Blog 6. Passage to Australia. Port Elizabeth

Day 20

Sunday 29 January at Port Elizabeth (PE), South Africa.  The sun is shining, the air is hot, the sea is green.  The official temperature is 23ºC but it feels much hotter in practice.  We arrived at 0400, an event that we viewed in spirit from a horizontal position, and the brows were open from breakfast time. 

This place is not at all what we expected.  We had got the impression from somewhere or someone that it was a small town with maybe a Wells Fargo office, a railroad and perhaps the odd elephant; it is actually a huge city with over a million inhabitants.  Our berth is in the commercial port, and two large bulk carriers are unloading nearby as I write.  There are the usual containers everywhere (I am beginning to know Mr Maersk very well).  Rows of cars are ranged on the jetty ready for export – PE is called the Detroit of South Africa (heaven forbid) because of its car manufacturing industry.   We thought of walking into town in our usual way, but it became quite clear that that would be impractical unless we wanted to stroll down a motorway for half an hour.  Free shuttle buses were provided and we took advantage of one of these.  On the side of the bus was a large sign stating, “Please do not throw stones at this bus”, which was a bit off-putting.  The bus was a little basic, with wire-mesh seats: three one side, two on the other, like you see in American films about prisons. This made for a fairly narrow aisle which made it hilariously difficult for those passengers of (ahem) rather large habit to squeeze down, and they overflowed from the seats into the aisle like well proven dough.  The shuttle bus took us, not into the centre of the city, but to a large shopping mall and beach on the outskirts (it being Sunday, the city would probably have largely been closed).

The mall and the hotels proved to be as impressive as the ones in Cape Town: modern, tasteful, very clean, very scenic and still no graffiti. The overall impression was of a Mediterranean setting: think Cannes or Nice with maybe a touch of Disneyland.  Big affluent-looking hotels and a bustling Sunday scene of families (of all colours) enjoying themselves.  Again, it felt perfectly safe and there was no hassling you in the streets, although there were ethnic stalls selling native goods.  We did the shops (bought nothing), wandered the foreshore (it actually reminded me – for some reason – of Weston super Mare without the mud, the kiss-me-quick hats, the brown water, and the freezing wind) then found a convenient bar.  Here we sat outside watching the world go by, drinking the local beer, and catching up on our emails.

Back onboard at about 1500 for some tea.  We tried sitting out on our balcony but – much to our surprise – it was too cool in the shade.  We repaired to the shower (in series, not parallel) to wash off the thick layers of sun cream.  We liked PE though, as I said, we did not ‘do’ the city centre.  It was great.

The Captain’s Cocktail Party (CTP) last night was a most pleasant affair, and he proved to be a very jolly chap: gregarious, witty, informative and with a good sense of fun (I cannot say that I ever came across such characteristics among the Commanding Officers of HM Ships).  He is also a Commander in the RNR and so the ship now flies the Blue Ensign at the stern instead of the Red Ensign, just like the old liners of old (which also had Captains in the RNR).  I still haven’t worked out how the ship flies the British flag now that the ship is registered in Bermuda (the Bermudan flag is the Red Ensign defaced with a crest).  However, never mind, there are few enough ships flying the British flag these days.  As before, we had a good chat with other guests, all of whom were charming.  The Australians we met were good fun and very relaxed.  There are all manner of nationalities onboard, but the biggest contingent is the British, followed by Australians (about 600), then a few Americans, then The Rest.  I did not mention in my last report of the CTP that the Captain goes on stage and introduces his senior officers to fanfare and applause: Deputy Captain, Chief Engineer, Hotel Manager, Entertainment Director, etc…and the Executive Chef.  All the important people.  They all looked quite uncomfortable on stage and I felt really sorry for them. The things you have to do in cruise ships.  I ate South African wildebeest for dinner last night – most enjoyable, a bit like very lean steak.  Tomorrow they are offering springbok, so I will give that a go too, and report.

Oh dear. Jane has discovered the gas turbines.  As you know, the memsahib is sensitive to noise and sits upright at the first foreign noise at night like a meerkat.  Up to now, the novelty of the surroundings, the sunshine, the improved health, the occasional warmth, the officers in uniform,  the penguins, have all combined to lull her into a false sense of relaxation and benignity.  The other evening, before we sailed, the gas turbines were spooling up and she did her meerkat thing; she hadn’t noticed it before.  I think I mentioned earlier that the ship has electrical propulsion through pods.  I did not mention that the electrical power comes from diesel engines low down in the ship and two gas turbines on the upper deck, inside the funnel housing.  Being of lighter construction than diesels, the turbines can be sited above the waterline, which makes for better survivability when we hit that iceberg. They are run when the ship goes at her full speed of 29 knots (never happened yet) and when entering or leaving harbour, when full power might be needed (“Only you can save me now, Chief”).  So, actually, those turbines were running whenever we entered or left harbour; it is only now that she has noticed it.  I suppose it is a good sign that she is back to normal.  Trust Miss Jodrell Bank to pick up the LM250s in their acoustic housings two decks away.  I shall have to speak to the Captain.

Final summary of my overall view of South Africa from the limited bits I have seen? Much better than I expected, very Mediterranean, very affluent, very welcoming, integrated and very patriotic.  A faint question mark against the country’s administrative ability and efficiency, doubts about the bits that we didn’t see, and a very faint question mark (based, unfairly, on nothing really) over whether it can withstand the anarchy and corruption engulfing other African states.

And so to La Réunion.

Day 21

Monday 30 January finds us at sea about 50 nm off the East African coast, heading roughly for the bottom edge of Madagascar. Wind Force 4 from the SE, sea state Slight.  23ºC.  Jane had spotted a Shoe Sale (I use capitals deliberately) in the Daily Programme and we attended that.  I knew I would be be safe, as they did not have the sizes for her diddy feet and all were sparkly and inappropriate for day use (this is my feminine side coming out).  We then went on to the second terrorist lecture by our journalist which, again was excellent and a little more up-beat.  There is an art appreciation thing in the Art Gallery this afternoon and then a lecture on the First Battle of the Somme, which we thought we would go to.

Having read the last two blogs (with the occasional raised eyebrow) Jane has decreed that I am no longer to refer to those with glandular problems who are challenged in the posterior and abdominal department, lest I further fuel the impression that I am bigoted, arrogant, intolerant and prejudiced (heaven forfend!).   The proscribed list is growing larger: at this rate I won’t be able to be waspish about anyone.  Of course, I shall take no notice.

We spent 15 minutes on the quarterdeck before lunch – sorry, I mean the exclusive Grills Terrace (PLU, no riff-raff) – listening to the calypso band on the Pool Terrace, three decks below further aft, and in that short time we picked up sunburn on our faces.  This is a fine demonstration of the fact that the temperature may seem modest, and the sun hazy, but it is high in the sky and powerful.  The calypso band is very good, by the way.  It reminds Jane of home (and I don’t mean Melbury) – she is Caribbean by birth.

Tonight is the African Ball and Jane will be wearing a grass skirt with coconuts for a bra.  Or is that Tahiti?  Sorry, I got a bit carried away there. These balls, by the way, are not quite what you would imagine.  We just dress up in Black Tie (or female equivalent), go to dinner as usual, Jane turns a few heads and breaks a few men’s hearts, then we go to our cabin for a sensible cup of hot chocolate or Ovaltine and go to bed.  Occasionally, we have gone down to the ballroom to watch the bad band plays and the dodgy dancers dance, but that doesn’t start until 2145, which is almost past our bedtime.  On warm balmy nights we have been known to take a romantic stroll on the upper deck, but the wind usually precludes that: it plays havoc with my hair and I think I may be getting split ends.

