Day 34
Sunday 12 February and we are in Fremantle, Western Australia. The temperatures are back to ‘normal’, that is to say it made it up to 27ºC today, partially cloudy. It was a rum old passage across the Indian Ocean from Mauritius, as you will have gathered from the previous blogs: it was cold and fairly rough right up to, and including, our entrance to the Swan River this morning. Even I broke out the fleece for the arrival, and the temperature did not pick up until mid forenoon. Apparently this is the coldest February for Western Australia since records began – just when we visit. Typical!
We had some excitement last night. Dinner was interrupted by the Captain on the Main Broadcast, seeking blood donors to give blood. It was urgently needed for a seriously ill passenger. Neither of us fitted the bill, but I gather others could respond and the patient was saved. He or she was later landed at Fremantle.
Our entrance to Fremantle at 0630 was reasonably straightforward, and the harbour is quite large. We turned, as usual, and moored, port side to, astern of a small cruise ship and – take note – at a Cruise Terminal! Yes, no more container jetties. Well, not where we moored, but there was one opposite, just in case we were suffering from withdrawal symptoms. There was a large car park next to the terminal, then a busy, modern railway line, a dual carriageway, and then The Town. Easy access, no shuttles.
Passing through the terminal for the first time we were sniffed. I cannot recall ever having been sniffed before. We were sniffed by a sniffer dog, not to detect drugs or explosives (though I imagine that that would have been a bonus for the authorities), but to detect whether we had brought any foodstuffs ashore. The Australians are mega-twitched about contamination from other continents and no food whatsoever (fruit, sandwiches, sweets, turnips etc) can be imported. Nice doggie: a Labrador. I think it thought that Jane was a bone.
We set off on a ‘Twin Cities Tour and River Cruise’ in the morning, driving to nearby Perth, ‘doing’ the biggest urban park in the world, then returning by river cruiser. Fremantle is, essentially, the port for Perth and is located at the mouth of the Swan River, with Perth 12 miles away up river. Think South Shields and Newcastle. There are other similarities that will emerge as the blog develops. Fremantle has a population of about 22,000 (slightly larger than Melbury) whereas Perth has a population of about two million. Both are called cities.
The tour was a little disappointing. It set off well enough, but we then spent quite a while driving through the affluent suburbs of Perth (think Sandbanks or Hale). Apparently Western Australia is the biggest producer of gold in the world, and comes high up in the stakes for diamonds and pearls too – hence there are many millionaires here. However, there are only so many expensive houses that you can look at. We stopped at Kings Park in Perth, which is bigger than Central Park in New York, and were given an hour to amuse ourselves. The first thing that struck me was how many dogs there were; everyone seemed to have one or more. Mostly, they were huge, like Great Danes or Newfoundlands. I have never seen so many dogs, short of Crufts. The second thing that struck me was the very fine views of the city of Perth, which impressed in many ways. We were, of course, viewing it from from afar so I cannot testify to the close-up credentials. For all that, we thought it was lovely, but an hour in a park was too long, even for Miss Botanist 1951. Finally, we embarked on a large river boat for the cruise back to Fremantle. We didn’t actually tour Perth city.
Here are some tips for river cruises: (a) face for’ard [ie in the direction of travel] (b) sit on the side where most sights will be seen and (c) do not sit opposite the rudest and most sour-faced termagant God ever created. This last tip emerges from the fact that we were first at the table onboard but, literally as we were sitting down, I told Jane to sit opposite me so that she could face the direction of travel. The Termagant arrived just as Jane was swapping over and Jane said, “So sorry, I was just changing sides”. The reply was, “I’m sitting there” and she pushed her way in. I immediately shrivelled her with a look, but she was immune. She was a termagant after all. After that, the conversation just flowed for the whole river cruise. Notwithstanding these little irritations, and us both having stiff necks at the end of it, it was a very scenic cruise on the Swan River and the area does have a bob or two. We never did get the bus tour of Fremantle, because time had run out, so we were dumped back at the ship. A sort of ‘Park and River Cruise’ tour then.
