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J603 Arcadia to the Eastern Med 13.05.26 Part 6

Ephesus

Kusadasi (pronounced Koo-sha(ng)-dassy) which means Bird Island. It’s not an island, fyi, and the birds are migratory, so they’re not here at the moment, I don’t think – mostly storks, apparently.

Talking of birds, we picked up a couple of sparrows in Sicily. Presumably, they didn’t feel like winging it all the way to Greece. I think they got off in Piraeus.

Yesterday was Santorini. We did not disembark. Firstly, didn’t have the energy. Secondly, what for? By all accounts, it’s very pretty, but there’s not a lot to see or do. And we needed to recharge our batteries ready for today. Knossos really knocked us both out (but Dad is now fully recovered). We spotted one blue roof from the ship, as we departed. That’ll do.

Dad was running out of some ointment he uses – he accidentally packed an empty box! – so we tried to get some from the onboard doctor. Now, granted this is a private business concession, but the idea that we had to pay £120 for an assessment before we could buy something we had a proven prescription for, was a little too rich for our blood. When it was £45, that was bearable. But £120 is just taking the whatsit. So, I stopped at a pharmacy near Knossos and purchased two tubes for £15. About the same price as the UK, if Dad had to pay for his prescriptions. £120. FFS.

But today was Ephesus. This was the reason we booked this entire cruise. The second largest standing Roman city in the world, after Leptus Magna in (whatever remains of) Libya. I booked a tour with Get My Guide two days before we sailed. £37 quid a head for a six-seater, air-conditoned minivan with guide and driver. Bargainous. It meant getting on the quayside for 10am, which we did not enjoy, but after that, it was plain sailing. Hussein and Levent met us. Hussein’s English is excellent. We picked up three Germans from the AIDAblu, which was moored next to us, and off we went. Hussein told us all about the local agriculture – Turkey is almost entirely self-sufficient (how cool is that?!)– and this area is particularly renowned for peaches, nectarines and hazelnuts. The Germans nodded along, but spoke little, so the atmosphere was a little muted, but we coped. Hussein is the reason I know about the pronunciation and meaning of the town’s name. Apparently, this is the beach resort of choice for non-coastal Turkish people. They get 2 million visitors in the summer months, which as their school holidays are currently 12 weeks (at least until the education minister changes again, quote unquote), is quite a lot of people. We were moored between the AIDAblu and the Odyssey of the Seas, and seeing how their teeny, tiny single lane roads coped with about 10,000 passengers*, I’m glad I won’t be here when it gets “really busy”!

When we disembarked, and I saw the length of the quay to get from the ship gangplank to the terminal, I asked if there was a wheelchair we could borrow. No. Luckily, we had spotted one by the lifts, so I went back on board and pinched it. The attendants kept saying we had to ring Reception and ask for permission. I just kept rolling. What’s the point in schlepping Dad to Ephesus if he’s totally exhausted before we even get there?! As it was, even after walking the length of the berth, between the terminal and the street, a large permanent market has sprung up, and just pushing him through it all pretty much did for me. Hussein took pity on me and took over, and thereafter, he was Dad’s pilot. My gratitude was plentiful, but Beki and Joel are going to have to do a lot of extra work patching up my shoulders over the next few days. And I got an official bollocking from the head of security when we got back.

Ephesus was fab. Again, wooden boardwalks – although this time with older wood that wasn’t entirely pothole-free. 40 euros per head to get in isn’t cheap, but it was worth every penny. Hussein took us to accessible bits, where we could look at the view over the less accessible bits, and he pushed Dad the whole way. One of the Germans had a mobility scooter, and she was a demon driver!

Hussein explained all the various bits – the Library (which looks spookily similar to the Treasury in Petra), which once held 12,000 scrolls, the Senate (which held 1400 Senators at one time!) and the Agora and Forum, and so on. It was utterly wonderful. I couldn’t have been happier. In less pain, perhaps, but not happier.

Strictly speaking, this is the fourth Ephesus. It used to be a port, but now it is 10km inland. Silt and time is all it takes. Most of it was built by Greeks, so they call it Greco-Roman. The inscriptions were in Greek. And we found some carved graffiti of secret Christian symbols, from before Constantine made it not just allowed, but compulsory. Apparently, the version we are left with was mostly built by Alexander the Great.

There is a little shop near the exit, and I duly tried to contribute to the restoration works that continue. They reckon they have uncovered only about 10-20% of the city so far. In fact, the Amphitheatre is currently closed and boarded up, as that is where the current excavations are. The girls behind the counter thought it would be funny to diddle me on the exchange rate, but I was so hot and weary, I just let them. Sure, four euros for a fridge magnet labelled as one euro. I don’t care. Last of the big spenders, me.

We returned to the ship via the Temple of Artemis, which is sadly reduced to a single column (!). So much for that Wonder of the Ancient World! We were BOB for about 1.30, and then we both crashed out for about two hours. Then we went up to the buffet for breakfast/ lunch. Official BOB was 4.30, and we headed off into the wide blue yonder for three blissful and desperately needed sea days before Gibraltar. I am now going back to bed for a further nap before dinner.

I’m told it was 9 degrees in London today, so I won’t harp on about it being 26 here. That would be mean of me.

*Odyssey of the Seas 4800 pax, 1300 crew, AIDAblu 2500 pax,600 crew, Us 2500 pax, 900 crew (almost all of which got off today; it’s funny seeing your waiters in normal clothes = 12,600 (usual caveats apply).

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J603 Arcadia to the Eastern Med 10.05.26 Part 5

Heraklion, Crete

Well, for starters, it wasn’t 26 in the shade, it was 33. Then you have to add on 6-8 extra for direct sunlight. Some say 10, but I think that’s a bit overdramatic. Whatever your preference, to quote the song, it’s too darn hot. There was a breeze at the port – I had to chase after Dad’s hat, twice! – but once you moved inland, nothing. But this is more like it. Clear blue skies, pounding sunshine, turquoise waters, and… a container port! Woohoo! I thought P&O Cruises were losing their touch, but, true to form, they have come up trumps again. Bless ‘em.

This port is a working one and we were the only cruise ship in. The shuttle bus from the ship to the port entrance was about eight to ten minutes and plentiful, too. At the terminus, we bought tickets for the Hop on, hop off bus and set off in search of King Minos and his labyrinthine pet.

