Day 25
Friday 3 February and we are in France, or rather part of it: La Réunion. As mentioned in the last blog, we are in the port with the original name, Le Port. It is a very small commercial harbour (think Seaham Harbour with sunshine) which we only just managed to squeeze into and turn around in. It is the first time that QM2 has been to the island and one tug captain was clearly overcome by the moment, because he decided to give us one of those water spray salutes. Unfortunately, his fire pumps weren’t up to it and all he managed to produce was a ten foot spout that covered his vessel in water. Never mind, the thought was there. As befits our station, we are not berthed on the container jetty this time, but instead placed right next to the island’s coal-fired power station and a large pile of coal. The whine of the steam turbines within made me feel quite nostalgic, but I did thank my lucky stars that our cabin is on the port side, away from the jetty.
La Réunion is about the size of Leicestershire, but unlike that county, boasts an active volcano, Piton de la Fournaise. Fortunately, it wasn’t erupting when we were there. The biggest export of the island is sugar and it is decidedly French (the island, not the sugar). The population is 840,000, most of whom appeared to be on the roads in their cars when we travelled into the nearest town, Saint-Paul, about five miles from the port (there is virtually nothing in Le Port except the docks). Saint-Denis is the capital of the island and is just as close as Saint-Paul, but Friday is market day and the roads are traditionally gridlocked in the capital on Fridays, so no shuttle buses were running there. Our shuttle trip was bad enough: it took about 40 minutes to get into Saint-Paul, with the town centre frequently and tantalisingly close as we transited a circular one-way system that was mostly blocked solid. I have rarely seen such a congested town, and the fact that we were on a small island made the situation even more bizarre. Never mind, we got in in the end.
Saint-Paul proved to be not a bad little town. It is difficult to draw a parallel from my experience: perhaps ‘Caribbean’, but not quite as dusty or dirty as that; ‘Mediterranean ‘, but not quite as clean or up-market as that… It has a Shacklepin Graffiti Factor of 30%, which I suppose isn’t bad, and it was quite pleasant to walk thorough. Surprisingly, there weren’t many decent roadside bars or cafés like you find in abundance in France, but we did find one eventually and there we sat, watching the world go by, sipping a glass of wine and sending off emails using the free WiFi. The people are Creole, French and very friendly; the hills are green and not quite as sheer as Tenerife was; the sand on some of the the beaches is black. This last phenomenon was not quite so remarkable to a north eastern boy like me, who can just about remember beaches at home like that before they cleaned them up (we are back to Seaton Carew again). Unlike Tyneside, there are many sharks here and swimming is discouraged. Those disobeying the rules are eaten. Boy, it was hot. Really hot. I mean you might think it was hot on that Bank Holiday in Skegness in ’76, but this was scorching. Even Miss Caribbean 1951 thought it was hot, though she later added the supplementary comment of ‘lovely’. I think the official temperature is 30ºC, but I reckon it was much more than that. And, of course, there are hotter places – including The Gulf – to come.
So we ‘did’ the town as best we could, but after two hours the heat got the better of us and we headed for the shuttle back. So did everyone else, apparently, and there was a bit of a scuffle as we all tried to get on the bus at once, some people being hoofed off because no-one was allowed to stand. It was the survival of the fittest and I saw at least one walking stick flying, and a Zimmer frame and a mobility scooter discarded by the roadside (there may be a touch of hyperbole there). The 40-minute return journey was highlighted by us being stopped at the dockyard gate and having to get off to walk through customs, before getting back on the bus again for the final 400 metres to the ship. Well, the island is French.
Back onboard. Air conditioning. Bliss. That tight feeling of the perspiration drying and crystallising on your skin. Back to the cabin to strip off wet bra and knickers and have a cold shower before Jane notices I have borrowed them.
Lunch, a quiet read in the cool, heavy tropical rain outside (every afternoon for three hours, apparently), and a nice sensible cup of tea. Sailing at 1800, we simply sashayed sideways to port, off the jetty, then headed out of the tiny harbour (the Captain had done the hard bit of turning round earlier, when we came in). We were accompanied by tugs purely as standby, and they escorted us out pirouetting on their axes to show how manoeuvrable and clever they were.
Would we come again? Hmmm. The town was OK and we (i.e. Jane) would have liked to have spent longer in the large market to look at shoes, table cloths, exotic fruit, flowers, and little wooden boxes with pretty lids, but time was short. The necessity for shuttle buses to travel the five miles or so to civilisation through heavy traffic put the real dampener on it. Yes, I think we would give it another look, but not for a full holiday.
And so to Mauritius, passage overnight.