I have alluded to the wind before and – indeed – have oft pontificated about it before we came on the voyage (clicking into lecture mode here: pay attention).  Those who have never been to sea do not appreciate the basic physics that a ship passing through the water at 20 knots in still air will have a wind of 20 knots across the deck and that is quite substantial; if the prevailing wind is not calm, then the relative blast will be even higher.  The exception is if the wind is from astern, in which case it will cancel things out.  So anyone watching TITANIC, with the two stars standing on the prow, should realise that what they did was virtually impossible: they would have been blown away by the wind.

We have managed to arrange for some of our luggage to be struck down into the hold when we disembark, to be collected again when we return for Voyage 2 from Singapore to Southampton.  This will be great, as we will not need any of our evening clothes or winter gear in Australia, and anything that reduces our luggage is to be favoured. Curiously, I had asked Cunard if I could do that when all this was in the planning stage and was told that it was a “No, No” for security reasons. Ask onboard and common sense reigns.  So we spent the First Dog Watch today packing all our clothes to make sure it would all fit into the appropriate cases, then unpacking it. It is lucky that the steward didn’t come in: he might have thought we were doing a flit.

I thought the Art Gallery talk was about Prince and was waxing poetic about the well-known pop group (demonstrating that I was down there with da boys, and cool), only to be told by an exasperated Jane at lunchtime that the subject is PRINTS and that Prince is a single bloke.  And he’s dead anyway.  Well that’s my street cred gone, and I didn’t have much to start with.  I think Jane is starting to bond with our waitress because they were both giggling at my misfortune.  Women can be so cruel.  I tried pointing out that they couldn’t distinguish an impulse turbine from a reaction turbine like I could, and offered to explain the difference, but it didn’t seem to impress them somehow.

Day 22

Tuesday 31 January – last day of the month (‘Thank Heavens’, you may be saying back in UK) – and three weeks to the day since we set off on The Grand Adventure.  We set our clocks forward by an hour early this morning, so that we are now on Charlie time, three hours ahead of you on GMT.  It is becoming warmer again: very comfortable outside at 24ºC (like walking in ass’s milk), but not too sunny.  We are about half way between Africa and southern Madagascar, position at 1216C was 29 deg 36.9S 37deg 19.3E, course is 063, Wind Force 3 from the NE, sea Slight.  Depth of water is 5,000 metres, so we won’t be going for a dip.  The Captain tells us that the depths are home to many strange creatures, including Sea Cucumbers of all shapes and sizes, some big and fat with no limbs, and others long and thin like caterpillars.  I’m sure there’s a joke there about the passengers, but I cannot allude to it under the new censorship rules.  The Captain is a very chatty fellow, and very informative; he gives a regular broadcast at noon.  I’m not sure what he’s on, but I could do with some.

The talk on prints (not Prince) in the Art Gallery yesterday was quite interesting. Limited edition prints are usually restricted to 195 because it has been found from experience that the quality starts to deteriorate after about 200.  The picture is scanned and the painter’s signature is digitally removed.  The prints are then made – usually on paper, but it can be done on almost any medium – using a very sophisticated and expensive ink-jet printer (called a Mimacky I think) and five ink jet colours. They are printed in only one batch, using only one ink reservoir.  After printing, the artist personally adds his signature and the print number.  Where the print is of a painting that involves relief (e.g. oil paintings created with a palette knife) the relief is added to the print manually by artisans.  Finally, if desired, a gloss resin can be applied to the print to help preserve it.  So there you are, you heard it here first.  Incidentally, the Art Gallery is one of our favourite spaces onboard: it is a long,  narrow compartment, low down on the starboard side, flooded with natural light from large (almost circular) windows about five feet in diameter.  The sea rolls past twenty feet away and this, and the paintings of course, make it a very peaceful place.

Formal Black Tie last night, and one bloke turned up in the Princess Grill wearing a Hawaiian shirt, straight floral tie, bright red chinos and a dark grey boldly-striped suit jacket.  Clearly, I had missed the notice that said it was a Fancy Dress party.  If there is one thing that really annoys me (apart from warm champagne and a few other things) it is when an establishment has rules, but fails to enforce them.  When you book the voyage, Cunard makes it quite clear that it has a dress code onboard of no shorts, jeans or vests after 1800, jacket and smart trousers for men on Informal nights, and Black Tie for men on Formal nights.  The line caters for the formal, special, occasion.  Non-conformists are restricted to the canteen – sorry, Kings Court buffet – and Carinthia Lounge only.  I reckon 99% of the passengers follow this well-published and oft reiterated dress code, but there are always going to be a few rebels.  I do understand those who prefer a more relaxed sartorial style on holiday, but plenty of other cruise lines will meet their preference, so why come with Cunard if you don’t like the dress code?  Hurrmph!  It quite spoiled m’dinner last night, and provoked the memsahib into telling me, “For God’s sake, stop moaning”.  Not often that the Old Girl blasphemes, so I must have been having a bit of a toot on.

Chateaubriand tonight for dinner. The springbok last night was delicious – like nothing I had ever eaten before. I thought it would be like venison, but no, it was very light with a delicate texture that could easily be cut, whitish pink in colour, sort of a rabbit/chicken/pork meat.  Nice flavour. Poor Bambi.

Day 23

Pinch, punch, first of the month. It is 1 February, we are (almost) off the sunny coast of Madagascar and the sun is burning your eyes out.  Well, more or less.  It was very warm out there at 0600 this morning.  I told Mrs Shacklepin, but she just groaned at me and told me to shut the curtains.

Situation at noon: 26deg 40.7S 44deg 28.3E, Wind Force 3 from SE,  Sea Slight. 27ºC. 70nm S of Madagascar.

A final lecture by our terrorist journalist, this time on the threat of Putin and the Litvinenko assassination.  Polonium 210 – an obscure radioactive poison – was used and it left a radioactive trail all over London, and in the aircraft that the assassin used. To this day Putin vociferously denies it was him.  All very sobering.

We have discovered that, when you have done so many days sailing with Cunard you qualify for various stages of Cunard Club Membership.  This came to light when we had to apply for replacement boarding cards, the magnetic strip and/or the bar code on the existing ones having ceased to work.  The new cards have – note this – silver strips on them.  Yes, we are now Silver Club members.  Moreover, we will become Gold Club members on arrival in Fremantle, so we will be at this heady level when we start the return trip.  The annoying thing is that we will be just one day short of achieving Platinum level when we complete in Southampton.  These stages bring increasing privilege, such as free Internet and complimentary bottles of wine, priority boarding, extra-low bowing by the flunkeys and so on, but get this, there is A Badge: a discreet pin that declares to the minions and lesser Gods that here is a person of Supreme Importance.  But we won’t get the pins until we get to the UK.  This is terrible.  And, in a scene reminiscent of the TV show ‘Frasier’, I am determined to qualify for that Platinum Club membership.  Just one day, that’s all it will take.