And off we went. There’s a preserved ruin everywhere you look here, just by the side of the road, with VIP-style ropes to separate them from the proletariat, i.e., oiks like us. The recorded commentary was in heavily accented, but intelligible, English and the driver yelled the stops out very effectively. Blue earphones with orange sponges, in case you were wondering. The recording did, however, last less than halfway round! The Palace of Knossos is about 5 km out of town, and no, I don’t know what that is in old money. But Crete is volcanic. Google maps told us that it would be 18 minutes by cab but over an hour on foot, which was our first clue that it would be very much Uphill. In fact, the Palace overlooks the (hopefully!) extinct caldera.

After a while, Dad started feeling unwell – touch of heat stroke perhaps? So we went into a café opposite the Palace entrance, had a cold drink, and I put him in a cab back to the blissfully cool ship.

Greece is not very good at accessibility. They have grasped slopes for wheelchairs, and even a lift at the Acropolis, I’m told, but ambulatory disabled with limited mobility aren’t yet on their radar. Despite nice, smooth boardwalks to lead you through and over the Palace ruins (or at least the results of Arthur Evans’s Victorian reconstructive guesswork), not one person thought to put in a bench. I didn’t make it far, needless to say. On the upside, entry is free for disabled people, and the disabled loo was lovely. But the lack of shade and seating meant I couldn’t hack it for long, and I went back to the ship.

I might even have been on time for my acupuncture appointment, if they hadn’t stopped running the shuttle bus before everyone was back! The poor Cretan security lady had to make several, increasingly aggravated, calls to get them to come and get the last few of us. Apparently, I was the very last to board. Yikes! But, as an indication of the fierceness of the heat, BOB* was 6pm but we stragglers were waiting for the shuttle bus at just gone 5. Everyone else had long since run for cover.

But it was wonderful to finally be in the place that inspired all my archaeological and historical adventures over the past half century. I’ve been desperate to come here ever since my first year at Big School, when Miss Rogers taught us about Greek mythology.

Talking of half centuries, Happy birthday, James!

If you visit Knossos, say hello to the young lady on the audio tours desk. Her name is Hermione, and she may be The Kindest Person On Earth. I cannot begin to tell you how lovely she was to me.

I have finally managed to flummox Joel, by developing a cramp in my KNEE, that he could not fix. He’s still learning what M.E. entails.

The scales in the gym say I’m down nearly six kilos now. The gym is next to the spa, in case you were looking for the sequitur!

And, yes, I did buy a t-shirt.

*For new readers, BOB is Back on Board, our deadline for departure, After which they are legally allowed to leave without you.

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J603 Arcadia to the Eastern Med 10.05.26 Part 4

CORRECTION: It’s four ports in four days, not five in five.

If the scales in the gym are to be believed (which is a fairly big IF), I lost over two kilos between Motril and Palermo, just from all the walking we do on board. I forgot to weigh myself today. I’ll try and remember tomorrow.

So, today is Piraeus. The energetic are off on coaches to Athens, to go up. They’ll go Up the Acropolis. They’ll go Up the Parthenon. They’ll plough through Athens traffic, in their (hopefully air conditioned) coaches. They will tootle around in ever decreasing circles while the various coach drivers of the approximately 7,000 cruise passengers and crew*∑ currently moored in Piraeus try not to all arrive at the same sights at the same time. That is, if they made it out of Piraeus at all, as there is a bicycle road race today and much of the port’s roads and transportation are out of commission for the day. Even the Hop-on/ Hop-off is cancelled. It is 24 degrees and very overcast. Not a breath of wind. Very pleasant to sit in, but probably a bit warm for racing. However, Piraeus is now a MASSIVE port, compared to when we came here all those years ago. There is a LOT of concrete here now. Mind you, it’s so huge, it may simply be that we are not in the same location as last time, and it’s all so expansive now, we cannot even see our previous mooring. In fact, the port is so busy with ferries and cruise ships that the sea outside our breakwater is actually calmer than inside.

Apparently, those on the Bridge can see the Acropolis, with binoculars!

Either way, I have had fun using what little Russian I remember to read the names on passing boats and ferries – Saints Cyril and Methodius (Bulgarian brothers, both monks), who invented the Cyrillic writing system in the 9th century to write down Slavic languages, used Greek letters to do it!

Being Greece, both the roads around the ports and a good majority of the passing boats and ferries have names like Poseidon, Antigone, Gaeia, Apollo and so on. But the tug that is going to guide us off our berth is the Christos 42, so either the captain is a Douglas Adams fan, or he’s got through a LOT of previous vessels and is a rotten driver!

OH MY GOOD LORD. WHY DIDN’T SOMEONE TELL ME ABOUT ACUPUNCTURE BEFORE?! Just TWO sessions and my right shoulder has 90-95 per cent recovered. Whereas, three days ago, I could not lift my right arm high enough to scratch my nose, now I can raise my arm all the way up and wave it over my head. I have enough pain-free movement to tie up my hair, reach across for things and even carry things. I’m still nervous about pulling or pushing doors, pressing and holding for the water dispenser, and so on, but the difference is staggering. And not a single needle went into the affected arm, just both knees and ankles and my left hand. I am a convert. At over 100 quid a throw, it isn’t cheap, but it is absolutely worth every penny. And Joel, the acupuncturist, is a Pet Shop Boys fan, despite being an American (it’s okay, he’s from California). Which is nice. Turns out he’s a month older than me.

Things I have learned today #1: The Norwegian Pearl does an annual KISS cruise, for fans of said rock band. Joel has treated a lot of rock stars on various ships over the years, so we never lack for conversation. We both agreed that Alice Cooper is the nicest person of those discussed so far. There’s plenty of chatting in an acupuncture session, as they try to distract you from the needles being put in. They don’t hurt, so I have to watch where they go in, so I don’t damage myself when his back is turned!

The P&O Cruises ‘worldy’ brochure has just come out. January 2027 looks good… 75 nights with ten ports we’ve never been to before. 2028’s only has four new ports.

Heraklion will be 26 Celsius tomorrow, apparently. I’m hoping to get ashore. I’ve never been to Crete, and to be this close to Knossos and not go would feel very wrong. But Dad hasn’t felt very good today, so nothing is set in stone.

Transmission ends.

*MV Aegean Odyssey 396 pax, 180 crew; MV Callisto 34 pax, 18 crew, Us 2358 pax, 866 crew, MV Pegasus 44 pax, 18 crew, MS Galileo 50 pax, 18 crew, and the Norwegian Pearl 2,344 pax, 1072 crew (7,398).