But, of course, we did ‘do’ Fremantle. After returning onboard to dump our fleeces and change into shorts, we set off on foot as it was easily within walking distance. Fremantle. Hmm. The first thing that struck me was that there were skateboarders everywhere, causing a nuisance and making a racket; they were on main roads, pavements and in what passed for shopping arcades, and most were adults. Odd. Are the men here like Peter Pan, who never grew up? The town itself was not bad to look at from the quay: some good 19th and early 20th century architecture right next to some inappropriate modern stuff; some shabby derelict areas and bomb sites, and some bits that are promising. A large, apparently disused, 1960s brick building opposite the Cruise Terminal labelled ‘Wool Store’ was covered in bill posters and graffiti, and that was unfortunate as first impressions go. The town centre reminded me, in some ways, of pictures of New Orleans, with those first and second floor verandas on 19th century buildings; but the shops and shop fronts were largely cheap and tawdry. Bars were busy, noisy and indoors – a bit like lots of Irish pubs stuck together. There were no Poundstretcher stores, but there might as well have been. One or two winos.
Jane managed to lose her prescription sunglasses in the maritime museum and there was a considerable disturbance in the space time continuum while she ran back to get them, all of a flutter. I would have gone, but I had blisters as a result of wearing shoes with no socks (I thought it was cool and would give a better suntanned leg; it wasn’t and it didn’t). Fortunately the specs had been handed in and the rending of cloth was avoided.
So, Fremantle? Nice people and nice send off. Shacklepin Graffiti Factor 30%, but very little litter. Adult Skateboard Factor 6; Wino/Tramp Factor 3. Overall, it was all a bit ‘cheap and cheerful’ and every tenth member of the local Planning Committee should be taken out and shot as an example to the rest. Fremantle would appear to be the slightly downmarket side of Perth, which brings me nicely back to the South Shields and Newcastle analogy. If we ever come again, we will jump on the train to Perth.
Day 35
Monday 13 February sees us at anchor 3 nm off Busselton, with a boat routine in operation. A temperature of 29ºC, somewhat overcast, no wind. Busselton looks like Southend from this far out.
Eight of the ship’s boats are adapted for ferrying purposes and are called tenders (you knew that already, didn’t you?). They double up as lifeboats, and have a capacity of 120 in the former role and 150 in the latter. Unlike the lifeboats, they are twin-hulled and twin engined. They are slightly odd craft and look a bit like beetles as they are entirely enclosed, with no foredeck or stern deck, and no protruding wheelhouse. There is, however, seating on the roof of the canopy as well as inside, so as the boat’s go along they look a bit like those trains in India, which are draped in people hanging onto the top. They seem to handle well enough, but manoeuvring must be tricky as the coxswain does not have good all-round visibility and the bowman and sternsheet man have virtually nowhere to perch. The coxswain does have the option of standing with his head out of the fore hatch, like a tank driver, but then he cannot reach the helm or the throttles very well.
We were told that there would be a high demand for the boats initially, so the routine would be to collect a ticket and wait in one of the lounges, from whence we would be escorted down to the disembarkation port in batches. Any hint of the word ‘queue’ and I develop a twitch, usually sending a proxy (i.e. Jane). I could not do that this time, so I declared that we would wait until later in the day when the rush had died down. However, at 0830 there was an announcement that they had seven boats lined up and no takers, so we gathered all our gear hastily, skipped breakfast, and belted down to be first on. Of course, others had had the same idea, but we were soon seated in the boat and on our way. Before we alighted, we had to pass a ‘step’ test to prove that we could step across to the boat safely, and that was a new one on me, but it did thin out the wheat from the chaff. Three miles is quite a distance out (it is about as far as the horizon to a man standing on a beach), but it only took twenty minutes to get in. Fortunately the sea was flat calm, with very little wind. Busselton does not have a port, but does have a very long wooden pier (2 km long) that was used until the 1970s for timber ships to berth against (I mean the ships carried timber, not that they were made of timber). They must have been small ships, as the pier looked a bit frail and the depth of water is only eight metres – think Clevedon pier in baking heat, extended to over a mile, and with a kink in it. Our boat moored to a jetty part way along the pier and we had been warned (“Are you sure you want to do this?”) that there was an unavoidable 500m walk along the pier to get to the town. Dear oh dear. It would do some of these people good to start using their legs.