This evening we broke with the Ovaltine tradition and actually went down to the Queen’s Room Ballroom after dinner to hear the calypso band play.  We even ordered drinks as we sat and watched the few dancers (who were far too good).  Unfortunately, when the calypso band came on the lead singer had reported sick and so they were assisted by the traditional entertainments team.  They were fine, but the music was not Caribbean, which was a shame.  Jane went over to chat to them, wearing her Jamaican hat (not literally), to request a song, but they had never heard of ‘Kingston Town’ and didn’t respond to the question of where they came from.  Maybe they were white men from Surbiton, blacked up.  As the event kicked off (“It’s Party Time!  Is Everyone In The Party Mood? Yeah!”), I found it a bit bizarre to watch these ancient, tubby, pensioners, with their white hair and bald heads, bopping around the dance floor like teenagers, then I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the glass partition and realised that I was one of them.  I wasn’t dancing, of course, I was nursing a gin and tonic and wondering where my life had gone.  And so to bed.

Day 24

Thursday 2 February and it is raining.  Not your freezing cold lashing sleet like you are getting from time to time at the moment, but warm, soft, refreshing rain (as in the hymn); the first real rain since leaving England.  It was only a squall of course, and it is still getting hotter out there: 29ºC as I write.  We put the clocks forward yet another hour at 0200 this morning, so we are now on Delta time, 4 hours ahead of you in the UK.  We are roughly half way between the bottom tip of Madagascar and our destination of La Réunion, crossing the Tropic of Capricorn.  Sea is Slight, wind Light Airs, and there is a slow gentle swell.

This is another busy day (we are supposed to be on holiday, for heaven’s sake), with a talk on Mars (fascinating, and amazing photography – visit not recommended); a lecture on oil extraction and fracking (plenty left, and fracking perfectly safe if properly regulated); the calypso band outside by the pool at lunchtime (beer al fresco); and a violin/piano classical recital in the afternoon (enchanting).  We skipped lunch, but made up for it with Afternoon Tea in the huge Queen’s Room (ballroom) served by white-gloved waiters, with a string quartet playing in the background.  This last event was packed five minutes after start time, and most enjoyable.  It was not, perhaps, quite so good as the tea in the exclusive Grill Lounge because – as Jane observed – this time they served whipped, not clotted, cream for the cream tea.  Oh dear.  Perhaps I should have told them that we were Silver Badge Important People.

God, people are so slow, and that is just the able bodied!  They lumber into the theatre like lurching tortoises and then just stand there uncertainly at the top of the aisle, with bovine unawareness and indifference, peering around like cows chewing the cud.  Then, ever so slowly, they lurch down the aisle before stopping dead suddenly. 
“Shall we sit here Doris?”, 
“Oh, I don’t know Norman, let’s sit there”.  
So they climb over four people and sit down.  Thirty seconds later, they are up again and climbing out. 
“You were right Norman, let’s sit there”.  
Then they are waving silently at their friends when the performance or lecture starts (“You Hoo, Mervyn, we’re here!”) before they are up again: 
“Norman, you said that this talk was called The Rise of Tourism! The Speaker has just said it’s called The Rise of Terrorism!”.  
Off they roll, treading over everyone on the way out, ruminating all the way.  I know all this because I am usually either standing or sitting behind them, grinding my teeth and thinking, “For God’s sake, get in, sit down and sit still”.  You think I’m joking, don’t you? I am writing this in the theatre and half of that has happened before, and the other half is being repeated right now in front of me.   Yes, yes, I know I’m going to be like that one day, but – God forgive me – it drives me bats!  If you walked everywhere at 4mph like I do, and were fundamentally impatient and flawed, like I am, then I am sure you would understand.  I think I will have to see the doctor and get a valium, or I will eat my right arm before the voyage is over.  Imagine what it will be like if – heaven forbid – we have to abandon ship: we will never get off (see Blog 1).

One of the features of the voyage (perhaps all cruises) is that the ship is passionate about hygiene.  This is because, if someone comes down with an illness, it spreads like wildfire.  I would guess that Norovirus is the big worry.  All surfaces, hand rails, door handles and lift buttons are constantly being cleaned and it is the custom to disinfect one’s hands with alcohol at every opportunity like one does when visiting hospital; there are hand dispensers everywhere.  I gather that, if someone is ill then their cabin is immediately isolated and thoroughly decontaminated, and they themselves are incinerated in the ship’s furnaces.  I made that last bit up.  Yet, you know, I still see people walking out of the lavatories without washing their hands.  And there you go.

Well, we arrive in La Réunion – a craggy volcanic outcrop in the Indian Ocean – early tomorrow, so I will try to get this off to you in the usual way when we get ashore  It is the first time QM2 has visited the island and our berth in Le Port (how original a name) is, apparently, not much bigger than the ship itself, so the entry will be – as ever – challenging.  The buzz is that there is nothing ashore in Le Port, so there are shuttle buses to the nearby town of St-Paul, where we hope to find a roadside café and take a pastis or two.  À demain.

Blog 5. Passage to Australia. Cape Town

Day 17

Thursday 26 January sees our arrival in Cape Town at 0630, with the sun just rising in the east (it would have been remarkable if it rose in the west) and casting its warm rays onto Table Mountain, with the city still in shadow.  It was a most impressive sight.  As usual, we came alongside faultlessly.  The wider vista of Cape Town, overshadowed by Table Mountain, offset the fact that we were berthed on yet another container berth with short-term views of more containers.  Very soon we were disembarking for our first organised tour, though we had to pass through immigration ashore  first.  The latter was quite a lengthy process as absolutely everyone, including the crew and anyone not intending to go ashore at all, had to be processed.  The line of shuffling people stretched to infinity, but it did – at least – move and we were through in half an hour.

We were on an 8-hour tour to the Cape Point Peninsular, Cape of Good Hope, Simons Town, and the Botanical Gardens. Of course, Cape Town is not actually on the bottom tip of Africa where the Cape of Good Hope is; it is up a bit and to the left.  Our trip was to the real bottom edge, where the cold Atlantic Benguela Current meets the warm Agulhas Current of the Indian Ocean at Cape Agulhas (the southernmost point, which is not the Cape of Good Hope).  It was a very majestic sight and the beaches looked gorgeous: icing sugar merging into a turquoise sea.  No one swims in it, however, as it is the cold Atlantic at about 12ºC.  On the other side of Africa, the Indian Ocean side, it is warmer for swimming, but there are many sharks.  We climbed to the lighthouse on Cape Point, bypassing the huge crowd of lazy people waiting for the funicular railway, and it felt as if we were at the top of the world.  Of course, we were actually at the bottom.  We had a good lunch in a restaurant in Simons Town (home of the ex RN base, which I always thought was spelt as one word) then went down to see the Jackass Penguins on the foreshore.  Jane likes penguins. We were very taken with Simons Town – very British and very colonial, but then we were very taken with the whole area, especially Cape Town.

I was a bit dubious about Cape Town before we came, having heard about the crime, the ANC, and so on.  However, the place is fantastic: very affluent, very clean, beautiful buildings, proud inhabitants.  The inhabitants seem well integrated though I was mildly surprised by the large number of white people – I thought maybe they would all have been shot by the new government. The place is heaving, with traffic on the motorways non-stop.  There is a lot of expensive real estate here, and no graffiti!  The waterfront area, in particular, has been converted into a huge restaurant and shopping complex that is absolutely humming: think Gateshead Metro Centre, Cribbs Causeway in Bristol, Liverpool Docks, Gloucester Docks and Royal William Yard in Plymouth all combined, and then add sunshine.  I might add that it is the only time that I have ever seen several working dry docks seamlessly combined with a shopping centre.  It was a bit surreal.  Mind you the shops were mega expensive – none of your Poundlands here: L’occitane, Gucci, Louis Vuitton were the order of the day.

