I think it was the third double whisky that tipped the balance and moved me towards actually enjoying our cruise. This manifested itself by me trying to drag Jane onto the dance floor for a jive or boogie. That attempt failed, but the seeds of happiness had been planted and it was all downhill from then on.
The sextuple whiskies were to counter the earache/sore throat/head cold/chesty cough (in that order) that had afflicted me since Day 5 of our oceanic adventure, and which added to my initial misgivings as to our choice of holiday. But I am getting ahead of myself here, as usual. Let me explain things from the beginning.
We were on a SAGA cruise to Portugal and Spain. For the benefit of those readers who are not British, SAGA is a British company that provides holidays solely for people over the age of 50 and we had heard very favourable reports of SAGA cruises from friends who had been on them. Apart from the advantages of being on a ship with no noisy children or drunken louts, a SAGA cruise offers an all-in price for a package that comprises: a chauffeur-driven car to and from the port; a wide range of all drinks (cocktails, wines, spirits, beers) onboard; included gratuities and no service charges; all cabins with an outside balcony; WiFi; excursions in foreign ports; sauna and spa; 24-hour room service; and alternative specialty restaurants for those wishing a break from the two standard restaurants. Significantly, for those over 50, travel insurance is included:, which is no small advantage. The two SAGA ships are British and fly the Red Ensign; the currency onboard is the Pound Sterling (but you don’t have to pay for anything); and the ships have cabins, not staterooms. These things matter. It all sounded very attractive, but there had to be a snag. For us, there is always a snag. In fact, there were two: the first was that this all-inclusive holiday inevitably came at a cost higher than that quoted by other cruise lines; the second was that the cruise would involve sailing with Old People. Oh dear. Jane and I pondered on these points at some length.
Tackling the first one was comparatively easy, for the price you pay for most cruises is never the amount quoted in the advertisements. To take our erstwhile cruise provider, Cunard (Blogs 1 – 34), as an example, the price they quote is for an inside cabin (‘stateroom’) with no natural light, eating in the standard ‘Britannia’ restaurant. If you want a cabin with a porthole or a balcony, you will pay more. If you want to eat in the more exclusive Britannia Club, Princess Grill or Queens Grill Restaurants (the last two with an exclusive lounge), you will pay significantly more in ascending order. That is fair enough, but there are then additional costs that you have to be aware of. First, there is a daily service charge per person per cabin raging from $17 for Britannia passengers to $19 for Grill passengers: a minimum service charge of $34 per day or $476 for a couple on a two week cruise. Then there are the drinks, which are expensive in themselves (perhaps $12 for a glass of wine), but which also attract a service charge of 15% per beverage. Dining in alternative speciality restaurants, if desired, are paid for separately and attract the inevitable 15% charge on top. Excursion costs are extra. One can opt out of the basic cabin service charge if one wishes, but the ship’s staff suffer a drop in salary if one does; there is no opting out of the drink or other service charges. Cunard offers an onboard allowance to offset these costs, and they can be very generous (Blog 1 – 26), but they vary according to voyage. All that does not necessarily make Cunard or other cruise lines unattractive, but it does mean you have to develop a comprehensive spreadsheet with estimates for drinks, laundry, excursions etc in order to compare packages. You also have to factor in the cost of travel insurance for a cruise – an amount that increases significantly as one ages and acquires more medical conditions; in our case, despite being quite healthy for our age, the premium would be measured in thousands of pounds, not hundreds. A one-off payment to SAGA, on the other hand, covers everything.
We then pondered on the second snag: the Old People. I suffer from hidden disabilities, you see. As well as misanthropy, I suffer from mild gerontophobia and an aversion to the halt and lame. These are not deficiencies that lend themselves to going on a cruise for two weeks with nearly 1,000 fellow passengers who are over the age of 50. But, then, all cruises tend to include a fair proportion of the senior members of our society and I remember commenting on the fact when I went on my first voyage (Blog 1). Also, I am medically classified as geriatric myself. Decision: go for it and try to be nice.
March 5th found us in the back of a very comfortable limousine, being driven to Portsmouth to join SPIRIT OF ADVENTURE, the newest of two SAGA cruise ships of 58,250 gross tonnes, 987 passengers, 450 ship’s company. She would be less than half the size of our previous (and first love) cruise ship QUEEN MARY 2 (2,691 passengers and 148,528 gross tonnes) so we could expect some individual service. I was impressed by the ship when we arrive. In a world in which modern cruise ships tend to look a cross between a floating wedding cake and a tart flaunting her wares outside a dockside pub, SPIRIT OF ADVENTURE had smart pleasing lines with a livery of navy blue topsides, white superstructure, a yellow funnel and an aesthetically pleasing well-raked stem. There was, inevitably, a touch of the ‘wedding cake’ affect because of her five passenger decks accommodating the 554 balcony cabins in the superstructure, but it was not overdone and the overall impression was of a smart, well-maintained ship that you would be proud to sail in. These things matter to a sailor.