Now here’s a thing. You can almost always tell cruise passengers ashore, not just by their Cunard hats, white spindly legs, bunioned feet and lost expressions, but also by their bulging rucksacks. What is it with the rucksacks? What on earth do they carry in them? Water and sun cream, sure, but what else? We have even seen some people ashore with shorts, bulging rucksacks, hiking boots, and those ski poles that are all the rage at the moment. It is all very curious. I think they must carry sweaters, anoraks, beanies, survival bags, space blankets, distress flares and Kendal mint cake. Can’t be too careful with the weather, and that ski stick will be a useful weapon, especially where Johnny Foreigner is concerned – might meet footpads or renegade soldiers returning from the Crusades.
The corollary of the above behaviour is the passenger who carries his rucksack onboard at sea. Now that really is baffling. You see them in the theatre or cinema, carrying their rucksacks and occasionally wearing a baseball hat, as if expecting a heavy shower or a glaring sun, ten decks down. It is almost as if they have set off from their cabin in the morning on a Great Expedition and so have packed all their requirements for the day – a bit like we used to do in Guest Houses and B&Bs at the seaside all those years ago. Is it too far for them to go back? Is the ship really that big? Or do they expect to have to abandon ship at any moment? Beats me.
Busselton. Absolutely delightful. A town of about 33,000 (= c 1.5*Melbury) set out on a grid system like an American town and, indeed, it did look and feel like a small American town, even to the road signs: wide streets; one or two storey buildings; good range of decent shops; pickup trucks driven slowly and considerately. Heat. That’s it: we want to stay. We found a nice coffee bar and ordered coffee and croissants, then settled down. They did free WiFi and we asked for the password, to be told that it was ‘one two zero’. We tried it, ‘120’, but it didn’t work. So we tried it in words: onetwozero. Nope. Tried ‘onetozero’ and ‘onetoozero’. Still nothing. So, when the waitress came back, we asked again. The password was ‘1234567890’. A bit like fork handles, I suppose.
After the coffee we wandered round the town, did a bit of mundane shopping, bought our 38-year old son a pencil and rubber souvenir, and met some really welcoming, friendly people. We got chatting to the woman in the bookshop and I said how lovely and warm it was, and she looked at me with her head on one side in a questioning way. At first, I interpreted it as, “And why shouldn’t it be”, but she then commented that this was actually very unseasonably cool for them. Crikey, it was 28ºC at the time. I explained that we had brought a little cloud of English weather wherever we had gone: Cape Town had had a drought before we hove over the horizon; the Indian Ocean had once been tropical; and Western Australia had been dry and hot at 40ºC.
We walked along the clean, deserted beach and Jane paddled in the ocean, but proclaimed it cold (later found it to be at 22ºC). We then walked the length of the pier to the Underwater Observation Chamber, where we descended to the depths to see all the tropical fish and some divers around the base of the pier in the clear water. A bit like a cross between Butlins and the Melbury Tandoori. By this time it was about 1245 and our clothes were sticking to our backs. I was tempted to have a beer ashore but, in the end, we opted for return to have a good shower.
Now here’s some good news, and I am sure you will share my excitement. You remember that Silver Badge that I mentioned earlier? Well, on return to the ship we found letters congratulating us on having achieved Gold Membership of the Cunard World Club (yes, Gold Membership), and enclosing – wait for this – Gold Club lapel badges: discreet pins in little embroidered bags with Cunard on them. This is excellent. I must now whip down to the Purser’s Office and get our boarding cards changed to new ones with gold strips on them. Oh fabjous joy, calloo callay.
In the afternoon the ship was visited by four outrigger canoes built in the Polynesian style, which had been paddled all the way out from town. They were not manned by Polynesians, of course, but by fit young Australians. Most impressive. There was a strange noise some time after that and I couldn’t work out what it was at first. Then I realised: it was tipping down with rain. Absolutely torrential, and the noise was the rain hitting the sea. So we got that good shower, though that is not what I meant. Pity the people on a run ashore, as they were soaked.