Day 18

Is it really a Friday?  I have lost track.  I checked my watch, yes it is 27 January.  Another trip today, but shorter – the City Tour lasting four hours.  It was very worthwhile and we, again, had a good guide.  The city is suffering a drought, having had little rain since the previous June and the reservoirs are down to 35% full.  Our guide gave a candid rundown of the situation with regard to immigration – it seems everyone in Africa wants to come to the successful Cape, but the infrastructure is quaking under the strain.  Having said that, we were not pestered in the streets by beggars and there were no shanty towns in evidence where we went (that does not mean to say that there weren’t any).  There had been some unrest last year, when ANC-inspired riots at the university were so severe that some students have had to repeat a year.  We met one chap whose daughter had given up at the university and was applying to Bath University instead. Education is not free at any level, not even primary; it is means tested.  There is no welfare state like ours: the government takes the view that it will give you a ‘leg up’ if times are hard, but after that it is up to you.  Not a bad philosophy in my view.  The museums were good and we visited the Castle of Good Hope, built by the Dutch in the 1690s to keep out the filthy English and the hottentots.  We had decided not to book a tour up Table Mountain, mainly because I am not good with heights and cable cars, and this proved to be fortunate because the mountain was shrouded in cloud (which the locals call the ‘table cloth’).  The final part of the trip was to the top of Signal Hill, a high point that overlooks the city: scary on the twisting roads to the top as we drove up in the bus, but worth the visit.

It tipped it down with heavy rain showers today, which pleased the locals no end.  Actually, it was not unpleasant as the temperature was 28ºC and sunny between showers.  Mrs Shacklepin pronounced herself happy.  It must have been those penguins yesterday.

A minor miscalculation on the exchange rate by me meant that the £10 in South African Rand that I thought I was withdrawing from an ATM, was actually £100 worth.  We only wanted it to buy a beer or a cup of coffee.  Now we have about 2,500 Rand: pockets-full of Mickey Mouse money.  I suppose it will buy a lot of beer and coffee. 

There is a large changeover of passengers today, with about two thirds (approximately 1800) leaving for UK, and the same number joining.  We have acquired at least two children and a baby, which will bring the average age of the passengers down significantly. The voyage is, apparently, broken into sectors and this is the end of the first one.  Only about 216 passengers are completing the full round trip without a break.  You can tell the newcomers from us hardened sea dogs by their myopic appearance and totally lost demeanour, not to mention their white knees, varicose veins and flab.  They are a pretty grumpy bunch at the moment, because it took over four hours to check them in and they weren’t happy about waiting; apparently the computer system ashore had broken down and there was no Plan B to do it manually.  I can’t blame them really.  Much grovelling on the Main Broadcast by the Captain, with the new arrivals’ dinner not served until 2100 and all the evening programme awry. 

We now have a new Captain and this one is reputed to be more gregarious than the last.  We haven’t met him yet, so more later.

I could wax poetic about Cape Town and its history, but that would be rather dreary and you could get better information from the Internet.  Also, I need to leave scope to bore you silly when we get back.  Suffice it to say that we liked it very much, yes we would come here on holiday, and no we probably couldn’t afford to live here.  Sailing at midnight, two hours behind schedule, because the South African authorities need two hours to complete the paperwork.

Day 19

Saturday 28 January. Broken cloud.  21ºC. Position: 35deg 09S 21deg 04E, 42 miles south Cape of Infanta; course 085; speed 17 knots. Sea Slight to Moderate, Wind Force 4 from E.  We are pitching gently in the long Indian Ocean swell, with Africa still just in sight on the port beam.  

It is a busy programme today starting with me queuing outside the Tour Office at 0830 for it to open at 0900.  I wanted to book a ‘behind the scenes’ tour of the ship (cost $120) and competition for the only ten places per sector is fierce (I never thought the day would come when I paid money to go around a machinery space and galley). To my surprise, some bloke was already there, and he had pulled over an armchair, if you don’t mind, to make himself comfortable at the front of the queue.  It is a wonder he hadn’t brought a tent.  Anyway, the queue soon grew, some people joining it without knowing what it was for (it presumably seemed a good idea).  Some poor woman drifted over to look at some brochures located at the front of the queue and I could hear some muttering behind me, speculating on whether she was pushing in.  I turned round and said, “If she does we’ll beat her to death with shovels”.  She heard me, but took it in good spirit.

On the way to breakfast I came across an older woman wearing a headscarf, a thick duffel coat, pink thick trousers and walking boots, shuffling along and clutching a large shopping bag.  No it wasn’t Jane.  But what on earth was she doing onboard?  I can only speculate that she was some Bag Lady who had drifted across the brow in Southampton while looking for Marks and Spencer’s, and has been wandering around like the Flying Dutchman ever since.  Should have gone to Specsavers.

We attended the first of a series of lectures on terrorism by a visiting journalist and it was very interesting, if sobering.  She started with the 7/7 bombings and is moving on to other topics later.  After that (busy, busy) we went to the planetarium to learn about the stars, and this was so good that Jane fell asleep (catching up on the zeds from 2009 this time).  And so to lunch.  A classical recital (violin and piano) in the graveyard slot proved to be excellent (at last, good entertainment), then we thought we really should get some sunshine so we strolled the upper deck where it was delightfully warm.  I had to divert Jane’s gaze from some poseur, oiled and supine on a steamer chair in orange budgie smugglers, lest his tumescent form rekindle old passions and fires that I would be unable to satisfy or extinguish; but her attention had already been drawn to Orca the Whale from Solihull sunbathing on the port side.  Didn’t someone once say that the study of Man is Man itself (or something like that)? There is plenty of scope here.  You are allowed to disagree with me, but I feel that there is a certain age when men – and indeed women – should not be seen in public topless or wearing shorts.

If the Battle of Waterloo was won on the playing fields of Eton, then the Battle of The Cruise Liner must surely have been won on the steamy decks of the launderette.  It is here that gossip is exchanged, places in the queue are jealously guarded, and Bra Rage flairs up periodically.  I attend by proxy (see early blog re ‘laundry’), but I get the run down from Jane when she returns with increasingly fascinating tales of spite, vitriol, murder and mayhem.  One woman told Jane that, in an earlier voyage, someone had objected to their laundry being removed from the machine in their absence when the cycle had finished (there are trays to leave stuff in – it is not as if the wet dhobying was dumped on the deck); to get their own back, the offended party poured dye into the machine to ruin the wash.  Apparently, the offenders were thrown off the ship.  Today, Jane reported that some grumpy woman had turned up with four loads of dirty clothes that would monopolise the machines (and herself) for the whole day.   I can only presume that she was taking in washing for the whole crew. 

As if the three meals a day were not enough, we ventured into the Princess Grill Lounge today to try Afternoon Tea – the first time we have done it.  I say, how incredibly civilised!  A classical pianist in the corner, cucumber sandwiches, cake and scones…Jane had sandwiches and two cakes, but she is clearly making up for lost time.  The tea was very good too. We won’t be able to carry on like this of course.