Embarkation through reception and security was rapid, with little queuing or delay, and in virtually no time we found ourselves on the main reception area onboard on Deck 5, known as the Living Room. I knew exactly where our cabin was (up two decks on the starboard side, just forward of amidships) but, bizarrely, we were not permitted to proceed further, being corralled into a small sitting area to await a steward to guide us to our cabin. Passengers attempting to break away and do their own thing were brought back into the fold like errant sheep. Well, we sat for a good – oh – thirty seconds waiting for a steward, being obedient in a good British way, but – the thing is – I don’t do queuing; my wife usually does it for me, but she couldn’t in this case. So I just said, “Stuff this for a game of soldiers” and broke out of the flock, galloping up the main staircase while Jane was politely asking permission to go. Our cabin was very comfortable, with the usual desk, large bed, wardrobe and bijou bathroom. It was pretty much the same size (20 square metres) as we had experienced in Britannia Club in QUEEN MARY 2 and (naturally) smaller than our Princess Grill cabin in the same ship, though only slightly. We were very pleased.
Things had clearly changed since our first cruise in 2017, for the mandatory pre-sailing abandon ship lecture and drill was now given mainly on the cabin television. We did have to trot down to our muster station one deck below in the theatre, but we did not have to wear life jackets or stay in the theatre: we simply marched through one door, were checked off electronically en passant, then marched back out again. At least they recorded that we had done it, which was not something that was done on our first voyage in QUEEN MARY 2.
After sailing from Portsmouth – a strange experience for one used to leaving the port in a warship – our first serial was dinner. The ship has two general optional dining areas (known as the Dining Room and The Grill) plus three speciality restaurants that are free, but you have to book (The Supper Club – European; The Khukuri – Nepalese; The Amalfi – Italian). For our first night the choice of restaurant was allocated for us, and we won The Dining Room. It was a huge restaurant at the stern on the Main Deck, 5 Deck, and we were later to learn that this was where you went if you wanted food served to you; The Grill, seven decks above with large plate-glass windows, was a self-service buffet offering a huge range of food though – paradoxically – it operated waiter service in the evening, with the same menu as The Dining Room, and service was quicker. We found the Dining Room to be a little noisy, short on natural light, and busy, but the range of food on the menu was impressive and the quality of the dishes and service really were very good. There were four courses, with the portions small, but intensely flavoured. There was a very wide range of choices from the ‘luxury’ (eg fillet steak or lobster) down to the ‘mundane’ (eg sausage and mash) and vegetarians were well catered for. I would put the quality of the food in the Michelin star category, and that standard was maintained throughout the voyage. Dare I say it, on the whole the quality of the food was actually better than what we had experienced in Cunard Princess Grill on our long voyage to Australia (Blogs 1 – 26). Three initial choices of wine were offered with the meal, all well-known grapes, but we could ask for alternatives if we wanted. I preferred Sauvignon Blanc, for example, to the Chenin Blanc offered, and this was provided without demure. There was no limit to the amount of wine provided, and a large range of digestifs were offered after the meal. The staff, a mixture of Filipinos, Indians and Nepalese, were outgoing, efficient and ever willing to please.
So, first day at sea, steaming down the English Channel for our first port of call, Porto in Portugal, and our first opportunity to view our fellow passengers. Oh dear. One really should not rely on one’s first impressions, but I will record them here anyway (you will expect nothing else). Clearly, the SAGA requirement for passengers to be over 50 was a little imprecise, for my assessment from a straw poll of the humanity passing through the bar was that most of my fellow passengers were over 80. There were shufflers, there were waddlers, there were totterers; quite a few people seemed to have a walking stick, a wheeled-walker or (very occasionally) a mobility scooter. Exiting a major venue, such as the theatre, later proved to be like a marathon race for tortoises – the mass of humanity was so frustratingly slow. Some people, quite literally, moved no further than six inches in each step. Of course, it drove me – with my standard marching speed of four miles an hour – up the wall. Abandon ship will be interesting, I thought, for those not trampled under foot will not be able to manage the stairs, or will not be able to clamber into the lifeboats. Still, it made Jane and me feel young again as we scampered up the stairs, along the corridors, and across the gangways, probably leaving turmoil in our wake, like two tornadoes sweeping through a gentile tea room.