∑ Obviously, not all crew are allowed off at the same time, but you get the idea!

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J603 Arcadia to the Eastern Med 07.05.26 Part 3

What has happened since I last spoke to you? Well, in no particular order, I have had a swim, re-damaged my right rotator cuff injury, and caught either a streaming cold or maddening hay fever, take your pick.

I lasted five days before damaging myself, this time. I probably did it yanking on one of those extremely heavy doors I mentioned the other day. You do not realise how often you reach for something until you can’t. Even tying my hair up is out of the question. So I had my hair down, and Dad couldn’t find me in the buffet, because he didn’t recognise the back of my head!

Yesterday, I slept. All day.

Whether the previous night’s sleep was disturbed because: (a) the cabin was too hot, (b) the sea was too smooth, (c) shoulder pain, or (d) insomnia is just a Thing for me now, I do not know. But we now have a fan in the cabin to obviate (a), (b) is a bit hard to solve – and, frankly, I feel quite churlish even complaining about it! And (c) maybe, and (d) just is what it is with M.E., I suppose. So, even when our steward came at 5.30pm, he STILL had to wake me up! A bit embarrassing. On the upside, I didn’t overeat yesterday, that’s for sure!

The afternoon massage was wonderful (this was the BOGOF one – I was always intending the ones at the beginning and end of the cruise). Beki was very careful with my right arm and I didn’t have to yelp once. I’m definitely developing a liking for face massages. Afterwards, she referred me to the acupuncturist, who did a free assessment of my shoulder, to see if he can help. The things that you can achieve for your right shoulder by pressing on acupressure points on your left wrist and right knee are very enlightening! I have booked a session for tomorrow, the eighth. Strictly speaking, it’s Palermo tomorrow, so I made it for 4pm, just in case we get seized with a powerful urge to go ashore. BOB is 4.30, so we would aim to be back by 4 anyway. Chances are we won’t go. My cold/hayfever still has me sneezing like a good ‘un, but I’ll leave it to Dad to decide. He has been quite lethargic the past couple of days. I hope he’s not coming down with something.

We won the quiz tonight.

As an FYI, we have one Sea Day after Palermo and then five ports in five days. Correspondence may become somewhat patchy.

Missive ends.

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J603 Arcadia to the Eastern Med 05.05.26 Part 2

Revenge of the Fifth!

And the anniversary of my move from Devon to St Neots. Nineteen years. By far the longest I have lived in one place, ever. Twelve years in Hendon, six years in Golders Green, five in Leeds, one in Caen, two at St Katherine Docks, two in Limehouse, two in Okehampton, and then, in 2007, up to PE19. I’m aware that these figures do not quite add up to my current age, but a girl has to keep some mystery about her. Happy Cinco de Mayo to Kris, Rich and Selena, whom I met nineteen years ago today!

Right, reminiscences aside, welcome to Motril, our first stop of seven. No, we had never heard of it either. It’s in Spain. According to the interweb, it’s a fairly ordinary, modern town, but with an old ‘feel’, whatever that means! According to the Entertainment Officer who ran the Syndicate Quiz last night (Victoria), it’s a lovely little old town, but there’s not a lot to see or do. It’s basically a staging point for trips to Granada and, more specifically, Alhambra, which is an hour each way by coach from the port. In fact, our tablemates, Roy and Carol, tried the (allegedly 2km) walk into town. They met people walking back who said, (a) it’s further than you think, and (b) don’t bother anyway. So they turned around came back to the ship!

Whilst I have wanted to see Alhambra for as long as I can remember, no one at P&O Cruises nor the internet entrepreneurship is interested in helping people with limited mobility to see it. Unlike Ephesus, where we had choice anxiety when booking a tour, this time it is all walking tours, for a minimum of three hours (maximum 6 or 7), thank you very much. So I have reluctantly concluded that it would be one cultural stop too many on this trip. I simply don’t have enough recovery time available before the next port looms (Palermo on the 8th), and I don’t want to crash before Ephesus. M.E. is hard enough to pace without adding unnecessary enforced walking. The fact that the tours I did find had prices “starting from £39 a head” that, once clicked upon, announced that they would be £417 per person, did nothing to convince me that I was making a foolish error in skipping it…

This morning’s startlingly early wake-up call was someone HAMMERING something into place on a metal part of a lifeboat. At 8am Ship’s Time. So that’s 7am BST, or 6am GMT to what little I possess by way of a body clock. Why would 8am seem unreasonable? It’s not like we’re on holiday, or retired, or both, and might not appreciate an early start. Oh, no, wait…

 On the plus side, last night, on our way to dinner, we bumped into our cabin steward from when we were last on Aurora – the lovely Angela. This was cool because, not only did she remember us, but she remembered that I didn’t get up early, and that she had arranged with us to clean our cabin in the evenings, rather than the mornings, so I could have a lie-in if I had had a bad night. When she asked how I was, I joked about having to get up for our current steward, Rajesh. She was visibly dismayed that he had said he could not do a similar evening clean. She said she would try and fix it for us, which was very lovely of her, but I wasn’t going to hold my breath. Today, when I saw Rajesh, he informed me that he had decided he can do our cabin in the evening, after all. Fancy that. So, even here, it’s not what you know, it’s who you know!

I wasn’t planning on blogging every day, but today, when I got up, I found had a craving – to type. Which seems odd. I get cravings to speak French every so often, but that’s apparently very common, because it’s a joy to speak. People often tell me they miss speaking it. But I have never encountered a yearning to type before. I wonder if there are other non-food/ drink/ drug urges that people have. That may be an internet rabbit hole for another day. I don’t think it’s to do with my new laptop. It’s very nice, if a little heavier than its predecessor (which was traded in for a discount), and there are a few bits of Windows 11 that are still a learning curve, along with the, now apparently traditional, disappearance of the Hibernate setting. But I don’t think it’s the hardware that’s causing this particular issue, anyway.

Quick terminology query, if I may: we are sitting in the buffet restaurant on board, watching a bulk carrier being loaded with something. We’re not in a container port (for a change!), but we are still in a working, industrial harbour. We don’t know what the product is, but it’s a very slow process, and thick creamy-coloured clouds of whatever it is are blowing away with every move. We were looking at a nearby JCB for scale. It has a bucket scoop on the front and is moving stuff around the quay ready for loading. I called it a bulldozer. Dad calls it a dump truck. But isn’t that a lorry that tips out its contents? Neither sounds right in my head. Any suggestions? We are currently bodging the issue by referring to it simply as a JCB.

