship between the number of cruises they have had, whether on Marco Polo or other ships and the level of satisfaction.

Talking about being thrown off the ship, there is a rumour going around that the Travellers’ daughter was thrown off at Corsica. I am sure I mentioned these people earlier when the male in the party behaved so badly here in the Captain’s Club lounge. Since then, whenever we have seen them – male, female (old), female (young) – they have either been drinking and smoking on the back deck, the only area where smoking is allowed or they have been wandering around looking the worse for wear. Apparently the younger female, who we assume is the daughter of the other two, had been thrown out of Scott’s Bar on a couple of occasions and warned that she’d be put ashore if she didn’t behave. She didn’t so they did, with the father commenting “Don’t worry about her. She’s got plenty of money and she’ll get back to her boyfriend in Spain.” We can’t make out how they can travel as much as they claim because they don’t look as if any of them are even employed, let alone in the money, but the father was commenting to a mate of his the other evening, when watching the Norwegian Epic get under way that he had travelled on her sister ship and on the biggest ship in the world, but it took too long to get to know people. So there’s the mystery.

No problems in getting ashore today with a bridge across to the deserted Ocean Terminal. So deserted in fact that we wondered if we were going to see more evidence of the effect of the global financial crisis here, as we had in Corsica? Walking out into the empty car park with the odd weed in sight, that view was reinforced. We spotted a red double-decker open topped bus and headed towards that, thinking that a tour of the city might be a good idea. €38 for the two of us, with a Senior’s Discount and we were off on the Orange Tour of the western and older side of the city. We sat downstairs and not in the open upper part of the bus. Our experiences in Victoria Island had taught us just how cold it can get atop a bus, even if the sun is shining and there was a nip in the air with an early morning temperature of about 15, although it got up to about 20 during the day.

The tour lasted two hours and was very good. We saw many parts of the city that we didn’t realise existed from our previous visits and we were glad that we had done this. The gentrification of old parts of the city has been done very well and most of it looked very good. There were areas which looked pretty rundown, with shops closed and shuttered, graffiti and all the other signs of poverty and some of the modern structures were not to our taste. One square for example had what looked like a badly designed tin shed in the centre of a concrete plain with some odd railings around it. Certainly not attractive to us, although a magnet for the skateboarders apparently. As we got closer to the city centre, the properties improved and by the time we hit Diagonal Avenue, there were some grand places all around us. The Diagonal is a terrific road which runs 12 kilometres right across the city aimed at providing easy access. Not sure that it works quite as well as the designers envisaged because there is an awful lot of traffic, but it certainly gives a grand entrance to the city, with trees lining the boulevard. One item that I found of particular interest was that the tram lines are laid between grass, so it looks as if the trams are running on a grass verge next to the road. Very innovative.

We were shown several of Gaudi’s buildings, all of which we had seen on our previous visits. They really are unusual and clearly he was regarded as being away with the fairies in his time. Our commentator mentioned several other ideas of his that never come to fruition, although many sounded as if they might be workable. The biggest puzzle is the Cathedral. Why has it not been finished despite the decades that have passed? The general reason is lack of funds – at present it depends on private donations for any progress. But surely the Spanish government or the state of Catalonia could cough up the dibs? After all they have spent hundreds of millions on the Olympics and in other developments. Why not complete what is one the largest tourist attractions in Spain – or maybe the completed cathedral wouldn’t be the same draw card that the unfinished building is? Who knows, but it is beyond me.

Our ticket entitled us a similar Green Tour of the Eastern and newer part of the city, so we thought we’d do that after we had a bite to eat. We hopped of our bus at the lower end of Las Ramblas, the magnificent avenue that runs up from the harbour to the central square and headed up town. There was no sign of any significant financial problem, certainly as far as tourism is concerned. There were dozens of tour busses running and coaches everywhere. The Ramblas was crowded, although clearly not as busy as it would be in summer when there would be far too many people for our taste. The lower end was pretty well multiple souvenir stands carrying very similar goods (probably made in China as most souvenirs are these days) but improved the higher we went, as did the eateries.

We finally settled on one just behind a statue (we never did check to see who it was) where we decided on a tapas menu rather than paella. We’d never had tapas before and the meal was a pleasant surprise. Lamb, octopus, clams, chicken wings, small roast potatoes all in tasty sauces or in oil. Washed down with a couple of BIG beers, in a comfortable chair on a warm day, out of the wind and sun in an exotic city, what could be nicer?

