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Day 5
Day 5, Saturday 14 January 2017, found us in Funchal, Madeira which we entered in the dark at 0700. There was quite a stiff breeze blowing, but we crept into the harbour, then reversed very gently onto our berth on the outer (south) mole without using any tugs. This was extremely impressive for such a large ship, even if you allow for the fact that QM2 has computers, bow thrusters and an unusual propulsion system. (Interesting sideline this: the ship has four pods projecting from her bottom, a bit like huge outboard motors and, uniquely for a ship, the propellers are at the front of the pods rather than at the back (rather like you would find in most aeroplanes). The two outer (forward) pods are fixed, but the two inner (after) ones can be rotated through 360 degrees, which improves the manoeuvrability enormously. There is no rudder.)
The weather was mild at 18ºC and warm when the sun came out, but very breezy. Put it this way: we watched the beginnings of entering harbour from our balcony just wearing bathrobes, though I later dressed to watch the full procedure from behind the bridge while Jane…well there was some talk of catching up on missing zeds from the year 2003. Sweater weather, with a fleece as backup, was the Rig of the Day. We dived off (not literally) at 0930, spurning the coaches laid on for the doddery walking-stick-wavers, and marched briskly into town. This proved to be delightful, with lots of white houses sprawling along the seafront and way up the hills behind it in the occasional sunshine. The island appears to be quite hilly and mountainous, and there are several valleys tucked away in the mists halfway up the mountains that would be worth exploring if we had more time. Apparently you can catch a cable car up to the top of one hill, then toboggan down the road, guided by men in white trousers and straw hats, but we passed on that one when we heard that the route down crosses several road junctions where there is still motor traffic.
Well, we did the usual stroll along the promenade, accosted by various taxi drivers and sellers of donkeys and T shirts, then on to the local market so that Jane could admire and buy the exotic fruit. Think of our local market at home, indoors and with mangoes. Of course, people-watching from an outside coffee bar in the sunshine was mandatory and this was far more entertaining that the local flora and fauna: most of the people seemed to have come off the QM2. Several were not wearing trousers, and there was not a cravat to be seen. Standards, standards. But I expect they found us just as entertaining. We never did make the Botanical Gardens, which were out of town, but we did several colourful parks and Jane narrowly avoided stepping on a Portuguese dog turd, using a nifty bit of footwork that you would not expect from a convalescent invalid.
At about this point in the proceedings we detected some rain, although it was still sunny. In the high mountainous valleys behind the town a rainbow could be seen among the mists. It was decided by a majority of two that we had ‘done’ Funchal, despite having not bought any Tee shirts or losing any personal belongings. Also, the ship was under Sailing Orders and being absent without leave would, of course, be an aggravated offence under Queen’s Regulations. So we trudged back to the ship against a Force 4 breeze, just in time for late lunch. We had, after all, been stomping around for four hours ashore and we felt we deserved a treat and some sustenance. Back through security (trousers retained this time), then up to the Grill for Poached Salmon Roulade with caviar, followed by Fillet of Fresh Cod with Chorizo Crust, on a bed of shredded cabbage with chilli sauce. Note the healthy eating ethos, so that I could pig out on the Beef Wellington and wine at dinner.
Sailing was scheduled for 1800, but for some peculiar reason we actually slipped at 1700. There was a moment of minor panic when it was speculated that we hadn’t adjusted our watches and might have missed the ship if we had been tardy, but – no – we are still on GMT here. It was just one of those quirky Cunard things. QM2 has a lovely, deep-throated siren and this boomed out across the harbour and bounced off the hills as we sailed (three short blasts); it was quite spine-tingling. We were stopping to drop off the pilot. I noted with wry amusement that neither the pilot nor the pilot cutter’s crew wore lifejackets: none of that Health & Safety nonsense here apparently.
In the evening we discovered yet another lounge and watering hole, this one for’d underneath the bridge called the Commodore Club, and we decided that the budget could manage one cocktail each. I had a Bellini and Jane had a non-alcoholic Mojito. We sat with another couple and had a very good chat, but we remain astonished by the number of people who are hardened ‘cruisers’, clearly in the same Grill class as us or higher, with apparently unlimited resources. Where did we go wrong? Dinner after cocktails was Sole Goujons to start, followed by Beef Wellington. Jane had Goat’s Cheese to start, followed by Lobster Tail. Her appetite continues to improve (as you may already have gathered), but she can only manage small servings and no alcohol. And so to bed.
Day 6
Sunday dawned with a grey sky, wind Force 6 from the northeast, sea state slight, 18ºC, as we eased our way into Santa Cruz harbour, Tenerife. Poor Santa Cruz: it didn’t really stand much chance after Funchal. First impressions were of a heavily industrialised port with a very narrow entrance, cluttered with half a dozen redundant oil rigs and enough cranes to make a Meccano boy very happy. The landscape was volcanic rock defaced by hideous high-rise buildings and dull-coloured houses. There was none of the beauty of the white houses or majestic mountains and misty valleys of Madeira; it seemed an opportunity lost. We squeezed past two oil drilling ships to our berth at two knots, passing them within throwing distance. Again, we were moored on the South Mole, but this time slotted tightly between the drilling ships and another (smaller) cruise ship.
I got that funny old tingly feeling again at breakfast, when the Main Broadcast burst into life with, “For exercise, for exercise, for exercise. Man overboard, man overboard. Away crash-boat’s crew”. The pleasure was not having to do a damned thing, and being able to return to my Eggs Benedict.
Having arrived in Santa Cruz later than we did in Funchal, we disembarked this time at 1030 and headed into town. Sensibly, the pedestrian route was marked with a continuous blue line in the pavement and we followed this to the town centre about a mile away. Oh dear. The first impressions did not help, nor did the low scudding clouds. I dare say I am being totally unfair, but Santa Cruz came across to us as a bit of a dump: think West Hartlepool on a bad, dull Sunday in early summer with the pubs shut. Graffiti was everywhere, even on some of the up-market flats and buildings in the commercial district. All the decent architecture was ruined by it; even the trees in the lovely parks! We would have stopped at a roadside café for a coffee or beer, but none of them appealed particularly, so – after two hours – we strolled back to the ship for lunch. The overall impression of Santa Cruz and Tenerife was that of the Curate’s Egg: good in parts. Some of the architecture and sculptures were lovely, but the place seemed to be going to seed. I wonder if it is a reflection of the fact that unemployment in Spain is very high (Tenerife is part of Spain, whereas Madeira – visited yesterday – is part of Portugal). We certainly would not come here for a holiday, though we would look at Madeira.
We had a light lunch: Seafood Salad followed by Fish Curry for me, same starter followed by Confit of Duck with Gnocchi for Jane. She couldn’t manage all of it and gave me some to try, prompting the inevitable comment from me that it was lovely to have a bit of gnocchi with my wife on a Sunday lunchtime. This resulted in another old-fashioned look, but the waitress dropped a plate and the rest of the restaurant seemed to find it funny. Maybe I should lower my voice. Or perhaps not use it at all.
As luck would have it, after lunch the sun came out and the sea turned blue. People threw themselves onto the sun loungers on the promenade deck and I sat on the cabin balcony for the first time in shorts…for a total of seven minutes. Then the sun went in again. Never mind, it proves that it’s there and shows promise. And it’s better than you are getting in the UK.
As I write, Jane is helping the environment by catching flies organically from a horizontal position (think about it). We sail at 1800. Or something like that. Crêpes Suzette for pudding tonight, I think. Perhaps a glass of Malbec?
15 January 2017
"A Very Vintage Chap..." 