The ship moored behind the bulk carrier is labelled Briese Chartering. It was Dad who figured out what was lying along the top. We’ve decided it’s a turbine blade. It has red marks at the end, which was what was confusing Dad. It looks like a very long cartoon missile, truth be told. I explained that the marks are added so that, when it is rotating, the marks appear as solid circles, which prevents birds from flying into them. Although, I’ve only seen black ones, until today. Red makes more sense, I think, from a bird brain ‘danger’ perspective. Assuming they have colour vision. I assume so, otherwise why would berries bother being red to avoid being eaten? Mind you, with the red bits, the spinning turbine will look like the logo for Target stores in the US, so I hope they don’t start aiming for them instead! I have since spotted another four blades stacked on the quayside, behind some buildings and, the standard fare in every port, hundreds of cars. A quick Google has, in fact, revealed that Motril’s main export is 80 metre turbine blades (about 263 feet, in old money); made by a company called Vestas, in case you’re interested. So our guess was correct! And a huzzah for the spiffy wifi connection for saving the day, knowledge-wise.

The wiffy onboard is SO much faster, more reliable and abundant than in the old days, I almost don’t mind paying for it. Almost. I haven’t found a single Notspot so far.  We are fairly sure that P&O Cruises are the only cruise line that still charge for it, nowadays, rather than include it as a loyalty reward. But it is certainly not like when I started this blog, and I had to type it offline in my cabin and then come up to the buffet to upload it, whilst stressing about the timer in the corner of the screen charging by the second.  Now it really is possible to work from here.

Talking of the Fount of All Information and Lies (FAIL, aka the internet ), I accidentally entered my blog address into Google instead of Chrome, and I got an AI overview, which tickled me. Enjoy.

So now you know!

Of course, it is now siesta time, so all movement on the quayside has now ceased, except for a single motor yacht which keeps tootling back and forth past us – are they looking at us, or do they want us to look at them? Answers on a postcard to the usual address, please.

The water here is more green than turquoise. I can’t really think of a comparator for its somewhat virulent shade. Try visualising it as bright turquoise but with diluted orange squash spilt on top, and then make it opaque instead of transparent. If it was darker, I’d call it teal. The sky is blue with wispy clouds that give a hazy feel to things, at least near the port. Although, having said that, the snow-capped Sierra Nevada mountains (the real ones, I believe, as opposed to the US copies) are surprisingly clear to see, despite being some considerable distance inland.

I want a margarita. Does alcohol-free tequila exist yet?

Talking of booze, did you know that P&O Cruises now produces its own brand of gins, called Marabelle (beautiful sea – very apt)? Apologies if I’ve mentioned this before, but my memory is not what it was. And that’s without consuming alcohol!

Random waffle ends.

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J603 – Arcadia to the Eastern Med – 1 May 2026.

Okay, here we go!

WARNING: I have been told I seem to complain a lot. I do criticise certain aspects of the management and organisation; when you’ve travelled with the same company for 27 years, it’s hard not to notice changes (for the better or worse!). But I’m not complaining. I’m just observing the changes. Most of the time, I couldn’t give a tinker’s cuss either way, but it is interesting to see how things develop/regress. Please do not read this in a whiny voice. I am VERY well aware of how fortunate we are to be able to cruise, and to do so fairly frequently. If I believed in a deity, I would thank Him/Her/It/Them every night. This is a very luxurious kind of holiday – which, unfortunately, makes mistakes all the more glaringly obvious. Caveat ends.

Anyway, welcome to the (refitted since we last saw her) Arcadia. Lots of blue carpets. Purpose made to fit the spaces, with borders and stuff to really show off. The same fern-like carpet in Reception as we had on Aurora – grey ferns on a cream background. A friend tried to buy some at home after it appeared on Aurora, but it is apparently proprietary/ copyright or some such nonsense and not available to the ordinary proletariat to purchase. Why this is so, is anyone’s guess. Everything else is blue: the carpets in the public rooms, the corridors*, the funnel, everything. Blue, blue, blue (Ba ba dee ba ba dah). The sea, too, is currently a very impressive bright cobalt, as the sun sets quite fast on our starboard side.

So, where to start? They brought forward the coach pickup time at South Mimms Services from 11.30 to 9.30 am. Colour us unimpressed. But we managed to make it upright, the minicab arrived on time (driver’s name was Khaled), and they’ve put picnic tables in the coach park so we didn’t have to stand around whilst queuing. All so far so good. We made it to Southampton in 2.5 hours, which, for a bank holiday Friday, was astounding. Maybe the variable speed limits on the M25 really do work?!

This time, mercifully, there was no issue with getting two wheelchairs and we were on board in time for lunch. Although who wants FIVE courses, with cheese and petit fours (albeit with free wine), at lunchtime on any day is beyond my ken.

The cabin keys worked, the wifi worked, it was all dubiously smooth. Until…

Dad’s case didn’t arrive. We went to Reception and were assured that it was “almost certainly” on board. Very reassuring, thanks. We traded phone calls, we went back and forth to Reception to nag in person at least half a dozen times, they dispatched every deck supervisor to search the ship. At 9.15pm – EIGHT HOURS after we boarded, someone thought to ask Security. And there it was. ALLEGEDLY, they had spotted something suspicious on the x-ray, but could not open the combination lock. They didn’t TELL us. They didn’t even tell any of the Reception team. When we finally did locate it (in a room about six feet from the Reception Desk), the only Security person on duty had NO IDEA what the problem might have been. We unlocked it and she took a cursory look and asked her supervisor about some large scissors with 2.5 inch blades (the maximum is 4). And that was that. Only we still had to go and unpack it, after an already exhausting day – neither of us could be mistaken for spring chickens, let’s face it.

Just to add the cherry on top, we discovered last year that said combination lock has developed a worrying habit of jumping wheels, so the number you opened it with may not work the next time! It’s clearly aging at the same rate as we are! Still, makes for fun and games when trying to open it. It’s amazing what can be achieved with a bit of brute force and ignorance, and a teaspoon.

Arcadia is suffering from the standard ailments – tired décor, dents, dirty windows, etc. That’s all par for the course and not really a problem. But some bits are inconvenient. All the automatic doors (currently) work perfectly, but someone has put new closers on everything else, and you really have to put your back into it to open anything. Do NOT go to the loo in a hurry (or a one-piece bathing suit), because this includes the individual cubicle doors. If you do, don’t use the loos nearest the restaurant, because there’s no loo paper. Seriously, P&O, at lunchtime on Embarkation Day?! FFS.

