Sunday 17^th January– Mindelo, Sao Vincente, Cape Verde Islands

Arriving somewhere at lunchtime is actually rather pleasant – don’t think we’ve ever done it before. None of this getting up at a silly hour, being wrenched from sleep by announcements, rushing around, blah blah. Just a leisurely morning, a barbecue lunch on deck and then a wander ashore. Very relaxing.

Watched a film yesterday. I think it is called Red 2. Very good action movie. If I’ve got the name right, I would really like to see the first film. Light-hearted and funny, but an excellent action movie at the same time, with some lovely and very original set pieces.  I also glimpsed Edge of Tomorrow again, but as I saw that on Oceana, several times, I could recite the script, so I kept channel surfing. Gravity looks okay, although I have not yet managed to see the beginning. That’s the thing about cruises, you’re never in place for the beginnings of stuff, so you tend to see the end bit first, and then go back and find the beginning later. As I did with The Judge the other day. Seen the middle of that one, but not yet the beginning or the end. Likewise, thus far, Noah and how I saw Saving Mr Banks on Oceana. And 3 Days to Kill, come to think of it. I have never yet seen the beginning of About Time, although I have watched from midway to the end several times so far (and am doing so again now). In fact, the In Cabin Viewing Guide for now reads as follows:

Channel 28: An episode of The Big Bang Theory

Channel 29: Arbitrage

Channel 30: About Time

Channel 31: Noah

Channel 32: Some travel show about alcohol in Portugal.

Sorry, got distracted there for a bit. Mindelo was, as expected, pretty much shut. But much more developed than it was the last time we were here, which I reckoned, off the top of my head, was about twelve years ago.

The first thing you see when you disembark is the graffiti left by the sailors of other ships that have docked here. They seem to have either stopped people doing it or had a massive drop in trade, because I could not find a single one dated between 2012 and 2015, and only one dated 2016 (not us). Some take it very seriously and clearly have ready-made stencils made, with boats and neatly-printed lettering. Bless. Others just arrive with a brush and a message. Sort of marine tagging, I suppose. “Oriana woz here” – that type of thing. Different colours, different languages. Some have more than one date- they add another the next time they come. It shows a pattern, a consistency, although most only seem to come by once a year or once every two years, which makes me wonder where they go the rest of the time, and who is here in their absence. Even a simple thing like graffiti holds a whole world of unanswered questions, if you have little enough to do that you have the space to really overthink things.

The second thing you see, at the port gate, is a brand new dual carriageway and, opposite you, a large advertising hoarding, currently extolling the virtues of a particular broadband provider. There was no broadband here twelve years ago. Hell, even we might have been on dial-up back then – the internet was only about ten years old!

So we took the shuttle bus into town. This was not a bus, per se, or even a coach, these were minibuses of eleven seats each. We had been warned that there were not many available, but there were a dozen standing idle, so that piece of information was stonkingly wrong. In fact, the port talk and port guide were both so wrong, that we are thinking of making a formal complaint. The port talk lady slagged off the place to such an extent that some people didn’t even bother to disembark, and the printed port guide referenced the Encyclopaedia Britannica. Do they even still publish that?! But as what they described seems to have been precisely what was here twelve years ago, they were both so wide of the mark, we could almost have felt embarrassed for her and whoever wrote the guide, but for the fact that, between them, they ruined the entire day of some passengers, but also significantly reduced the money spent in town, a place that is clearly in massive need of income. Those that went on the organised excursion, touring the island, LOVED it. There was some hesitancy about the journey up to the top of the island (about which some expressed concern that their insurance policies did not cover extreme sports), but once there, they were very happy.

We stayed in town. We were directed to some wifi, but it wasn’t working, so we retired to a nearby café, which turned out to have brilliant wifi, completely free of charge, so we rested in the shade for a while, and tried to Skype people the UK, only to find that apparently the entire Skype system was down at the other end. Then mum and dad went back to the ship, and I carried on surfing for a while longer, drinking their Sprite and using their very clean loos, with motion sensors on the lights to conserve electricity (although the wind farm on the cliffs outside town looked thoroughly functional and busy to me). In fact, the motion sensors were so enthusiastic about turning the lights off, I had to wave my hands above my head twice, just to find the toilet paper! It was about 24 degrees in the shade, but the humidity was extremely high (we are now only 17 degrees from the Equator, so we are well into the Tropics), so it felt quite oppressive. On the plus side, all the doors and windows were open, so there was a lovely draught that kept me cool. We’ve had some wifi signal issues on board over the past few days, so it was nice to be able to post on Facebook without seeing my post vanish completely as soon as I hit send, as has been the case recently. I’m hoping our signal will improve over the next day or so. Otherwise, I may have to formally report it – it’s starting to annoy me a bit. And cost me money, to boot.