But this initial impression does me no credit. What these good people lacked in mobility, they made up for in cheerfulness and pluck: they weren’t going to let their age or infirmity stop them from having a good time. SAGA, to give the company credit, looked after those who were aged and infirm incredibly well: staff were patient and helpful, ever on-hand with a ready smile to assist with movement or at difficult times of embarkation or disembarkation. We met several lovely couples throughput the voyage and, though not all could be described as ‘of our tribe’, we enjoyed their company nevertheless.
The ship herself proved to be a good seaboat, even across the notorious Bay of Biscay, but it was cold and windy on deck. This did not stop Jane from helping herself to regular ice cream replenishment from the machine on the Lido Deck, Deck 12. I was fascinated to discover that, in this ship, as in QUEEN MARY 2, people invariably took their bracing walk around the Promenade Deck in a counter-clockwise direction; Jane and I always perambulated in a clockwise direction, causing chaos as fellow passengers and invalids dodged out of the way to avoid us as we marched unswervingly towards them. I like to make a mark on the people I meet in life; I may have succeeded.
I am embarrassed to report that all the ports of call and their excursions passed in a blur, as these things can do on a cruise with only eight hours in a port. Temperatures were below average for the Iberian peninsula and Mediterranean in March, and Jane never removed her vest during the day. In most places it was fleece or (daringly) sweater weather despite the sunshine, but that’s showbiz.
In Leixões [pronounced LAY-shoy-zh], the port for Porto in Portugal, we took an excursion to the city of Braga, which turned out to be the capital of the province of Minho; unfortunately, after the forty-five minute transit time each way, we only had two hours to look around. We might have made a better choice by touring Porto itself, which was closer to the ship, but that is a view taken with the benefit of hindsight and Braga was (as we English say) very nice.
We had visited Lisbon before and liked the city; we explored it further by foot straight from the ship, dismissing the offer of the shuttle bus that was provided. I twisted my ankle on the uneven pavement, which was a helpful start to the holiday, but we still managed a four-hour exploration.
Malaga was as beautiful as we remembered it from a visit with friends last year and, again, we walked (or rather limped) into the city straight from the ship.
Cartagena – famed for, among other things, a claim to have invented the first submarine (a new one on me) – was a new delight, and we were struck by how clean the city was, the tiled pavements newly-washed daily. I bought a packet of paracetamol from a pharmacist using my best Spanish.
We took an excursion walking tour in Palma, Mallorca, which proved to be very worthwhile. I had previously assumed that Mallorca was a tourist island ruined by drunken British louts, but this was not the case in the ancient capital of Palma, though I was told that – in the Summer – the city could be very hot and crowded. I bought Jane an expensive Spanish fan; I would have bought her some Palma ham, but Jane pointed out that I was in the wrong place.
Barcelona proved to be the most memorable of our port visits, for we walked the three miles or so from the ship to the famous half-finished Segrada Familia Basilica, then were utterly and completely drenched in the downpour that embraced us on the three-mile walk back. The rain came down in stair rods (it took me two days to dry out my shoes, stout Loakes, which had topped up with water). I suppose, in retrospect, we should have used a taxi but, at the time, we felt we needed the exercise and the wash. Contrary to popular belief, by the way, the Segrada Familia in Barcelona is not the city’s cathedral, which is another building altogether: it is just a church, albeit a very majestic and unusual one. Still being constructed after 144 years, and only part of it to a design by Gaudi, the building is funded by anonymous charitable donations and the costs are not in the public domain. Theoretically, the building will be completed in June 2026, but a further phase, that would involve demolishing several city blocks in the adjacent area, is currently being hotly debated by the city. Apparently the Segrada Familia never had planning permission, though it seems highly unlikely that it will have to be demolished. I thought the building looked like something out of Lord of the Rings film trilogy; I am still not sure if I liked it, but I cannot deny that its construction was a tremendous feat.
I had high hopes for Gibraltar, our last port of call, as – like every other British naval officer – I had fond memories of many runs ashore there. The unique blend of British culture, language and currency, mixed with Spanish and Moroccan influences in a small area in the sunshine, always made Gibraltar worth a visit. I revelled in the familiar stroll up cobbled Main Street, the tour of the Trafalgar Cemetery, and the visit to the Ragged Staff Gate that used to lead to the naval dockyard. I showed Jane Government House, where a sentry had once presented arms to me when I passed in uniform (extremely gratifying); I might just possibly have identified the restaurant where my best friend Christian and I devoured swordfish steaks and Mateus Rosé in January 1970; and I think I found the tailors where I bought a cravat back in 1971. Alas, I could not find the open square and its café where I had often whiled away a sunny afternoon on shore leave; HMS ROOKE, the naval shore establishment, had been demolished; much of the harbour had been reclaimed as land for development (including the Cruise Terminal); the cable car to the top of the rock was out of action; and my planned stroll to the summit had to be cancelled because Jane was tired and cold. Jane did not take to Gibraltar: she thought it rather cramped and grubby compared to the Spanish cities we had visited and, after an initially sunny and warm start, a cold northerly wind developed and whipped down Main Street like a raging demon. That was the final nail in the coffin for poor old Gibraltar as far as Jane was concerned; a pity, as I had hoped to take her there for a weekend break in the future, when we could discover much more. She will just have to be content with my secret plan for a weekend in Pompey dockyard instead.