The corner cutting continues apace. The new toilet paper is a bit hard for my liking (but I suppose I should just be grateful I found some!). The drinks prices continue to rise (anyone would think they were made of Brent Crude), but the food is plentiful, and largely edible (although the herrings pickled in sherry are not very popular!). The new mattresses are lovely – they were all replaced in January, apparently. But, conversely, whereas the staff used to use Red Henrys to hoover between sittings, they now use grey and blue imitations, which are lovely and quiet, but branded with P&O livery! Really? Is it necessary to waste money branding the vacuum cleaners?! Madness.

The lack of communication continues to blight matters – left hand and right hand still completely ignore each other. For example, a couple of years ago, all the cabin doors were metal, and had been since time immemorial. Some bright spark decided that, in the last refit, all the cabin doors should be covered with wood veneer. It looks very smart indeed. But it makes the MAGNETIC Do Not Disturb signs rather tricky to use. Seriously, you could not make this stuff up, you really couldn’t. Thank goodness they didn’t alter the door frames as well! As the magnetic signs only came in a few years ago, when we switched from push-pull card slots to contactless locks, which meant the demise of the little card DND signs that we used to just post in the gap and were impossible to ignore if you went to use a key, the silliness really starts to come into focus.

As with much with P&O, it’s one step forward, several back – less progress, more cha-cha-cha.

My massage was booked for today at 3.30pm. I booked it online before we sailed. When I got there, they said I was booked in for 5.30pm. Luckily, due to being a “Fool me once” kind of cynic, I had a screencap of my purchase. So I got a lovely massage from Beki, and we (accidentally, ahem) overran by half an hour by way of compensation – so I got a full body massage plus a facial massage plus an Indian head massage as well! By the time I left, I was so relaxed, I could barely stand!

I do wonder if things feel a little out of kilter because our beds are facing a different way to usual. Whereas, as far as I can recall, the cabin has always been laid out with the headboards either side of the window, facing across the beam, this time, our heads are aft and our feet are pointing forward. I have no idea if this really has any effect, but it’s interesting to note.

But, on the plus side, my massages are on 3 for 2 (oh well, if you INSIST), and the Bay of Biscay was so calm, I had to look out the window to check we were still moving. Bearing in mind that some people fly to Spain to meet the ship rather than cross it on board (because it’s very shallow and therefore tends to be quite rough), it was very pleasant.

We haven’t seen much in the way of wildlife or birds, as yet, although today we have passed two low-and-slows – both likely tankers, as not a container in sight on either. We’re doing about 15 knots, so we easily outpace them, particularly as these two were quite laden down and low in the water.

We didn’t get a dinner table on Day 1, but we got one last night. Carol and Roy are lovely (despite being Scottish). So are Sue and Malcolm, but a little quieter. The latter pair were on the same coach as us, and boarded at South Mimms. There are hardly ever Londoners on board, so Enfielders make a refreshing change.

We have bumped into several friends from earlier cruises. Thank heavens I started noting names in my blogs! It’s ever so useful to be able to look up people’s names. I’m good at faces, but not names. Dad isn’t very good at either, it transpires! But the blog archive has been invaluable in that respect, and we’re only on Day 3.

I am currently trying to persuade Dad to go and see Hidden Figures at the cinema tomorrow. Today was Raising Arizona, which I didn’t think he’d appreciate as much.

Tomorrow is Julia’s birthday, so happy birthday, Mrs Mushin! And May the 4th be with the rest of you.

*I will upload a photo, but apologies in advance to those of a more OCD persuasion.

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R421 Part 3

It’s fascinating, just how jarring it can feel to be subjected to unusually loud mariachi music while queuing at Reception! It really doesn’t suit the quiet, decorous aesthetic there (think Titanic staircase done on the cheap). 

We have now passed the halfway mark and are therefore already on our way home. Bleurgh.

We left Barbados late, yesterday, due to, to quote Captain Russell Hobson, gremlins in the engine room. As a result, we have been belting along all night and day. Not pootling and dawdling, like we did when we failed to get into St Vincent and instead spent two days dragging our heels (keels?) to St Lucia. The reason? A cargo vessel had holed its hull, and to stop it sinking, they moored it to the cruise pier. So, there went our parking space. The captain woke us all at 0645 to make sure we knew. How thoughtful.

The biggest complaint on board is the heat. Now, before you start (you’re in the Caribbean in November; what do you expect, sympathy?!), you need to know that the locals are complaining the loudest. There has been a stationary system of weather over the Caribbean for the past month or more, similar to the one over the UK. But where as the one at home has been grey and miserable, if dry, the one over the Caribbean has been a heat plume. It has been 29 degrees. OVERNIGHT. Even here, the weather can make you miserable! So, yes, while lying in the sun, 31 in the shade, with a cocktail in one hand and a book in the other, may be all very lovely, the islanders haven’t slept in days, poor souls. <Feel free to insert Nik Kershaw Wouldn’t It Be Good lyrics here>

On board, in our attempts to avoid going outside into the furnace of the outdoors, our days consist of crawling from one public room to another, in search of ever cooler air. The triumph was going to Deck 8, which, holding only the Indian restaurant, the card room and the cinema, we almost never go to. Turns out no one else does either! So we sit in the card room, at freshly-baized card tables, and read, while others do the communal jigsaw puzzles, in blissful silence and even more blissful cool.

The end result of which much indoorsing being that I have contracted the Aurora Cough, formerly known in better times as the Oriana Cough. Too much dry air-conned air. Not enough fresh, humid air. As we haven’t got off the ship since Southampton, I suppose I shouldn’t be all that surprised. We needn’t have bothered bringing the Rollator at all!

It is, to several powers more, very relaxing knowing you don’t have to get up, get off, run around, find the right currency, clothing, hat, sun cream, credit card, tour bus, taxi, etc. Likewise, since we gave up on the formal dining, due to table troubles (too far first and too empty subsequently), we don’t have to dress up for formal nights. The liberation is positively giddy. We bump into mates at 3 in the afternoon who are already off to their cabins to begin titivating for dinner at 6. It’s nice seeing how lovely everyone looks, and the beautiful dresses and jewellery and shoes are still plentiful, but it’s quite a load off knowing I’m not going to bother! I did bring the necessary equipment, but it’ll all go home unused.