We arrive at Port Elizabeth tomorrow at 0400, the early time dictated by the requirements of the South African authorities to ‘do the paperwork’.  Given that the same authorities required two hours to do the same when we left Cape Town, in the same country, one wonders what on earth they are playing at.  Somehow, I am not sure South Africa is projecting an image of welcoming efficiency, what with this and the check-in cock up.

Black Tie Captain’s Cocktail Party tonight for Grill guests (people who use the lavatory, not the toilet) so I must get changed.  I suppose you both realise that I will be unbearable after all this for many months, if not years?

Blog 4. Passage to Australia. Walvis Bay

Day 13

Here we are on Sunday 22 January, two days away from our destination of Walvis Bay.  We moved the clocks forward another hour early this morning, so we are now on Bravo time i.e. two hours ahead of you on GMT

Well this is a bit much.  It is overcast and the temperature is just 24ºC, making it feel quite cool outside in the wind.  At least one passenger (I promised not to reveal her name) has started to gripe about the weather again.  Although the wind remains at Force 4 from the SE, the sea is Moderate and there is a definite swell causing us to pitch a little. We are still heading SE and are about 250 nm from the Namibian coast. ETA for Walvis Bay is 0500B on Tuesday 24 January.

Last night we had the roast duck, flambéed and carved at our table, and afterwards headed for the theatre to hear an opera singer.  We got the timing a bit wrong, and the show had already started, so we hovered at the back, but we didn’t enjoy it enough to stay.  As you know, opera is not really our forte (unless you count Gilbert & Sullivan).  Fortunately, while we were in the fore ends (as we sailors say) we took the opportunity to indulge in an exciting game of Scrabble (which, of course, Jane won).  There are two passageways that run either side of the main theatre, low down against the ship’s side, with large windows virtually at waterline level – see how there are no limits to the excitement offered by shipboard life. Here, there are games and jigsaw tables set out for passengers to use.  We have tried several times to bag the Scrabble game, but each time someone has got there before us and we had begun to suspect foul play; this time, at 2100, we were successful.  As we played,  the dark sea and bow wave rolled past the window next to us, creating a surreal backdrop. We knew that if we persisted we would succeed in the end.  Next time we may have a bash at the jigsaw.

Church service in the theatre this morning, conducted by the Captain.  It was a well-attended, pleasantly short service with good rousing hymns and no sermon.  He concluded the proceedings by informing us, straight-faced, that the collection on leaving would be donated to a range of seamen’s charities devoted to the care of old girlfriends of sailors in ports throughout the world, and there were many women to look after.

Our pathologist visiting lecturer gave a further talk to conclude the forenoon, this time on Near Death Experiences (NDE).  Looking at the rest of the audience I reckon most of us fitted the bill, but the talk proved to be fascinating. NDE is, by now, well-documented and there have been well over 3,000 recorded instances throughout the world.  All have common elements and are independent of religious belief (or absence of any), nationality, culture, race or ethnicity.  I won’t go into the details now, as I want to have something to bore you with when we next get together.  Suffice it to say that there is a great deal that has not yet been explained in our lives today.

Day 13, and we do not disembark until Day 39, 18 February, in Melbourne. Most people seem to be getting off in Cape Town, so we are unusual in going further.  I do not know how many people are doing the full round trip, but it may only be a dozen or so. I hope the weather improves.

Day 14

Monday 23 January.  Well that’s it.  We want our money back.  The sky is overcast and the air temperature is only 22ºC.  With us heading directly into a Force 6 and at our speed of 17 knots, the relative wind across the deck is so considerable that the uppermost deck, Deck 14, is out of bounds.  We are starting to get a bit more of a swell now, with catspaws forming on the crests, and the ship is starting to pitch slowly in what is now a Moderate to Rough sea.  Neither the pitch nor the swell are as bad as I have been used to elsewhere in the Atlantic, but the change is noticeable.  Jane had to be given a direct order not to wear her fleece this morning (she took no notice).  The cool feel outside is, of course, because the wind is from a southerly direction, straight off the Southern Ocean and Antarctica: the equivalent of a northerly wind back home.

The Captain has just announced that the Walvis Bay authorities have only just realised, despite the event being 12 months in the planning, that we are due to arrive in the dark at 0430 and this is apparently unacceptable to them.  Negotiations are continuing as I write.  If we get in later, then it will mess up all the organised trips.  We are not going on any trips from here as we consider the place to be not worth visiting.  However, we will walk ashore just to say we have been here, even if we get no further than the ship’s draft marks.  Immigration looks like it could be a pain, with forms to fill in and interviews to endure.

A final talk today by our visiting lecturer pathologist, this time about Dr Harold Shipman  It was very revealing, not least by the fact that Shipman was our most prolific serial killer with a proven score of over 200 people there were hundreds more who were ‘probables’.  I had not realised, or I had forgotten, just how many people he had killed.  Quite macabre.

Day 15

Tuesday 24 January and we are in Walvis Bay, having arrived at 0630 this morning.  Temperature is 17ºC, it is overcast, and there is a slight drizzle. Mrs Shacklepin’s comments are best not written down, but the words ‘cardigan’ and ‘fleece’ are much in evidence.  Who comes to Africa and gets cold and drizzle?  Clearly, we do.

It is hard to describe this place.  It is a very busy industrial port and we are secured against the container jetty, yielding a fine view of, well, containers.  The land is very flat and the small town is laid out on a grid system, like an American city.  Beyond the town you can see miles of sand dunes and the Namibian desert in all directions.  It seems to be a very popular place for shipping, for I counted forty two ships anchored off in the roads, including three oils rigs.  It is like preparations for a D Day landing out there.  In the harbour there are no less than three floating docks (the most I have ever seen at once is one) and there are ships of all shapes and sizes everywhere.  There is some construction going on a sand spit to the south of our berth, and a Chinese dredger is working hard to dredge the area alongside, so perhaps they are hoping to build a cruise terminal over there.  Interesting that the dredger is Chinese – presumably the PRC is still trying to get its finger in the pie of Africa.  Namibia, by the way, was once German South West Africa before the First World War, when we invaded it from South Africa.  It was part of the latter until relatively recently, when it broke away.  I am not sure if it is part of the Commonwealth, but English is the official language.

I have just had a text on my iPhone saying, “Welcome to Namibia.  Calls to UK cost £1.40 a minute”.  Excuse me if I don’t ring for a lengthy conversation.

I took one look at the one-horse town that is Walvis Bay and took the executive decision that we wouldn’t bother to go ashore – no, not even to look at the draft marks.  This may sound odd, turning up the opportunity of landing in part of Africa, but immigration required queuing for an hour to get a stamp and this was going to be followed by queuing for a further hour to get a shuttle bus into town.  All this for a very ordinary place, with nothing to see, and a deadline to get back onboard of 1630.  So we stood on the upper deck and watched the long queues on the jetty waiting for buses, all of which were returning from town with people who clearly had got off, looked around, and got back on again.  The sun did come out eventually and briefly, making the township look a little more inviting, but the temperature did not get above 22ºC.  We met some people who had been ashore and they confirmed my assessment: long wait to pass immigration, long wait for the buses, pestered all the way into town if you walked, and nothing there.  Oh, and they will only accept the Namibian Dollar and you can only change your money in denominations of 50 or above.  No Costa or Starbucks, no bars, nothing.  I am thinking North Shields without the nice bit that is Tynemouth.  Why on earth did we stop here? Heaven knows. It certainly wasn’t for fuel or stores.  Some people did go on trips to look at the sand dunes or the seals, but you can do that in Seaton Carew. Ho hum.