So, summary for Busselton: a resounding ten out of ten. Shacklepin Graffiti Factor of zero; litter, nil; winos nil; skateboarders 1. Would we come again? Dead right. I’m going to look at retirement here. I could ship the boat over. Wonder how much we would get for our house in England?
The balcony door has just hurtled open.
“In! Get in! Do you realise that you’ve been sitting out there for four hours, writing? I think that you are enjoying it. People will be bored stiff with these long blogs. Time for your shower before dinner”.
Oh dear. Bored? I do hope not. ‘Informed?’, hopefully; ‘offended?’, possibly. But ‘Bored?’ I would hate that. Dear friends, do not feel bound to read any of these misanthropic ramblings. If you find them tedious, then just delete them on receipt. There will be no exam on return to the UK I do assure you. So sorry, Mummy says I have to go in now. I will play again tomorrow.
Day 36
Tuesday 14 February on passage to Adelaide. We are steaming due east at 20 knots across the Great Australian Bight. It started overcast, but picked up to the mid 20s later and we sunbathed a little. The sea is Slight, and the wind only Force 3. I presented Jane with a pair of nail scissors for Valentine’s Day and she declared them just what she wanted. The clocks were advanced a further hour last night and we are now nine hours ahead of you. There will be another hour tonight, and another half an hour during the day after that. This time shift, while definitely better than jet lag, is becoming rather tedious and Jane is starting to display zombie-like symptoms; there is talk of a little snooze this afternoon.
Did I ever mention Ling Po? Ling Po is the name we have allocated to the strange Chinese man, with a long wispy beard and long grey hair tied in a pony tail, who looks like the grandfather in ‘The Karate Kid’. He has been onboard since Southampton. He first came to our notice when we were watching the band play us off, outside on that cold night in Southampton. He was jigging around as we leaned over the rail and I muttered to Jane, “Let’s move on – this guy’s on drugs or something”. Since then, he has reappeared at various stages of the voyage whenever there is music, such as in the front row of the stalls in the theatre, gesticulating like a whirling dervish and bouncing up and down in his seat. Very manic, damned un-English and mad as a hatter.
More gossip from the launderette, where Jane reports a woman taking up two machines at once (one for whites and one for coloureds), and a husband and wife combination using both ironing boards at once. Very poor. Total lack of consideration for others. Another woman up there is on a world tour (not all on the QM2) with a family of four, washing every day. The children are being home-tutored (yeh, right). I tell you, that launderette provides more stories than a soap opera.
Our last Black Tie dinner tonight to celebrate Valentine’s Day. Jane wore Dress No 9 and looked sensational. She was given a red rose by the maitre d’hotel as we went in to eat and she was chuffed to bits.
Day 37
Wednesday 15 February and the clocks went forward yet again, so we are now on ‘Juliet time and a half’, 10.5 hours ahead of you on GMT. Still on passage to Adelaide. Calm seas, but alas, an overcast sky and we are back to cold weather at 19ºC again.
The best part of the day was spent in the ship’s medical centre because Jane’s old problem has returned and has not responded to antibiotics. She has been suffering lack of appetite, occasional nausea and some retching (nothing to vomit up). Anyway, after blood, urine and X Ray tests the doctor onboard seems to think that she may have a grumbling appendix and thinks she should have a CT scan and other tests, though she has given Jane some different antibiotics in the hope that that will help. So tomorrow we have to go to an Adelaide Hospital for tests, which I hope will be completed before the ship sails at 1730. I also hope that she doesn’t have to be admitted, as that will make life for both of us quite complicated. We are due to disembark anyway in Melbourne – next port of call – on Saturday. Much to our surprise, the arrangement for the hospital is for us to make our own way there by taxi, then front up to the A&E Department with the doctor’s letter and be processed through triage. That’s our day gone then.
Further trouble is that we have had to call the UK via satellite to get insurance company authorisation. Before I left home I had been assured that the ship did all the authorisation stuff, so that you could be treated seamlessly. Not so. Treatment cost so far is $770 and it has to be claimed back. I am not terribly impressed, as the satellite phone call cost $100 for 20 minutes. I trust that we will be able to claim all this back.
Bit of a dank day overall!
"A Very Vintage Chap..." 