My body clock is not a happy bunny. We’ve already starting losing hours as the clocks go back to going forwards. I hope that makes sense. It doesn’t get any easier with each time we do it, I can assure you. The drip, drip, water torture of one hour each time really messes with your head. How the staff are even upright, I have no clue. Even if I had got that job at P&O that I interviewed for back in the noughties, I doubt I would have lasted long!

We won the quiz a couple of nights back. For three years, I’ve been warning our team that we do not want to win, because the bottles of wine offered as prizes are more punishment than praise. If Brasso ever go out of business, P&O have a backup plan. They were all thrilled to win, however, of course, and chose the white. So the next night, having chilled it, they opened it. NOW they understand why I kept telling them it was a bad idea! We came fourth last night and no one minded one bit!

In addition to Qwirkle games and our post-quiz Qwirkle tournament, Dad and I are getting quite a lot of reading done. So far, I have read Medusa, which is a detective novel by Michael Dibdin set in northern Italy. Why I started with book 13 in the series, I wish I knew, but it’s the only one in the library, so somewhat out of my hands! I am now reading a Barbara Kingsolver called Unsheltered. I do like her writing. Some of her turns of phrase are so gorgeous, I have to read them aloud to Dad. Who has now also read Medusa. In one day. He has also read all three books in a detective series by L.S. Hilton, namely Maestra, Domina and Ultima – also largely set in that part of the world. He also read a Donna Leon he had never found before – Third Nero. It’s nice to see him so engrossed.

He has now largely adopted my thing of not watching tv while on holiday, although I do occasionally find him checking the headlines on the BBC when I come out of the bathroom! Otherwise, he mostly contents himself with the Daily Fail digest that gets handed out at Reception, although, as they now print fewer copies in order to save the trees (!), he doesn’t always get one. The other nice, cool place is the Library, but, sadly that only has four chairs, usually occupied. Unless you want to sit in an office chair by a computer terminal. Yes, they still have those! But it means Dad can have a sit down while I browse for us both. The books are very big and heavy – probably to dissuade us from popping them in a suitcase, or maybe just to make them more resilient to poolside abuse– so I cannot carry more than four at a time, but two each usually lasts us the best part of a week.

I have also read a book that Vicky lent me, The Asylum by Carol Mackie. Wow. What a tale. And all true as well. Which makes it all the more awful. Not a read for the faint-hearted.  However much we may rail against the way society works these days, it is leaps and bounds better than what she had to deal with in the seventies and eighties. For those of you not inclined to read it for yourselves, essentially a girl is sexually-abused by her brother. When she tells people, they lock her up in a mental asylum for being a “fantasist”.  Having always been brought up to view social services as basically well-intentioned if helpless, this was quite a shock to read, I assure you.  Never judge anyone, because you have absolutely no idea what they are going through on a day-to-day basis that you don’t see.

Here endeth the Third Lesson.

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R421 Part 2

R421 Part 2

Landfall in St Maarten was on Friday. The Obligatory-Reggae-Muzak-Because-We-Are-In-The-Caribbean-Now launched from the ship’s speakers almost the instant the ropes landed on the quayside.  Sadly, although the temperature was 31, the clouds remained overcast, as they had the entire way across from Madeira. Although there was nothing during the crossing above a Force 6 (Strong Wind, white horses everywhere), the ship had moved enough to ensure several very good nights’ sleep. That, plus the clocks going back four hours, has definitely reduced the size of the bags under my eyes. Still a bit puffy, but not as bad as before.  The constant cloud cover has ensured, however, that the unsuspecting/ less seasoned cruisers were already quite pink before we even got here.

There is a new system to prevent sunbed blocking. Staff place yellow hoods on the chair backs of unattended beds, and, half an hour later, anything still there, other than a human behind, is moved to a table by the pool called the Lonely Lounger table. Frankly, it’s all a bit stable door vs. long-bolted horse. There has been very little competition or shortage of sun loungers on this trip, even though the roof has remained resolutely shut since Southampton. When the sun shines, it’s absolutely stifling in there, so people try to escape by going into the canteen and its hard-working air con. Until yesterday evening, of course, when they held a deck barbecue and pinned the doors open! Last night at the quiz, which is held in the canteen to allow access to the midnight buffet and self-service drinks machines, people were feeling quite ill, because the temperature was, if you’ll pardon the pun, through the roof.  We were not a happy bunch. We still managed to come joint second, again, which is a position that we are happy with. No one wants to win the wine, if we can help it! Our team consists entirely of our mates from previous cruises: Dad, me, Margaret and Barry, and Linda and Geoff, and Jo. Jo’s mum turns in early, so she comes along on her tod. As only 6 are allowed to play, sometimes Linda just spectates. Jo is the runner, who takes up the answers to each question and Geoff keeps the score. Dad and I manage to produce a fair number of answers between us, and only occasionally make mistakes.  Although I did get a question about Dr Seuss wrong the other night, which left me mortified. Fancy confusing The Cat In The Hat and Green Eggs And Ham?! I felt quite ashamed of myself.

When we set off from Madeira, the captain announced that our itinerary had been changed, and that we would not be going to Guadeloupe. Bearing in mind that this was the reason we came on this cruise, this left me with a significant reactive depression. It made the whole palaver at Southampton feel even worse, because the only reason I submitted to the forced march was the promise of getting to Deshaies again. And we wouldn’t even be going there. We went to Antigua instead. Apparently, some striking electric company employees shutting down the only power station in the capital a fortnight ago was enough to cause a sudden change of heart, due to an apparent increased risk of violence to tourists (?!), that they only decided to mention AFTER we had departed Madeira and could not back out and fly home. Those of a cynical frame of mind might find the timing interesting, but I could not possibly comment. Of course, the fact that the protests were about the significantly lower quality of life in Guadeloupe and Martinique compared to that in mainland France, mixed with our not going there, that will affect their income from tourism quite negatively, is an irony clearly lost on Carnival and P&O Cruises UK. But if you’re a fan of the phrase “Health & Safety gone mad”, now might be a good moment to dig it out and dust it off for reuse.  Our daily mooring fees at some of these islands is about £50,000 a day, minimum, so they won’t mind our absence, will they? The same cynical voice in my head keeps asking if there is really nowhere else to moor around the 190-mile coastline of a butterfly-shaped double island covering 630 square miles? Too shallow? We have tenders, and we know how to use them. Hmmm…