We sailed at 1700 (yep, still cool and overcast) and swung round to the south on passage to Cape Town, where we arrive the day after tomorrow.  As I write we are pitching and rolling gently in the Atlantic swell while consuming a bottle of champagne kindly donated by some people we met onboard.  We have just had the immigration forms for South Africa which everyone – whether going ashore or not – has to complete, along with having to endure a shore-side interview.  One wonders if they really want people to visit their country.

Day 16

Wednesday 25 January dawns on a rough sea, wind Force 7 from the SSE and a distinct pitching motion, with the woodwork creaking at every roll.  White horses have replaced the catspaws and there is definitely a bit of a chop on.  Three decks are partly closed because of the wind, and the temperature outside this morning was 16ºC.  I will be surprised if you cannot hear Jane draining down even from where you are.  I pointed out that the sun was shining and the sea blue and some of her feeling cold being attributed to the air conditioning, but it didn’t seem to help.  On the plus side, that damned cardigan of hers is beginning to wear out because of overuse; on the minus side, I am in deep trouble for not letting her bring more cardigans, submarine sweaters and fleeces, insisting instead that she bring those backless topless strappy things that women wear in the tropics.  Oh well, my back is broad and the skin deep, though the scars may be long.

We spent a totally relaxing day, attending nothing, chatting to new shipmates, and reading books.  I forgot to mention that we were delighted to return to our cabin the other day to find a special Cunard holdall and a Cunard baseball hat on the bed.  Both carry the logo ‘Cunard World Voyage’ and presumably are tributes to our vision and affluence in completing the complete round trip (gloss over the bit where we get off in the middle).  Actually they are quite classy and of good quality, though I tend to look a bit of a nerd wearing a baseball hat, and when I wear this one I complete the process. 

We are off on an organised tour on arrival in Cape Town tomorrow, seeing the Botanical Gardens, viewing Jackass Penguins, and walking to where the Indian and Atlantic Oceans meet.  The temperature is supposed to be in the high 20s, but we are hedging our bets and the ‘F’ word (‘fleece’) has been mentioned.  All the reports of Cape Town are good, so keep your fingers crossed and watch this space.

Blog 3. Passage to Australia. Off West Africa

Day 7

Monday 16 January 2017 finds us heading south from Tenerife on a dark blue sea, clear skies, 18ºC, wind force 4 from NE, sea state slight. Our departure from Santa Cruz on Sunday night was extremely impressive and well up to Royal Navy standard, so Cunard has notched up several more credits after losing a few for tardiness. Astute readers of this journal will recall that the entrance to Santa Cruz was extremely narrow and that we had to squeeze past two oil rig drilling ships, breasted up, to get to our berth. Getting out was even worse, as we had to leave stern-first. This was achieved very smartly and gently (the latter to avoid pulling the moored ships off their moorings) and we made good sternway at a distance of about fifty feet. The amazing bit came at the end: when we were past and in the harbour entrance, the captain whacked on the power and we span through 90 degrees on the spot, churning up froth and foam from the bow thrusters and propellers in two directions. Then, lined up on course, we straightened up and headed out to sea for our next port of call, presaged by the long deep boom of the ship’s siren. This was reminiscent of destroyers backing out of Dockyard Creek in Malta at full power, but it was no mean feat for such a large ship as QM2.

We are now passing the west coast of Mauritania, about 50 miles out, course due south.  The sea is dark blue, the sky clear, and the atmosphere warm.  The first sun loungers are appearing, but we confined ourselves to our balcony which, being port side, gets the sun in the morning.  I attended a fascinating lecture on South African Wars in the morning (in which the British did not come out smelling of roses) followed by a talk by our pathologist (see earlier blog) on the subject of Victorian Murders.  Black Tie formal dinner in the evening was followed by a concert by two violinists in the theatre.  This was ‘all right’, but rather let down by the accompanying band and the choice of music; we would have preferred pure classical.  It is a measure of how warm it is getting that I was able to stroll around the top-most deck (Deck 14) in a Dinner Jacket without feeling cold or being blown away.  Note, of course, that that ultimate measure of temperature – Jane – declined to come with me.

Day 8

Tuesday 17 January 2017 was the anniversary of joining QM2. Has it really been only a week since we joined on that cold day in Southampton? To celebrate, we had breakfast on our balcony in the early morning sun: figs and prune juice (good for the lower bowel), omelette, croissants, honey and coffee. How is Blighty, by the way?

I should report that Jane’s tummy is back to normal now, and she seems to be eating like a horse.  She is taking the alcohol sparingly, however, which seems very sensible.  Our daughter-in-law, being a nutritionist, has given her copious notes on the best things to eat, and this seems to be working very well. 

Booze is expensive onboard (cheapest bottle of wine is $30 plus 15% Service Charge; beer about $5 plus 15%).  I was wrong in my earlier blog referring to the $20 glass of wine, by the way; it was only $8 in the end.   In addition to the US-style drinks service charge, there is also an automatic overall Daily Service Charge of $27/ day for “Grill” cabin passengers.  However. we allowed for these things in our budget and all costs come out of our onboard allowance (= Mess Bill) as cash is not used onboard.   Fortunately, we started off with a complimentary credit to our onboard allowance of $4,000 (including a bonus for being ex RN), so we can manage as long as we are careful.

At noon we were off Dakar in Senegal, maybe 25 miles out.  23ºC, sea slight, wind Force 4 from NE.  It is definitely getting warmer.  I know this because Jane has painted her toenails and has been doing things to her legs.  She also wore a skirt today with bare legs and sandals, and the cardigan has not made an appearance (yet).  The sun loungers are definitely in evidence now, along with an appalling amount of excess white fat.  What is it with people on holiday that they seem to lose all sense of dignity and decorum?

An excellent talk today by a journalist who was held in captivity by terrorists in Beirut for over 5 years.  The theatre was packed out.  He was a brilliant speaker, who spoke lucidly and with feeling for an hour without notes.  Sadly, he spoilt the ending by saying that he did get out in the end.  He gives the second part of his talk, which includes his release, on Saturday.  We concluded the forenoon sitting chatting to some new friends on the after Grills Terrace, drinking a beer, and gazing with fascination at what some of our fellow passengers were wearing.  Or nearly wearing.  That reminds me, I must go to library and see if I can borrow a copy of Moby Dick.  

If it gets any warmer then I may have to forego the cravat, or even roll down my khaki stockings. Better get the legs brown first though, and retain the topee. 

Day 9

Wednesday 18 January 2017 saw us well settled in the Sea Routine, with the day punctuated by lectures, food and films. Position, roughly off the coast of Sierra Leone. Jane says that I am to stop writing about the halt and the lame, pensioners, walking sticks, wheelchairs and Zimmer frames lest people get the wrong impression about me.

Further enlightenment was provided today by the crew practising Fire in the Galley and Emergency Stations (no involvement by the passengers).  I took the opportunity to discuss the routine for abandoning ship with a member of ship’s staff – we get the lifeboats, most of the crew get the rafts.  We attended a very good talk by a doctor today on the subject of Queen Victoria  and her grief and how she coped (or didn’t cope) with it.  It is beautifully warm outside – like a Turkish bath – and Jane and I strolled round the Promenade Deck after dinner, though her hair was standing on end and she had to hold down her skirt (up to now the wind has been mostly behind us with, consequently, little wind across the deck; this is changing as we start to head towards the east, following the coast of Africa). 27ºC, sea flat calm still.