Anyway, when I got back on board, I had a very long, cold shower. My skin was so hot that although the water was quite cool when it hit my shoulders, it was warm by the time it got to my feet! Went to dinner and then back to the cabin to cool down again and wait for whatever sunburn I probably have to develop. Dad reckons four hours, so as I got back on board about 5, I should know the worst by about 9. We are currently at GMT -1, so I may have escaped any permanent damage, but I wouldn’t say no to another cold shower. I appreciate that, for most of you reading this, it is currently snowing, but I can only apologise for that. You knew I was heading south when you started reading. 😉

Four sea days now before Salvador. Apparently Declan Curry is now on board, but his talk on pensions is at 9am, so I don’t fancy my chances of making it, frankly, however much I would like to.

Day Five – Santa Cruz, Tenerife – 15^th January

WARNING: THE LEGS ARE OUT. I REPEAT THE LEGS ARE OUT. 21 degrees in the shade? I’ll give that a go. Shorts. Oh yes. It’s time. Toes painted. Legs shaved. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. Look out Spain, here come my legs. Sunglasses are advised, however overcast the sky. I’m not sure a shade of white this bright even has a name.

Today has had quite an annoying start. Announcements blaring from 7 in the morning and continuing as the crew drills began at half nine. Every announcement means you are deafened by being shouted at from the speakers and don’t even try to watch tv because that is automatically muted by every announcement. It’s like some kind of audiovisual hell. You are forced to hear what you don’t want and denied the ability to listen to what you do.

Bizarrely, the arrival in Tenerife has precipitated a sudden religious conversion from whomever makes the television decisions. Breakfast viewing alternatives consisted of that recent Noah film on one channel and the Moses/Exodus: Kings and whatsits film on another. Is this Old Testament country, Tenerife? I didn’t think so before, but now I am starting to wonder what it is that I have missed. There must be something. Yesterday was Law and Order and New Tricks.

Went ashore and spoke to the Hop On Hop Off Bus people. There are three cruise ships in Santa Cruz today: the others are the Aida something and the Mein Schiff 4, parent company unknown. The big eye on the front of the Aida creeps me out. Bleurgh. Anyway, the bloke was quite good at plugging his tour, and his German sounded excellent, but only one girl was taking money and the queue of people waiting for a bus was about 30 metres long. When I suggested three cruise ships might merit more than one bus every twenty minutes, the response was, and I kid you not, “But buses cost money, madam”. And yes, how do you expect to MAKE ANY if you have no buses to put all the people on?! They hadn’t even made any provision for people to sit while they waited. And still wanted eighteen euros a head. Maybe not.

Instead, we got a taxi to the Meridiano shopping centre, so that mum and I could go to C&A. She bought a skirt and I bought two tops in the sale for a fiver each. Her other favourite shop, Punto Roma, also has a branch there, so she was quite content. Then we went up to the roof terrace and had lunch in McDonalds, just so that I could have a gluten-free Maccy D’s. So enjoyable, it almost makes me weep.

Simon and Guy couldn’t meet us, due to a plumbing crisis at home (I’m pretty sure a foot-wide hole in the outside wall of your home counts as a crisis), so we just went to the Mercado (a food and flower market which, although not very old, has been designed to look like an old Moorish/Spanish building – medina-style shops around two interlocking courtyards, with a fish market below – where I bought a cheap little backpack (could have sworn I packed one, but apparently not) for port days/laptop movement, and we had a drink and watched the sellers closing up for the day. Then we pootled back to the ship, but the taxi took us a very long way round, which entailed some confusion as to intended destination, but resulted in us getting quite a nice, cheap view of the town that did not set us back anywhere near the 45 quid the tour bus would have.

Then mum had a rest, while dad and I had ice creams up on deck. The sun was by now so fierce, we had to retreat to the shade! No pleasing some people! After about an hour, we spotted the Entertainments Team fiddling with the outside PA equipment, and then the music started to get louder. This meant the sailaway party was due to get going (BOB was 4.30 today), so we beat a hasty retreat to our respective cabins for a bit of peace and quiet!

At quarter past six, the Assistant Housekeeping Manager turned up. I pointed out that I had asked to see the Housekeeping Manager. I was told she was “ill” and that he was standing in her place. So he came in and we discussed whether leaving footprints on a bathroom floor qualifies at clean. At first, he seemed to agree, and said he would redo the whole cabin, but then he seemed to change his mind and started arguing. He said that he had personally checked and there were no footprints. I said that they did not match the tread of any of my shoes and that, whilst the cabin is clearly jinxed, it isn’t haunted, and even if it was, ghosts do not wear shoes. He got more and more uppity and said there was no need for me to raise my voice. There is nothing more guaranteed to make me angry than being called either unreasonable for making a complaint or, as in this case, essentially, a liar, so, yes, I had a right to raise my voice.