I have been in the pool a couple of times since Southampton. Although Force 6 is not very rough, the water in the pool does respond quite dramatically. The second swim, I did 10 lengths, but as the tide was against me, it took sometimes 30% more strokes to cover the same distance, so it was much more tiring. And finding myself going backwards whilst swimming forwards always gives me the giggles, for some reason, so I swallowed a fair amount of the contents, as well. I have worn my cozzie under my clothes a few more times, but I don’t fancy the effort and ensuing aches. I keep thinking I’ll go in while we’re stationary, but I keep running out of time. Busy, busy, busy. What with the waking up, and the getting dressed, and the eating, and the drinking, and the chatting to friends, and the Qwirkle games, and the reading, and the quiz, there’s no time! #nicerproblemstohave

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R421 – Caribbean on Aurora 29 Oct 2024

What a difference a day makes. Yesterday, when we set off, the sky was a solid grey and the whole world was dingy. Today, we woke to blazing sunshine and blue skies. Tomorrow, we should get to 20 degrees.  Welcome to cruise R421 to the USA and Caribbean, on board P&O Aurora. We aren’t going to the USA, nowhere near, but, hey, don’t let’s let a little thing like accuracy get in the way of a good sales pitch, P&O. Heaven forbid!

So, anyway, here we are. Aurora is her same reliable, if somewhat weary-looking, self. The occasional blown double-glazing in the restaurant; so far only one lift without a working screen, so you don’t know what deck you’ve arrived at; and a LOT of familiar faces – crew and passengers alike.  On the plus side, my lovely Lenora – the chef who saved me from starvation earlier in the year – is here, and fussing over dad already. A little kindness goes a long way around here. Sadly, however, it seems that Carnival and P&O Cruises have decided that they don’t want disabled people on their ships anymore, so this may be our last ever foray.

Last November, Carnival introduced new rules for the mobility impaired.  Yes, you’ve guessed right. This is not going to go well. They have concluded, somehow, that there is no such thing as ambulatory disability. You’re either in a wheelchair, or you’re a pain-free spring chicken.  Essentially, Aurora has five Evac chairs, to assist those in wheelchairs to do stairs in an emergency.  That’s it. On an adults-only ship that caters to 2000 older, more faithful, clientele. Five. Now, this is, in itself, not a problem, because, if our lives depended on it, Dad and I can both do a couple of flights of stairs, no problems. We might be distinctly unhappy pain-wise afterwards, but we can do that in our lifeboat! Oh no, says Carnival. No, no and no again. That cannot be allowed.

Now, if those of you with excellent memories cast your minds back to 1999, to our first ever cruise and the Pineapple Juice Incident, you will recall that, in the Good Old Days, we used to board at Southampton up a shallow gangplank, the same as we use to disembark on Port Days. However, as this meant crossing the quayside, a member of P&O staff marshalled the passengers, so that we didn’t step out in front of a passing vehicle.  For those who were not around at the time, the PJI occurred when Mum and I were stopped, with Nana and Dad behind us. We were held so that a forklift laden with fruit juice cartons could pass by. The driver hit a bump, his load shifted, then fell, and he ran straight over it, sending what can only be described as a tidal wave of pineapple juice all over us. Think Hokusai’s The Wave, but a LOT stickier, and you’ll get the picture.

After that excitement, P&O Cruises decided that this was not an optimum arrangement (!), and they purchased an air bridge. Now, the trouble with air bridges and ships is that the tide is constantly going in and out. So the air bridge has to adjust its height all the time. It cannot stay stationary like an airport version. To prevent the climb from getting too steep in either direction, they use a zig zag formation. This is all very well and good, but it adds a couple of hundred yards onto the walk. This was described to us on Tuesday as “only short”, by people who clearly wouldn’t know a mobility impairment if they were punched on the nose by one. The end result being that they had to introduce a bunch of wheelchairs and people to push them, to get passengers the extra distance to the ship.  All local volunteers, often retired or students, and mostly lovely, chatty, friendly, kind people.  You turned up, checked in and asked for a chair, and they would trundle you up in the lift and along the air bridge to the ship.  In recent years, as my ME has progressed, we have used two chairs, one for dad and one for me. Originally, it was mum and me and we made dad walk, but now he’s 91, I think he’s entitled to a bit of a sit down.

All this reminiscing has a point, I promise.

Meanwhile, back in 2024, in recent months, my GP has changed my medication. This has resulted in what can only be described as misery for me – nausea, vomiting, constant heartburn, and indigestion so bad, I have to sleep with extra pillows – it’s been fun.  Anyway, I am assured that my system will acclimatise soon, but in the meantime, I have been feeling fairly sorry for myself.  And also, which is tricky when you’re trying to pack for a holiday, unable to bend over for fear of setting off the more horrid of the symptoms.  This meant that, firstly, we didn’t pack until the night before, when Dad’s lovely carer, Josephine, was around to do the work, and secondly, I was feeling pretty ropey after a 2.5 hour coach journey.

Returning to the new anti-disabled rules, we are now required to complete an online form in advance of departure, to clarify that, whilst we can do stairs in an emergency, the extra walk along the air bridge is too far, and we need assistance. I duly filled out a form for dad, and then immediately did the same for me.  I even grumbled to him that I had had to start from scratch, all over again, entering much the same information twice. When we got to check-in, only his name was on the list. They had no record of my request.  Remember, I’m already feeling quite unwell (although you cannot admit that, in case they think you’re infectious and send you home).  Foolishly, I glibly assumed that, having done this for years already, upon realising that the form had not been saved or whatever, they would shrug their shoulders, write me in by hand, and give me a chair. Hahahahaha. Nope.  They said that the new rules were “no form, no chair”, and it was just tough that the system hadn’t saved my request, I would have to walk it. No flexibility, no kindness, no understanding, nothing. I was even told that Carnival Head Office have so little to do with their time, that they apparently sit and watch the CCTV cameras, to make sure that no one whose name is not on the list gets a chair. The utter implausibility of this completely flummoxed me. I don’t even know how to think down to that level of stupid, never mind respond to it effectively.

So now we are sitting in the departure hall, facing the prospect of having to go home, because they don’t have a form with my name on. Instead, I was told, repeatedly, that if I did not walk on, I would be denied boarding and sent home, because I was clearly too frail to leg it to a lifeboat.  Trying to explain that a few stairs in an emergency are not the same as a good chunk of a mile without a seat or stopping point, was fruitless, and I had a panic attack. I sobbed my heart out, but they were utterly impervious.  Dad suggested that I take his chair, and we take turns every few feet, but that wasn’t allowed either. Why the hell not was never really made clear. Eventually, they got the Rollator walker out of the bag (we brought it for dad to use on long piers!), and said I could use that.  My pointing out that that won’t reduce my leg pain, or the four days of pain afterwards while my body tries to make fresh ADP, was also received by a wall of Computer Says No. Funnily enough, being repeatedly told to Calm Myself doesn’t magically stop a panic attack. Who knew?! I have never been so thoroughly bullied in my life.