A word about the decks and getting around may be useful.  Contrary to Royal Navy practice, the decks are numbered from the bottom up, the lowest deck being Deck 1, a little above the waterline, and the highest being Deck 14, above and behind the bridge.  Our cabin is on Deck 10 which, at a rough guess, is 100 feet above the waterline.  A reassuring line of lifeboats is arrayed below us and the view from our balcony, with its glass bulwark, is unobstructed.  It is hard to say which deck has the ‘main drag’ in Naval Parlance (central access passageway): Decks 2 and 3 have a huge wide passage leading aft off a central atrium, with its circular grand staircase and expensive shops, to the Britannia Restaurant and Queen’s ballroom beyond; a broad passage for’d of the atrium leads to the Royal Court Theatre and, forward of that, the Illuminations Cinema.  Decks 2 and 3 also have various bars, champagne and coffee lounges, a pub, and an art gallery (I believe there are 14 bars/lounges altogether).  However, Deck 7 (4 decks above Deck 3, do keep up) has the only deck where you can walk right round the ship outside and I call it the Promenade Deck.  This is the deck where everyone is marching around and being incredibly fit, dodging and jinking around me, going in the opposite direction.  Deck 7 internally houses the central Kings Court buffet cafeteria (for people for whom the restaurants are not enough), the Carinthia (sic) Central Lounge, and (aft) the exclusive Queens and Princess Grills – the latter where Jane and I eat.  There is a gym for’d of the lounge where some people work off all that food that they have consumed.  Above Deck 7 it is pretty much all cabins, like a wedding cake. 76% of the cabins on QM2 have balconies, which apparently is very good for a liner.  I am still at the stage of taking the stairs between decks to try to keep my weight down (8 decks nearly kills me); Jane takes the lifts, citing her fragile condition and state of convalescence.

Day 10

Thursday 19 January 2017 is the day we crossed the equator and we moved the clocks forward 1 hour from GMT at 0200 in the morning. Temperature is 28ºC, hazy sunshine, sea slight, wind Force 3 from ENE. Believe it or not, Jane wore her cardigan at breakfast.

We are roughly SW of the Ivory Coast and just about to start to tuck ourselves in to the ‘rump’ of Africa and the Bight of Benin, heading south east.  We attended an art appreciation lecture in the art gallery in the morning, learning about seascapes, then a lecture on the history of the Afrikaners.  King Neptune paid a visit at 1400 for the Crossing the Line Ceremony, which we observed from a safe distance and, in the afternoon, well, we just loafed on our balcony in the balmy heat.

I have already mentioned the food onboard and the portions being just right.  I might add that the ambience of the restaurants seems to me (as best I can tell viewed from the Princess Grill) to be pretty much the same. Whether Britannia or Grill, it is magnificent and I would say that the cheaper two-tier Britannia Restaurant is more magnificent than the expensive Grills.  Why people feel the need to supplement the restaurant fare by eating additionally, or instead, in the self-service central cafeteria is beyond me. I am sure that there must be more to the range of food offered in the Grills, of course.  In Princess Grill we have three served courses with about seven choices for each as a table d’hôte menu (lunch and dinner).  There is also the option, if you order in advance at lunchtime, of an á la carte main course for dinner comprising chateaubriand (obviously shared between two), whole roast duck, or rack of lamb all flambéed and carved at your table for no extra charge. The waiters and waitresses are immaculate and absolutely first class: a mixture of Filipino, Malaysian or Eastern European: very professional without being obsequious; friendly and chatty without joining in your conversation! We are being spoilt rotten, as the saying goes.

Black Tie dinner tonight and Neptune’s Ball.  Perhaps Jane will go as a mermaid.

Day 11

Friday 20 January 2017 could be described as a ‘typical day on passage’ in that very little happened. The day started with an overcast sky, 27ºC, wind Force 4 from ESE, sea remains Slight. It is still like a Turkish Bath out there. I have never seen the Atlantic so calm. We are now into the famous Trade Winds, though in the next few days we will progress to the equally famous Doldrums. The ship, by the way, is incredibly steady and there is no noticeable movement at all. She did corkscrew a bit in the Bay of Biscay, when we were in a Force 8 gale, but not enough to bounce you off bulkheads or spill your drink. She is considerably steadier than an RN frigate!

We have now stopped hugging the African coast and are cutting across directly on a SE course for Namibia and Walvis Bay.  Apparently, there is not much there, other than a container port and a few birds, so watch this space for the run-down.

We did not attend the Ball last night, though Jane did dress as a mermaid (well she wore her long green pencil dress in which she looked sensational).  The dancing by the resident entertainers was dire, and we lasted five minutes before retiring to the Grills Lounge for Irish Coffee and chamber music.  Perhaps this touches on the one criticism that we can think of (yes, only one – for now): the entertainment onboard has been pretty poor with the exception of the Moody Blues group mentioned earlier.  The onboard entertainers are rather amateurish, none of their shows have appealed, and the resident band is awful.  Even the chamber music quartet last night were borderline.  I think we have a juggler performing tonight; I am sure he is very good, but it is just not our cup of tea.  The films have been all right, if occasionally obscure and usually old.  The lectures have been very good, however.

We sighted basking whales this afternoon – only babies, but a welcome sight nonetheless.

You may wonder what we do with our laundry (scratching around for things to write here).  I budgeted for using the ship’s laundry, working on the principle that I had not paid tens of thousands of pounds for a voyage on which I did my own dhobying and ironing.  We do use the laundry for things that have to be pressed, but Jane insists on using the launderette for our smalls.  There is a launderette on just about every passenger deck, with about four washers and dryers in each, along with two ironing boards.  Surprisingly, the washing powder is supplied without charge and use of the machines is free.  Position at 1900A is 5deg 5.6S 3deg 11.5W.

Day 12

Saturday at Sea. 21 January 2017. Another warm day (sigh), though slightly cooler than yesterday at 25ºC. Wind force 4 from SE, sea slight and very blue. We continue on a SE course for Walvis Bay. Our nearest point of land is St Helena, hundreds of miles away. We continue to do the lecture programme, with a finale by our journalist today (They let him out in the end, as revealed earlier): a magnificent and very humbling story, God knows how he coped.

Despite the wind across the deck, it is still a pleasure to be able to walk around outside at night without freezing to death.  Jane and I circuited the Promenade Deck last night after dinner and completed our three circuits that make up a mile, this despite the relative wind being so strong that I thought I would lose my jacket at one point.  Much surprised that Jane tolerated it as her hair was on end for much of the ‘stroll’; certainly there was no romantic kissing on the boat deck in that lot.  Internally, the ship is very cool with a very efficient air conditioning system (hence Jane wearing the cardigan on the equator).

I have reluctantly signed up to the very expensive ship’s internet/satellite system as we have not had much luck finding free WiFi in ports, and Walvis Bay seems likely to be even less promising.  It is $50 for 2 hours and is reputed to be very slow.  Oh well, here goes.

21 January 2017

Blog 2. Passage to Australia. Santa Cruz

BLOG 2

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

Blog 1. Passage to Australia. Funchal

The £10 Poms.