Day 26
Saturday 4 February. Crikey, what a thunderstorm we had last night on passage! Lightning all over the northern horizon and continuous thunder, like Jesus getting the coal in. I actually heard it in my sleep and, as to Jane, well – you can imagine. Evidence was still present when we went on the upper deck at 0630 to watch our arrival in Port Louis, Mauritius: water everywhere on deck. I hear you are having some quite bad weather in UK at the present, and so it must be rather annoying when I comment on the warm weather here. So, just to make you feel just a little bit better, I am pleased to report that it is heavy showers here, occasionally so bad that you cannot see across the harbour. The temperature is 30ºC, however.
We turned around in the harbour mouth, then made sternway for about a mile before berthing at a large jetty, starboard side to. The jetty is full of – you guessed it – Mr Maersk’s boxes. If you can imagine a sock with a narrow mouth, then we are half way into the sock on one side, and the town centre is at the toe of the sock about a mile away.
Across from us is a cruise ship (note, not an ocean liner), the COSTA ROMANTICA, a mere minnow to our whale, and she seems to be trying out her lifeboats (perhaps her Captain is in a hurry to get ashore). Ahead of us is a bulk carrier unloading coal, and astern of us is a heavy-lift general cargo vessel with an interesting arrangement: a huge square counterweight stuck out on an arm on the seaward side of the ship to counterbalance the cargo being unloaded by the ship’s cranes (they don’t have derricks any more) on the landward side. It looks like the counterweight is flooded as necessary to give it the weight. Simple but effective. Further astern of us is a flotilla of coastguard cutters, including a corvette. These guys have more ships than we have! I am not sure what they are guarding against, but I would imagine that drugs might be a problem, as everywhere else. Or maybe pirates.
There must be about forty Chinese or Malaysian fishing boats here, moored in trots in various parts of the harbour. They are of odd design, with a long low-slung hull and high stern with low superstructure. They are universally white – or rather they are meant to be. I have never seen such filthy topsides on some of those boats; a bit of soogey wouldn’t come in wrong. I believe they fish for squid, using lights at night to lure them to the surface.
We were going to walk into town as usual, but this would have involved a two mile hike there and back in blazing heat past those rough men in the docks area, then along a busy dual carriageway. So we took the free shuttle to the waterfront shopping area. This time it was much easier: the bus was a minibus, the drop-off was in a car park, and there was no fighting to get back on. I cheered up the other passengers on the minibus no end by saying, as we set off, “Here we go, taken off to the mountains to be ransomed by bandits”, though the driver looked nonplussed.
Mauritius. An island that is part of the Commonwealth, though a republic. Said by Mark Twain to have been created before paradise, and to have served as an example to it, the island has a population of over a million people and covers 720 square miles. The view from the harbour is of a verdant, mountainous landscape, not unlike Tenerife, the hills being frequently obscured by mist and rain. Like all these places, it has a chequered history with varied ownership passing from the Portuguese, through the Dutch, to the French, but Britain finally took it from the French in the Napoleonic Wars. French is still spoken widely, even though the official language is English. The currency is the Mauritius Rupee, but they accept dollars and Euros quite happily. Like South Africa, the people drive on the correct side of the road – very civilised. Curiously, Mauritius is the third largest exporter of woollen knitwear, but it also exports tea and sugar. The population is mixed but, unlike in Réunion, the ethnicity is fundamentally Indian (spot, not feather).
After that write-up by Mark Twain, the island is bound to be looked at with high expectations. Our impression is mixed, but mainly favourable, though based – as ever – on a narrow sample that is the capital. We never got to see the sand-kissed beaches or the hinterland. There are some modern high-rise buildings in Port Louis, mainly coloured cream or white, with the occasional grey. Nice architecture. Very ritzy looking hotels. Sensibly, building has been restricted to the flat part of the land and does not spread haphazardly up the hills and slopes behind the town. In the town, you could find a shabby building with peeling whitewashed walls standing literally right next to a modern edifice. Shacklepin Graffiti Factor 5%. Very little litter. Nice people. Good, if somewhat basic, public transport (reminded me of Malta). The shopping centre was very modern (seen one you’ve seen them all), affordable, and with some pleasant cafés and bars. Jane bought a cashmere pashmina for 6 Euros, which may or may not be genuine, but it looks warm. The local taxi drivers were fairly pushy, but not badly so. Next time (if there is one) we will go on one of the guided tours of the island; we couldn’t afford it this time and – in any case – we didn’t want to waste the one day we had in port. We usually prefer to get our impressions ‘hands on’, rather than take a view from a bus.
Lunch back onboard, and following my policy of trying something different, I had warthog. At this rate there will be no wildlife left in Africa, as I am eating my way through it. This was a kebab: not bad, quite tough, a bit like pork.
We sailed at 1800 with the usual blast of the siren, this time echoing off the COSTA ROMANTICA across the harbour and nearly blowing her hat off. She returned the salute in the traditional way, but, alas, it was a reedy effort in comparison. QM2 has retained the original siren from the old QUEEN MARY and an exact duplicate was manufactured to accompany it on the other side of the funnel. Both sirens now operate on compressed air, as opposed to steam, and – as outlined earlier – can be heard ten miles away.