Leaving our little snug, we continued on our way up towards the bus stops. There are so many lovely buildings and views that it is difficult to pick one out, but the one that appealed to us had open umbrellas grouped in patterns on the walls and a fierce dragon holding the light above the main entrance with a brolly beneath him. (I’m assuming it was a male dragon – I don’t recall any fairy stories about female dragons, although come to think about it I have met a few in my life.)

Looking down one alley we saw a sign for the market and, attracted by the thought, as ever we went down to see what was being sold there. The answer was fruit and dainties and lollies and hams and…..it was like an Aladdin’s Cave. And the fruit was so big and perfect and arranged so well - it looked good enough to eat. We’d have loved to buy a couple of enormous mangoes we saw there, but apart from the practical difficulties of eating one, there is a rule that no fruit can be brought on board, so we just looked on in wonder. The incredible selection of dried and glace fruit, including some that we had never seen before was tempting and we thought that might get past the ship’s ukase, but there would be no point in trying to get those items past Australian Customs. So we limited our purchases to some chocolates and half a dozen of the largest dates we’ve ever seen, having been given a sample by the store owner. We often say, with some pride that the Victoria Market in Melbourne is the best in the world and until now that has been true, based on our experiences, but I fear the fruit and vegetable section at least will have to take second place to Barcelona.

We were a bit later than we had thought we would be in catching the Green Tour bus, but we set off in high anticipation. Regrettably it was not as memorable a trip as the first one – and it is interesting to consider that we may have felt differently about our Barcelona experience had we done the trips in reverse. Right from the start, I realised that we’d have difficulty seeing all the sights in this, newer bus. Still reluctant to expose ourselves to the cold air, we sat inside downstairs. The design of the interior was very poor with only one or two windows with an unobstructed view. Rab chose a good pair of seats, but our vision was limited from all practical purposes to the sights immediately to our right.

The initial part of the trip was in the newly built or redeveloped areas around the three or four main beaches. We had been down here in 1998 for an evening meal and found it difficult to believe just how changed it was since then. No doubt in the height of summer it is jumping but on a chilly October afternoon it had the sad and lonely air that seaside places seem to adopt when the crowds are not there.

Moving on we drove through the grand boulevards of the new suburbs of high rise apartments. Without the trees a boulevard is just an urban motorway and bare of any substantial greenery these suburbs look Orwellian. Concreted parks with small clumps of children’s slides and swings and a tree or two were empty of life despite this being about 17.30, when you’d expect children to be out and about. Individual people trudged between these concrete deserts towards small shops let into the walls of the buildings. Some were open, some shuttered. There were a couple of dogs, a handful of pigeons to add colour to the landscape but it seemed to me to be bleak and one could imagine, as the old guide said in Denmark that these places could easily become the slums of tomorrow if they didn’t brighten up or change in some way. Rab doesn’t agree with me – she says I paint too desolate a picture, pointing to the large area behind high walls containing hectares of fields and sporting arenas and other positive aspects. Maybe she is right, maybe I was just getting tired – my back and leg were certainly playing up after the hours on what were pretty hard seats, although they were well designed.

Again, as we approached the older parts of the city the sights became more interesting as did the traffic. Until we started meeting this, presumably part of the evening rush, we had bowled along at not too great a speed for the tour timetable and kept getting ahead of ourselves, so to speak. This meant that every other stop we had to wait to let the timetable catch up with us. Rather boring, especially in the area I thought of as a bit of a wasteland. During this time Spanish Musak played in our ears through the commentary earpiece. Initially this had been rather nice and we had been smiling and swaying to the beat. By the end of the voyage it was rather like the bouzouki in the Monty Python Cheese Shop and we would take out the earpiece until we started moving again. Generally speaking we learned a good deal of interesting information from the disembodied voice, but there were just a couple of frangicisms – like the referrals to the architectism of various constructions. The guide on the Riviera trip also had one small favourite, referring to the resting place of people as cementaries. Not bad when you think about it – old crypts and monuments were carved in stone: modern ones moulded in concrete.

As time went by we started to get a little anxious about getting the next bus back to the ship – the Green Tour didn’t go down to the docks, the Orange Tour did, so we had to swap busses at the Plaza Espana but according to the voice in my ear, the last bus was at 19.00 in winter (20.00 in summer) and we clearly weren’t going to make it for the change by 19.00. Were we in winter as the American gentleman said yesterday outside Firenze? Were we in summer as the complainers about the weather insisted? What was the Autumn timetable? Did it Fall between the two? Did it really matter? No it didn’t, but it did focus our attention more, at the end of what turned out to be a longish day with nearly five hours on the busses, just how many traffic lights there were in Barcelona. It seemed at times we would lurch forward 20 metres, rock to a stop (excellent brakes on public transport in both Italy and Spain, we can report) and then inch forward to avoid running down pedestrians, accelerate another 20 metres and stop again. Or so it seemed.