Jane had been quite ill throughout December, with considerable abdominal and chest pain that defied all medical tests and treatment.  Christmas and New Year were disasters and it was touch and go whether she would be able to make the voyage to Australia in QUEEN MARY 2 in early January of the next year.  However,  she eventually seemed to respond to antibiotic treatment and was passed as fit to proceed.  The details of the voyage and return were chronicled as a series of blogs sent by email to a select group of friends.  The saga begins…

Departure Day

Tuesday 10 January 2017. We left home at 0930 because the car hire firm wanted to allow for the (non existent) fog and traffic, and this resulted in us arriving at the terminal in Southampton an hour early. However, this did not prove to be a problem. Our luggage was taken from us by a porter and we were soon checked in as priority Princess Grill rich people. At 1200 we were through the airport-style Security (belts off, trousers down, shoes off – these sailors!) and straight onboard to our cabin on 10 Deck, which was ready. Wow! A room somewhat larger than the broom cupboard that I had in HMS NONSUCH, with walk-in wardrobe, ensuite bathroom, king size bed to lose Jane in, settee, and large private balcony. On the coffee table was a bottle of sparkling wine on ice, with a selection of chocolates. Of course, as The Sick Person, Jane could not have any of these and so I had to live up to the family tradition alone: a tough job, but someone has to do it. Jane availed herself of the Pillow Concierge service to select a suitable pillow for the voyage (we all get our thrills in different ways). You will be pleased to know that the cabin was warm and quiet, and Mrs Shacklepin pronounced it acceptable.

Our luggage was delivered to our cabin in dribs and drabs and, after we had unpacked, we set off to explore.  It was surprisingly easy to find our way around and the ship proved to be huge and luxurious.  A fair number of old people of course: the halt and the lame, all of whom will be trodden underfoot at Abandon Ship time, but some ordinary folk too though I was disappointed to report that some wore no ties.  Lunch in the Princess Grill was most pleasant, with the portions just right, nothing too fancy and very smart, friendly and professional staff.  Jane appears to be getting better as she ate most of her single course; purely for research purposes, I felt bound to try all three courses.

We finally sailed “at about 1800” (in practice, it was 1812 – that would never do in the Service) and we headed south down Southampton Water to the sound of fireworks.  We watched the beginning   from the upper deck, but soon retired to our cabin as it was freezing.  After dinner, we turned in early, as it had been an exhausting day (all that chocolate and wine) and slept like logs.

Day 2

Wednesday 11 January 2017 dawned as a grey day, wind force 8 from the NW, 12ºC, a moderate sea and the ship corkscrewing slightly in the swell. Position, roughly off Ushant – the northern tip of the Bay of Biscay. We engaged in a bit of exploring, attended a lecture on Madeira (aimed at selling paid-for tours) and dressed up in Black Tie for the Captain’s cocktail party at 1830. What a nice chap! We also met some very pleasant people. Of course, after the champagne (for me, at least) we were away: wine with dinner (“…whatever you recommend sommelier” – $20 + 15% a large glass, I later discovered) then on to a show doing Moody Blues and Hollies music to satisfy Jane’s teeny bopper inclinations. Actually, the group was very good and some had really been part of the Moody Blues; even I enjoyed it. Afterwards (we are into the dizzy heights of 2045 by now) I was ready for the disco, but better counsel won the day and we retired to our cabin for cocoa and petit fours. The excitement had been too much.

I think the cocktail party and show were the turning points at the beginning of this voyage.  Up until then Jane had still been a bit “iffy” in her health and I had been expecting a damage control or fire exercise at any moment.  From this point onwards we started to really relax and realised that,  on each day, we could do anything – or absolutely nothing. No, not even a practice Action Stations or Machinery Breakdown Drill was planned.  Jane continued to improve in health and may be on to alcohol and normal food soon.

Day 3

Thursday 12 January 2017. We completed the transit of the Bay of Biscay overnight and dawn on Thursday 12 January found us more or less off Cape Finisterre (top end of Spain), sea Slight, air temperature 13ºC. We treated ourselves to breakfast in our cabin at 0830, which Jane took in bed. Conscious of this slovenly behaviour, I persuaded her to take a stroll on the uppermost deck afterwards, but this lasted (for her) precisely eight seconds after her frail form was practically blown away. She retired to the exclusive Grills Lounge (nice class of person, people who have graduated to cutlery) to read a book while I undertook an inspection of the halliards, satellite domes and lifeboat davits. There is an internal viewing area behind the bridge where you can watch the Officer of the Watch at work; I found him sitting in the Captain’s chair and loafing with his feet up: very poor – he should be up and about, pacing the deck, alert for icebergs and other hazards. This wouldn’t do for the RN – I would have kicked his backside. I finally managed to drag Jane out of the lounge for a bracing walk around the Promenade Deck, where we completed six laps (about two miles) along with a mass of other people. These walks seem very popular, and they reminded me of a prison exercise yard; just to be different, we walked clockwise around the deck while the Mass of Humanity went anti-clockwise, and this caused some chaos and confusion. I have always found it important to make a mark on one’s fellow shipmates at an early stage by bucking the system. I may have succeeded.

Ballroom Dancing for beginners was threatened for 1215 and I was ready to give it a go.  However, we found the ballroom packed out with old people, some of whom were not even wearing Oxfords or strapped sandals.  There really were too many people to make the exercise viable and so Jane and I slunk out quietly, her muttering because she had taken the trouble to wear a skirt and high heels for the exercise, and me relieved.

Of course, all that exercise (or rather, thinking about it) has its drawbacks and, despite the hefty breakfast, I felt bound to try an aperitif before lunch (which we weren’t going to have): G+T for me, ginger beer for J.  Then, perhaps, a Pinot Grigio with lunch?.  Of course, we won’t make a habit of such indulgence; this was purely to assist the relaxation process.  The food portions in the Grill are just right by the way: quite small, but beautifully presented and generally good. Jane undertook a practical exercise in naval architecture after lunch by counting the rivets in the deckhead of our cabin, then we attended a lecture on ‘humour in medicine’, given by a pathologist.  I suppose if you are a pathologist then there is only one direction that you can go in in terms of human mood.  He was actually very good.

Day 4

It was Friday 13th that the weather finally started showing signs of warming up, so that we could walk round the deck without a sou’wester and a fleece: we were off Cape St Vincent and the temperature was 17ºC.  Still not much, if any, sun but we must be getting there as Jane removed her cardigan briefly today.  Jane was persuaded by a special offer to have a full body massage involving hot rocks.  I said I would do it for nothing, but received an old fashioned look by return.  As it turns out, it proved extremely beneficial for Jane in her present state and she came out like a new woman (well she was covered in oil).  While this extravaganza was going on I attended a lecture by an ex airline captain about what it is like flying a 747 from Heathrow to JFK in New York; he was absolutely brilliant – a very accomplished and fluent speaker, who had already given two talks on the history of navigation, which I had missed though I caught one of them on ‘catch up’ on the television.  More of the Moody Blues, with dancing in the aisles and waving of iPhones by ancient pensioners in the afternoon, then off to a film before changing for dinner. 

We arrive in Funchal tomorrow, so I will try to fire this off then if I find free WiFi ashore.  I am taking Jane on a standard Naval run-ashore, though we will avoid the usual pattern of touring the dockside bars, having a few beers, losing our Burberries and losing our ID cards.  We are only there a day, so there is time yet.  Next leg is to Tenerife, then Walvis Bay in Namibia.

13 January 2017