Sunset comes quickly in the tropics, like that scene in Captain Pugwash when the narrator says, “Night fell”. It just did, as I write.
We attended a good show this evening after dinner, this time featuring a very accomplished guitarist, who played a wide range of pieces from traditional Spanish to modern rock. The resident band redeemed themselves as backing group, and were actually good in that role. Jane was bopping away on her seat to the music, which included stuff by the Rolling Stones, Cream, Santana, Duane Eddy etc. Even I recognise Cream.
Now we are off to Fremantle. Bliss! No more having to get up early, pass immigration, or walk ashore, for eight days. Sea Routine.
Day 27
Sunday 5 February. Here we are, somewhere in the Indian Ocean, about 160 nm south of the island of Rodriquez, following a Great Circle route from Mauritius to Fremantle. Sadly, it is overcast and 29ºC, but the wind is only Force 3 and the sea, Slight. For an ocean that hosts cyclones, this one is very benign. Let us hope it remains so. It is still like a Turkish Bath out there and when I walked onto the balcony just now my glasses fogged up as the cold glass met the warm humid air; I am used to the opposite happening in UK.
How embarrassing. Other than going on the balcony briefly, I have not been outside at all today. It has been a very busy day, with church at 1000 in the theatre (you will have concluded from previous blogs that I am badly in need of redemption), a quick lunch, more planetarium (this time about asteroids aiming for Earth), a classical concert of clarinet and piano, a lecture on the Royal Flying Corps (RFC), and a further lecture on Australian convoys in WW1. This is supposed to be a day of rest. Jane opted out of the two lectures, citing lack of interest. Here is an interesting fact: parachutes had been invented by WW1, and the RFC could have supplied them to their pilots (the Germans had them by 1918); however it was deemed inappropriate to provide parachutes to RFC pilots lest it encourage them not to engage the enemy with sufficient zeal. A sort of aviation version of pour encourager les autre, I suppose.
As implied at the end of Day 26, we actually like Sea Days as it is a more steady routine with no deadlines to meet, yet plenty of things to do. I have promised to take Jane for a walk around the upper deck after dinner and she is really looking forward to it.
A balmy tropical night, two lovers on their cabin balcony, with the soft swish of the bow wave the only commentary as they gaze out across the calm moonlit sea. The stars in the southern sky twinkle in the great infinity of the cosmos, with only the odd meteorite breaking the setting. An unspoken magnetism draws them together as they share a common moment of contentment. He stretches his strong arm around her slim waist and draws her to him, kissing her honey hair and freckled shoulder in a moment of mutual certainty. She turns her head towards him, and her soft sensuous lips part, as if to speak…
“Will you stop that nonsense!”
Oh well, it was worth a try.
Day 28
This is a bleary-eyed Monday 6 February. The clocks went forward another hour early this morning, so we are now on Echo time, 5 hours ahead of you lazy people who are still in bed. Never mind, at least your days are getting longer. Our position at 1420E was 24deg 57.5S 70deg 48.6E, wind Force 3 ENE, sea Slight. Course 114, Speed 18.6 knots. 28ºC (feels much hotter). Very humid. Sunny, with heavy squalls.
We attended a very moving lecture about the ‘Australian Dingo Case’ in which, you may recall, a mother was accused of murdering her baby after it was taken by a dingo. When you hear all the details and facts (from the defence lawyer) it becomes very apparent what a witch hunt and appalling breakdown of justice it was, and it does not paint a very good picture at all of the experts. The lecture has taken us as far as her conviction and having to have a baby in prison; we hear the rest in two days.
The corridors around the theatre and cinema (see earlier blog regarding Scrabble) are decorated by a huge range of murals depicting the history of the ocean liner from its beginning to the present day, and included in this are snippets of information about past passengers, famous and otherwise. Apparently in the early days, Cunard used to publish the First Class passenger list in The Times and other papers so that people could decide in advance who would be worth talking to on the voyage. Even I am not that bad.
As we will be passing through the Mediterranean on the way back, we thought it sensible to attend the lecture on the volcanoes in that sea. We don’t want to get caught out like Gene Hackman was in the SS POSEIDON (believe it or not, they showed the film on internal TV the other day – most reassuring). The lecture was given by our visiting geologist, who had given earlier talks on oil and fracking. He told an interesting story of his oil exploration days with Shell in Abu Dhabi, where he was tasked to identify a spot in the desert to drill for oil. He did the research and told them where to drill, they assembled the rig, drilled, and out came water. He was put on the carpet. He told them categorically that, given the geological conditions, it was inconceivable that water would be there. His job hung by a thread. To be fair to Shell, they investigated whether the rig had been placed on the wrong position and this is what they found. It was in the days before GPS, but the spot had been identified by the surveyors accurately using triangulation. They then marked the spot, as was custom, by leaving a large oil drum in the sand and left. A few weeks later, along came the drilling team, who located the oil drum, and set up their rig. What they didn’t know, however, was that, after the survey team had left, some Bedouin tribesmen had come along and found the oil drum, which they commandeered as being a jolly good receptacle to carry water in. They trolled around the desert with it, using it (literally) to the full, then just dumped it when it was no longer required. Hence, the oil well in the wrong place. Today, apparently, they still mark the spot with a large oil drum, but now they punch holes in it first.