Summary of the cruise with SAGA? Excellent. Although at first it seemed expensive and geriatric, taken in the round it proved to be first class and very good value for money. Our cabin was comfortable, the service superb and the food excellent. We drank wine with every meal except breakfast (though champagne was possible with the latter) and Jane only managed to get 10% of the way through the cocktail menu. Entertainment was good and we met some lovely people. Some passengers were inevitably scruffy by my standards (of which more later) and some were, perhaps, just a little older and more infirm than us. The only money we spent was £300 on six professional framed photographs, such expenditure occurring after an evening testing cocktails, the cost presumably being dictated by the time the photographer laboured on Photoshop afterwards; we now have no idea where to put the prints in our house, but the guest bedroom or the downstairs lavatory look like a good bet for two of them. SAGA looked after us exceptionally well throughout, with a seamless and slick organisation supported by attention to detail and compassion. We are already planning the next cruise with the company.
Right. So what is this ‘smart casual’ business when it comes to a dress code for restaurants? It seems to be everywhere and it is meaningless as a definition, for everyone has a different interpretation of it. In late January we returned for a short break to our favourite hotel, The Priory in Wareham (no dogs, no children), where the dress code for dinner was ‘smart casual’. One bloke turned up in a tee-shirt or vest, a pair of jeans and gym shoes. On our recent cruise, the dress code in the evenings on non-formal nights was ‘elegant casual’, with the supplementary guidance that jackets or ties were not required but smart shirts and slacks were. Some men turned up wearing open-toed sandals, polo shirts or mouldy old gardening sweaters, and jeans. I do not call that ‘smart elegant’. I, myself, wore in the evening either my No 5W Rig (lightweight cream suit, blue shirt, tan Italian loafers, tie) or my casual No 6 Rig (double-breasted navy blue blazer, white trousers, loafers, blue shirt, tie). I alternated the rigs each night and changed the ties each time to present a varied sartorial example to my fellow passengers. Standards, standards dear boy; its called MBE: it stands for ‘make a bloody effort’. Dress improved in the evenings on formal nights, when black tie, or lounge suit with tie, became de rigueur for men, but there were still a few renegades who apparently thought it was all right turn up with a Hawaiian shirt hanging out of their trouser. Very poor. I was struck by another trend on the formal nights: the absence of cummerbunds, patent leather evening shoes or even shoe polish. The state of some mens’ shoes seemed to suggest that they had just returned from the ship’s stokehold or from pumping out the bilges in the starboard stern gland compartment. I accept that a pair of patent leather evening shoes might be a rarely worn item of footwear for many men, but a rag and a tin of Cherry Blossom can work wonders on ordinary black shoes (preferably Oxfords). You may notice that I am commenting predominantly on male attire. It is my experience that women always make an effort to dress smartly on special occasions even if the result is sometimes a short dress or skirt that suited their age in 1968, a blouse several sizes too small, or a pair of sensible comfy sandals. At least they try, and have a sense of occasion, unlike their menfolk. So few venues actually enforce a dress code these days, which is a shame. The Ritz, in London, requires gentlemen to wear a jacket and tie in the restaurant and tea room, and does not allow jeans or gym shoes (‘trainers’) . It is my kind of place, if only I could afford it.
I leave you with a final anecdote from my experience while reading in the Library onboard SPIRIT OF ADVENTURE one lunchtime. I was distracted by the following fascinating conversation between two women behind me:
“I sometimes buy a carrot.”
(This intoned in a slow, ponderous, and reflective tone).
“ Just one carrot…that’s all I buy”, she went on…
“I like a carrot that’s multi-coloured, if I can find one”,…
(There was a brief pause while she presumably contemplated the spectrum of colours available in carrots).
“I don’t take the carrot to the self-service checkout”…
“I take it to the proper checkout”.
“It’s amazing what you can do with a carrot,” she pronounced wistfully.
“I don’t like carrots”, said her companion, “I care nothing for them.”
And so the conversation ended.
Even the playwright Alan Bennet could not have written a better script.
So, we are back in Blighty, the sun is out and Spring is here. The clocks go forward next weekend, Jane has started to do things with her legs again, and I have removed the lashing that secures our patio furniture to the main house.
Happy British Summer Time.
23 March 2026
"A Very Vintage Chap..." 