In the end, I was force marched onto the ship with the walker, and had to stop several times, unsurprisingly. Surreally, I was allowed to stop and sit on the walker as many times as I wanted. But, just to make sure there was enough salt in the wound, a pusher followed behind me, WITH AN EMPTY WHEELCHAIR. Apparently, this was so that, if I became unwell on the walk, I could have a sit down in it. But if I did sit down, I would promptly be denied boarding and returned to the terminal! Seriously, you couldn’t make this shit up. What kind of a Machiavelli-trained sociopath came up with this nonsense?! Not only did I have to endure the pain, but I could see a chair and not sit in it!  Orwell would have been impressed.  Huxley would have had conniptions. I cried the whole way.

All this to “improve Health & Safety” for passengers and crew alike. How it helps anyone, I have no idea. I just think they’ve decided that young people have more disposable income, and a longer projected lifespan in which to spend it with them, so the old and infirm can sod off, and then they can raise the prices and increase their profits by bleeding the youngsters dry instead.

So, now we are on Thursday, Halloween, having endured the above on Tuesday, and I am still popping painkillers like nobody’s business. I’m not sleeping because of the painsomnia and poor Dad is at a loss to help.  The wifi works, the door keys work, (most of) the lifts work, the sea is lovely and calm, and the sun is shining, but Heaven help you if you’re ambulatory disabled, because you can get knotted.  All because the second online form wasn’t saved by the system. What would have they done if I had submitted mine first, and it was Dad’s that wasn’t saved?! Bully a 91-year-old man to tears?!

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R401 Part 12 – The finale – probably

R401 Part 12

Good morning, this is the Captain speaking. The time is OMG o’clock (07:15?!). Cozumel is cancelled. The combined wind and currents mean we cannot dock. So three sea days til Grand Cayman. You may now go back to sleep. Gee, thanks.

Why have I been so quiet? Dad’s had an inner ear infection. He’s never really experienced vertigo before, and has not been the best-behaved patient ever. So the past week has been mostly running back and forth to the dining room, to find something he’ll eat, so he can take the tablets, so the room will stop spinning, and he can lie down to sleep. He’s now much better, but quite hesitant about walking. Interestingly, he seems to have more trouble when we are stationary, same as I do, when I have to wear my Seabands. Tomorrow is Antigua, which is the ‘last’ port in the Caribbean and then we get a load of sea days, during which, hopefully we can recover and recuperate and, ick, start packing (!).

We didn’t get off in Antigua. Or Praia di Vitoria, for that matter.  We’ve rather enjoyed doing Very Little Indeed on port days, and this was no exception. In Antigua, I think we were both up and dressed by 4.30. pm. It feels very decadent, and, however enjoyable their myriad trips and excursions, the people we chat to are invariably jealous of our monumental lack of activity.

The weather in St Kitts was sublime, sunny with blue sky but not too humid. I visited various shops (accompanied by the now apparently compulsory Bob Marley tunes) on the quayside, and enjoyed myself so much, I forgot my walking stick! I was halfway back to the ship before I realised! I went back and in the second shop I had visited, the owner said that the shop owner at the end of the row had it.  I was very relieved to get it back! St Kitts is also notable for being the first place on this entire cruise where they have the one dollar golf buggies to get you down the enormous pier.  Trust me, there is no better way to spend two dollars. As I descended my chariot at the foot of our gangway – we were opposite Arvia today – the heavens opened. I made it just in time!

Antigua, by contrast, was grey and chilly (by recent standards, so low 20s). In fact, from the moment we cast off from Antigua, the ocean made it abundantly clear that we are now on our way home.  It has become, sporadically, quite bumpy at times, which isn’t helping Dad regain his confidence with the walking about.  The roof has now been closed and, we are reliably informed, will be staying that way from now on.  The pools have been emptied, partly because all the sloshing about gets quite noisy, but also because we don’t want them emptying themselves all over the sunbed snorers. As the Crystal Pool is no longer heated, apparently, it’s actually surprisingly nippy, even with the roof closed, but as most have swapped cozzies for cardigans already, their slumbers continue largely uninterrupted.   This evening, I even spotted a rainbow, briefly.

Both Dad and I have now completely lost our appetites. We eat because we have to take tablets but, other than that, we don’t really bother with meals.  A couple of nights ago, we went to dinner and I ordered four bowls of chicken noodle soup. That was all I ate.  Dehydrated, I am not! I’ve lost over a stone during this cruise – about eight kilos in new money.

We haven’t made it to the cinema on this trip, and, as P&O no longer bother telling you what’s on the tv, we haven’t watched that much either. I did once wake from a siesta to find Dad watching the last few minutes of Sweet Charity. He’d seen it on the stage, and loved it, and described the film, starring Shirley Maclaine, I think, as absolutely terrible. So there’s your film review!

Books-wise, I have read:

White Prince – a biography of Charles I. Not a common topic, usually.  Very interesting and enjoyably well-written. But, by ‘eck, the hardback is heavy!

Watling Street – a journey through Britain’s history via said road, which runs from Dover to Anglesey. This was a very odd book indeed. The writer seems to know the oddest people, and they all live on or near Watling Street! I cannot really put into words how odd these people really are.  It would have been quite an eccentrically enjoyable read, were it not for the constant Remoaner whining, as the book was written in 2017, and not by a Brexiteer. Whilst I appreciate your right to your own opinion, I’d rather only have to read it once, instead of you returning to nag at it every few chapters.

Medieval Lives – Terry Jones at his finest. The thinking woman’s Python.

The Unbearable Lightness of Being – Philosophy as a novel, or a novel about philosophy. I’m not sure which. But it was a good read.

The Tattooist of Auschwitz – The fascinating true story of a man and woman who fell in love in Auschwitz-Birkenau. Loving it so far.

I hope you have enjoyed the Aurora 2024 Grand Voyage as much as we have. That’s all, folks!

P.S. PSA: my phone decided that the Caribbean was as close to heaven as it was going to get, and died unceremoniously and without much fuss.  I am therefore unable to Whatsapp for the foreseeable. Please revert to email for the time being!