Day 29
Tuesday 7 February finds us still heading ESE across the Indian Ocean. Mainly overcast, 26ºC wind Force 5 from the east, sea Slight. We are roughly half way between Africa and Australia now. We returned to our cabin last night to find a further gift from Cunard, this time a rather snazzy pair of binoculars. If they think they can bribe us into going with Cunard again then they are absolutely right. Jane was a bit miffed that all the presents so far (bag, cap, binoculars) have been male oriented, so I am letting her keep the bag and I have given her a go on the binoculars.
It is a pretty miserable day out there, on the whole. It is warm of course, and there has been the odd glimmer of sunshine, but if you just looked out of the window you would see a scene reminiscent of the Portland Race on a bad day. This situation is not helped by the fact that the windows have tinted glass, giving a rather drab impression of the day from inside.
Well, we are definitely hooked on cruises in general, and Cunard in particular against all odds and my past protestations (if you hadn’t already gathered). We are already looking at next year and where we can go (I am determined to get that Platinum Badge, and I have now discovered that there is a Diamond Badge above that). The only minor problem is where we will get the money from. Fortunately, not all the voyages are as expensive as this one. I did suggest that we do a two day trip to Amsterdam to try to find that attractive woman with the spider-web earrings whom I came across in a coffee bar in 1990, but this was vetoed lest I also see ladies with no clothes on sitting in shop windows. Also, Jane has taken against ladies who wear spider-web earrings.
As it is a quiet sea day, I thought it would be of interest to mention the ship’s staff. The bulk of the crew (stewards, waiting staff, deck crew, engineering crew) appear to be Filipino or other Asian nationals, and they work a contract of nine months on and three months off. Cunard pays for their transit fares, but does not pay for holidays. Presumably, Cunard can also decide whether or not to take them on for another contract. This smacks of the way the Merchant Navy (MN) used to be when my father was at sea and when, during WW2, sailors’ pay stopped if the ship was sunk. East European staff appear to be on slightly better contracts of six months, and the arrangements improve – whatever the nationality – with seniority. The staff seem to get very little time off while at sea. Our waitress, for example, works from 0730 to 1030 (with brief breaks for meals etc) seven days a week. They do get shore leave when we are in port, but only on a roster. Some cabin stewards never see the light of day, as far as I can make out. Yet all are invariably cheerful and helpful – absolutely lovely people. We tipped our steward on Day One, and will give him the second half when we leave despite the fact that we already pay the standard daily service charge (see Blog 1); it seems only fair.
The ship’s officers appear to be European (we don’t see much of them, so it is hard to tell), and both Captains are British; the Captains work the shortest contract of all because of the stress of the job.
It has taken me a while to work out the rank system of Cunard as it matches neither the RN system nor the standard MN system that my father would have recognised. The latter comprises Master, First Mate, Second Mate and so on (these are the traditional ranks used on their Certificates of Competency issued by the government). As far as I can tell, the Captain wears three rings and a broad stripe with a diamond curl, like an Admiral. However, there is also a Deputy Captain with four stripes and a curl, like an RN Captain. The Chief Officer and First Officer have the same badges of rank (three and a half with curl), and the Second Officers have either two stripes or two and a half with curl. There are also Third Officers, but I won’t go on. It is all potentially rather confusing, but in practice it is not a problem as you very rarely see them around the ship. The First, Second Officer and Third Officers watch-keep continuously as Officers of the Watch, doubled up, four hours on and eight off.
And that is just the Deck Officers: the seamen. The Engineers are similar, but with no diamond curl, and purple between the stripes; the Hotel Staff (used to be Pursers) have no diamond curl and white between the stripes. One thing that is clear is that Cunard continues the practice, thankfully abandoned by the RN in 1956, of setting the Seamen as Gods and Demi Gods, while lesser entities, such as engineers and pursers, have to wear a colour between their stripes and do not merit the privilege of the executive curl.
I have just heard today that my bid to go on a ‘behind the scenes’ tour has been approved, and it is scheduled for Friday. So watch this space.
Glancing back, I see that this blog has grown somewhat (I have rather gone on a bit), so I will send it off now – while at sea – and then start Blog 8.
"A Very Vintage Chap..." 