We finally got to the plaza and parked right at the end of a long row of coaches. Our cashier on the bus told us that the Orange Tour bus was at the top of the line so we hurried along – and I saw the doors start to close while we were still about 30 feet away. Oh! Not another 20 minute wait, please! Fortunately another couple reached the bus in time to stop the doors closing fully and although the driver was arguing that they were too late, he delayed the issue long enough for us to leap aboard to his annoyance. Once there we weren’t going back!

It had been a lovely day and we thoroughly enjoyed ourselves, but it was good to see the dear old Marco Polo looming out of the night, to make our way aboard and get a couple of beers and a quick meal down. Rab was asleep by 21.00 and I wasn’t far behind.

FRENCH RIVIERA

Wednesday, 19 October 2011

We had decided to take an easy tour today after yesterday’s walking and in anticipation of more of the same tomorrow in Barcelona. Rab had always wanted to see the French Riviera and so we chose a “Highlights” trip. These are designed for the really old and less able and usually do not have any walking other than that related to toilet breaks and photo opportunities. This does create some limitations as far as ‘lost pictures’ are concerned – it can be SO frustrating to whiz past scenery that you KNOW would look so good in your photo book and to helplessly try to snap it out of the coach window with the inevitable result of a blurred tree or signpost that jumped into the picture as you pressed the button. But at least you get to glimpse magnificent views that would otherwise have remained unseen.

The organisation of the day was uncharacteristically poor. The first of the five tours to go was set to depart the ship at 7.45, a very early hour for most and five minutes before sunrise. Ours was one of the two later ones, with an etd of 08.30. Because we were not coming alongside, but using the lifeboats as tenders, we all had to gather in the Lounge to await our turn to go down to the boats. I had seen from our porthole that there was quite a swell running and wondered how the whingers would feel rocking away in the small boats.

As ever, there were some people who were late and held up their parties and others who simply failed to turn up at all. Thoughtless folk. All of which delayed us by some fifteen minutes and then we traipsed to the stern of the ship, down four decks and to the head of the ladder down the ship’s side to water level. The swell was indeed causing problems, at least on the side we were to embark, although things were calmer on the lea side. The landing stage and the boat were only meeting occasionally which would have made hopping aboard difficult for even able body people like us, let alone the totterers with their sticks. Part of the problem was the poor seamanship of the men on the boat as they had not secured it properly. After some time one of the senior officers (he was said to be second in command) came down, barking orders, taking charge, bringing the boat into the correct position, ensuring it was secured in place – and we could start boarding. Of course that took a while as people who are barely ambulant made their way cautiously down the stair, but we got there in the end and off we went into the beautiful little harbour of Villefranche sur Mer.

A short walk through an interesting looking centuries old fort to the waiting busses and we were off. Our excellent courier explained that we would be travelling along the lower coastal road or Lower Corniche, to Nice before going on the Middle Corniche and ending up on the Grande Corniche, since all of the roads would give us different views of the coast. I have until now assumed that the simpletons who never knew what was going on were illiterate, and thus could not read the clear instructions and information in the daily newsletter or even the floor numbers in the lift – “What floor is this?” they ask in their trembling voices. How do they think we know the answer? Do they think we are psychic or perhaps, just perhaps there is an indicator somewhere that enables us to tell them? But apart from this illiteracy, it appears that many of these people are deaf too. Although hearing aids proliferate – Rab thinks there may be more of them than walking sticks – they are either badly tuned or have flat batteries. Right at the end of the trip when the guide told us we’d now be back on the Lower Corniche, I heard the inevitable question “What’s a corniche?”

We wound our way up and up from sea level to the road – the Lower Corniche and bowled along happily in the warm(ish) sunshine towards Nice. The properties and their views were magnificent and reminded us of parts of Cape Town – where Clifton in particular has a similar feel, but on a very much smaller scale of course. Nice itself was very nice – some amazing buildings going back to Victorian times and many of them preserved very well. It was surprising to see the onion domes of a Russian church in the town – and sure enough that was to commemorate another dead tsar. One of the Nicholases as I recall – he’d fallen off his horse while on his morning ride and had developed a fever and died, poor chap. The guide also told us that Queen Victoria, a frequent visitor used to bring her donkey with her on her winter hols and ride that around the countryside. Brings to my eye an incongruous sight – but maybe it was so.

