R320 – P&O Aurora – Cruise to the Caribbean

Greetings, dear reader, welcome back onboard.

Part 1 – Sea Days from Southampton to Madeira

Okay, so even the best ideas have flaws. Holding Dad’s birthday party only seven days before the cruise I purchased as his present was due to sail, wasn’t a great idea. Long-term readers will be well aware how exhausting Embarkation Day always is. Well, add to that the fact that six days is not enough time to recover AND pack when you’re ninety, and you might come close to comprehending the level of tired we have both achieved. Today is Thursday 26th October. We boarded on Sunday 22nd. We’ve been asleep all day. Not only was dad not up in time for lunch, he didn’t bother with dinner, either! I managed the latter, just, and had his delivered to the room. Today was a PJ day, for sure. We’ve been up and about before now, but today it hit us like a tonne of bricks. I’m yawning even as I type. Why it’s hit us four days in, I have no idea, but I’m sure someone somewhere can explain it. I just know I need a new word, because pooped doesn’t even come close for this level of shattered.

Anyway, here we are, back on Aurora. The canteen roof doesn’t seem to leak any more, but I’ve seen much more duct tape than one might usually expect.  Some of the lift buttons have lost their inner light – they still take you to the Lido Deck, but they aren’t happy about it.  At least one of the aft lifts isn’t taking anyone anywhere right now. And it’s sister in the forward set is having a tantrum about feeling overloaded, even when empty. The blown double—glazing panes are still blown. The Conservatory (self-service canteen) muzak is still awful, if not now fully horrific.  Music of the Night on a slide guitar. Don’t stop believing? On the harp, obviously. Tears in Heaven? The accordion, I kid you not. I swear by All 4 One, on the harmonica. It’s as if a group of musicians got stoned and dared each other to come up with the most inappropriate instrument for each song, and they kept doubling down until they passed out. It’s miserable to have to listen to, I can assure you.  I am hoping that things will improve soon, otherwise, I may have to say something.

As deduced last year, this is definitely now the training ship, being the smallest left in the fleet. I have heard a lot more “no” than is usually acceptable.  Most of the waiting staff are quite clueless, as are the chefs, which when you have (through no fault of your own) dietary restrictions, makes life very risky indeed, particularly in the first few days! Sometimes, it has been simpler to go hungry and go somewhere else later!  Yesterday, I finally found an obliging waiter in the Conservatory (which is apparently actually called Horizon). His name is Srivasan. He takes very good care of me, and he’s nice to chat to, too. He’s very interested in my keeping a blog.

On the other hand, the cleaners are prevalent and industrious – which is nice given the amount of coughing and sneezing I’ve heard – and our cabin steward (Bibi) is excellent. Talking of which, we have a balcony! We’ve never had one before. But we like it! Dad was out there like a shot when we checked in. Leaving me to do the unpacking, coincidentally, while he cast a supervisory eye over the loading of the final stores and the removal of the gangplank on the quayside below. 

The comedian booked for the first few nights managed to MISS THE SHIP. Genius. The UB40 tribute group, called Rats in the Kitchen, were excellent, and considering what they had been through, they were extraordinary. The saxophonist’s mother died last Friday, so he backed out. The lead guitar fell ill on the Saturday. So, of the six men on stage, two had been rehearsing UB40 songs for about 48 hours, total, tops. And never with the full band, because the “Ali Campbell” spent the first 48 hours of the cruise talking to God on the Great White telephone. Not a good sailor, apparently.

Which surprised us, because we’ve had pretty smooth sailing considering the first events are the Western Approaches (where the Atlantic Ocean, Irish Sea and Channel meet – not renowned for its calm) and the Bay of Biscay (that people disembark at Barcelona and fly home to avoid). We’ve never gone over a force 4 at all  – some white horses, not many, for those of a Beaufort Scale inclination.

Our head waiter is named Cleopatra, not a name that will be easy to forget! She is delightful and very assiduous about our dining needs. Sometimes too assiduous! We’ve had an issue with the jelly. I eat a LOT of jelly onboard. Not at home, oddly, but loads on cruises. She was worried that gelatine would not suit a Jewish passenger. Very thoughtful. Unfortunately, this resulted in them creating some concoction using agar agar instead, just for me.  It looked the part, but it tasted of absolutely nothing. Jellied water. Even though it was green, it had no taste, flavour or aroma whatsoever. So we are going to abandon the agar agar, and I’ll just hope for beef gelatine!

Our main waiter is Nihal, which seems odd for someone with such Asian features, but not my place to query. He moves too fast. If he slowed down and listened more carefully, he’d be superb. His assistant’s name I haven’t managed to gather yet – he’s too fast-moving and quiet. It’s like having your water glass refilled by a ninja – you never know he’s there until he’s gone! Yesterday, a gluten-free roll materialised on my side plate. I swear he had been nowhere near our table. Seriously. It’s very cool!

Which brings us to our table mates. Paul and Chris(tine) are very nice and very northern, although I think they now live in Somerset. Bev and Keith are likewise from oop north, but also very nice, although Bev speaks very quietly.  Bryan and Jan are also lovely and northern.  Again, Jan is the quieter one.  Bryan is ex-military. He wore three medals on our first formal night. I haven’t figured out anyone else’s occupation as yet. I can’t shake the idea that Keith used to be on the telly. If not, he is the spitting image of someone who was. Only time will tell, I suppose.

Our friends from last year, Barry and Margaret, are here, but we don’t dine with them. We just bump into them at lunchtime and meet up with them for the quiz at 10.30.  Our new couple, to complete our quiz team of six since Geoff and Linda had to cancel (inconsiderate granddaughter arranged her wedding slap bang in the middle), are James and Eileen. They are useful additions, and we are getting 13s and 14s most nights.  There’s an “always wins team”, as usual. It’s not the bunch from last year. They are here, but there are now eight of them, so they can’t win (max. is 6), so they play for the fun of it and are much less obnoxious as a result.  The new “always wins” table contains a couple from last year and a woman who won £33k on The Chase, so anyone else who plays better be only in it for the fun of it as well.

I seem to have been running around non-stop. I’m not sure I’ve even had time to look out of the window today! Today was the first time it was really warm enough to sit out, for most of the wusses on board. I have sat out for days, because I am not a wuss, but today I haven’t had the time. Which is pants, frankly, because that’s the whole point of sea days, IMOSHO.

Tomorrow is Madeira.  I might go ashore, if only to purchase all the items that I have realised (so far) I failed to pack. These include (but are not limited to): face cleanser, plug converter for dad’s razor, and mouthwash.  I’m sure there will be other things, but this list shouldn’t really be this long, considering how long I’ve been doing this.  Frankly, I appalled at myself.

A word about inflation. The prices are now, as you might imagine, excruciating. A 330ml can of 7up Zero costs, brace yourself, £3.55. Yes, soft drinks cost £3.55. Each. Hilariously, they’ve got a little muddled, and ended up with drinks from the gun costing more than cans. On the plus side, they now have Diet Coke in glass bottles (same price). Confusingly for the eco-minded, the mineral water comes in cans (£1 a can or six for a fiver), instead of plastic bottles (yay!), but the straws are still black plastic (boo!). And heaven only knows where the orange squeezer machine went, because I get nothing but blank stares when I ask for a freshly-squeezed orange juice.

Still, it’s all early days. Right now, I’m just happy to be here.