We wound our way up and across the mountainside – amazing engineering in these roads and amazing skills from the driver as time and again he swung the coach into areas which appeared not to be wide enough and slip alongside rock faces only centimetres away from our windows. The views were beautiful and I managed to get a couple of shots when we stopped for the first photo opportunity – we could see our ship way below us in the bay. As ever, I tried a couple of moving shots and some look quite reasonable, although I’ll have to examine them more closely when we get home. I tried to start sorting the pictures but only got as far as Helsinki, I think. Maybe I’ll have a bit of time after Barcelona as we have a day at sea before Gibraltar and then another before La Corunna.

The pit stop for the full bladders was at a village named Ese. Perched on a peak it was said to be a medieval village, crowned by a castle used previously by the King of Sweden for his winter visits – apparently every crowned head in Europe used to head for Nice to get a bit of warmth. And not a week’s stay at a decent hotel for them. They stopped for three or more months and so took over or built their own places and arrived with all their familiar equipment including beds, desks and entourage. While the oldies struggled up the incline to the toilets to join the line of their fellows complaining about having to pay for a pee – only 40 cents, hardly a financial burden – Rab strolled over to the only shop we could see that was open while I tried to find a shot of the village and castle.

She was successful in finding a couple of small purchases but unfortunately the lush trees successfully hid all views, so I didn’t get my shot, although I managed to get a couple out of the coach as we went on our way which may be OK.

The weather had changed by the time we got to Ese. Clouds had blown up and the sky above the Maritime Alps was looking black and purple. Far below us a yacht seemed to be making for port ahead of a possible storm. That didn’t blow in while we were out, and in fact it was sunny again when we got back to the tenders, but they gave us a warning back on the ship that there might be some bad weather tonight as we cross a well known bit of treacherous water. They don’t seem to be too worried however as the rubbish bins at the lifts, plant pots and statuary have not been taped down with gaffer tape as they were during the crossing of the Bay of Biscay.

Back to the drive. We had a short stop for viewing at the Vista Palace hotel which is an amazing place. Part of it is cantilevered out over an enormous drop. I assume even the lax French would have some sort of security in place to stop guests who had a drop too much plummeting off the edge into Monte Carlo far below. It was at this stage that I was able to ask the guide a question that had been puzzling us. Although he had said that the corniche we were on was the boundary between Monte Carlo and France, the houses on both sides of the road were not up to the opulent standard we had expected from Monegasque residences. It turned out we had misunderstood him and although the road was indeed the boundary, we had not yet entered Monte Carlo, which was about a kilometre down the road. And sure enough, as we crossed this line there was an immediate upgrade into the kind of mansions that it is difficult to imagine living in – or running and they just got bigger and more grander and higher.

Although we had been to Monte Carlo on our last Mediterranean trip in 1998, we had only travelled on the surface. On the coach we went underground and were amazed by the maze of roads and tunnels down there. It was like a futuristic science fiction movie as cars shot up out of steep holes and then equally suddenly dropped out of site down roadways that seemed impossibly precipitous. Motor cyclists whizzed by emulating the Formula 1 cars while coaches and busses roared towards each other, filling the tunnels with their bulk and avoiding each other’s wing mirrors by fractions of inches. Amidst all this chaos I wondered how they could keep building the enormous multi-storeyed residences on this Gruyered granite base. Surely ultimately the load would become too much and they’d drop into sinkholes, like the houses in mining areas where the activities of the miners had created adits with insufficient supporting pillars. Popping out of the tunnel system we drove through the town and again I wondered how a small three storeyed building housing a pizza restaurant could survive? At the enormous values the guide was telling us how many pizza dinners would you have to sell to justify to offset the loss of return on the value of the site alone? I didn’t get the answer to that one.

Back to the harbour along the lowest of the three roads and into a bit more sunshine, we made our way across to the waiting tender which was half filled by the time we got there. Of course it was not possible to seat all the people from our party – and I have to say I really would not like to have to take to the boats at any stage. As we saw from this little exercise, where the crew really packed us in, there’s not a lot of room for the stated number of people the boats will hold. We’d never noticed this on previous voyages because usually the tenders were operated at less than full capacity. The rearguard from our coach were vociferous in their wails at being left behind. Geeeezzz…one would have thought they were obliged to swim out to the ship instead of hopping in to the next tender which was waiting to come alongside.

Back on board we had lunch and a couple of drinks, I wrote up my blog and posted it and a chat with Chris and Coralee who came by just as I started this part of the blog, effectively putting paid to my work for today.