He walked out.

I shit you not.

The man who is supposed to be ensuring my problems are solved and I am happy. Walked out.

I shouted down the corridor after him “Don’t you dare walk out while I’m talking to you”. He kept going.

So I locked the room and went to Reception, where I asked to speak to the Purser. I chose the word specifically, because it isn’t used any more, and therefore shows that a passenger has been travelling a LONG time with P&O. The Hotel Manager, as she is now known, came straight out to see me. She was not happy with the service I had received. She promised to re-sanitise my cabin and clean the carpets again, while I was at dinner. She agreed that the footprints did not insinuate that the place was clean, and certainly not as clean as was being suggested. She said that the room would be cleaned with Virox, which kills, and I quote, “Everything, including HIV”. HIV?! She told me to leave out all the shoes and slippers that I had been wearing, so they could Virox the soles of them all, so I could be absolutely sure that everything was as clean as possible. She will come tomorrow to inspect the cleaning job herself. She did not apologise for the Assistant Housekeeper’s behaviour, but she was clearly not happy with it.

So I went back and put out the shoes, found another pair to wear, and then went to dinner. Late. Dinner was very nice, and everyone seems to have had a nice day in Santa Cruz, but we are all clearly very tired. Mum was unhappy with her fish dish (the batter was so hard, you could hit it like a drum – there was no way she could cut it, it was rock solid), so it was replaced with a large salad. And when I say large, I mean HUGE. Ten or eleven inches in diameter and maybe four inches deep all the way across. She made a valiant effort, but there was no way she could eat it all!

I am so tired, I’m no longer sure which way is up. I think I may have to have a very VERY early night (like, now – 9pm). We got back after dinner to find an invitation to a coffee morning tomorrow for all those going all the way around, so we can meet each other. At 10.30am. I’m not usually upright by then when I’m on holiday, so it constitutes an early start for me. Might as well, though. And it would be nice to meet some of the others who are in it for the long haul. Having been told there are over 400 of us on board already, I think I’ve met two, so meeting a few more would be nice.

I’m wondering if this level of fatigue is partly due to the fact that we are finally starting to unwind. We all seem to be utterly shattered. Even typing this seems like hard work. Gnite.

Day Six – Saturday 16^th January

Twelve hours’ kip. Now that’s more like it. I am starting to unwind.

Made it to the coffee morning at 10.30. Met a lovely lady called Sue, who has a broken wrist. Like someone else we know, she fell in her cabin while the ship was moored/stationary. Ahem. She had an operation yesterday Tenerife. She said the treatment was wonderful. Good to know…

Subodh came to our table at the coffee morning, and sat down to chat for a few minutes. Dad went and got a coffee and got one for Subodh as well. He was genuinely shocked. He said that, in twenty-one years with P&O, no passenger had ever got a drink for him. Wow, that’s dreadful. That’s what a life of service really looks like. Mind you, there’s a security of having held a job for over twenty years of which I, myself, am very jealous, along with, I expect, most of my generation. We are definitely considered more disposable than our parents ever were. Which is odd, because we have learned our skills just the same.

After the coffee morning, we went up to get some fruit before the breakfast buffet closed, and then sat and did Sudoku until lunch was served. The noon announcement told us that the ocean where we were was about 1.5 miles deep, and the sea temperature was 21 degrees, with the air temperature 22. It feels much hotter, however, because the light reflects back off the sea, so you are exposed to the same sunlight twice, and therefore get much hotter and are much more likely to burn. The sun was too fierce for me to feel like sitting out in, so I stuck to the shade again, for now. I’m pretty pale, so I really need to be careful.

The Hotel Manager visited my cabin this morning while I was out, and when I returned, it SMELLED clean. They usually use aroma-free chemicals, which is very unsatisfying and their cleanliness assurances are corresponding unconvincing (it’s hard to take their word for it if the room still smells a bit musty), but with the scent of chlorine, you can feel reassured that it IS as clean as they claim. Ergo, here probably endeth the sewage saga. I hope.

Apparently, we will arrive in Sao Vincente in Cape Verde tomorrow at around noon, so we only have half a day. Mind you, we’ve been to Mindelo before on a Sunday, and there is usually very little open, so we’re not worried about missing much! It’s a quiet little place, although that will undoubtedly change when the airport is in place and direct flights from the UK commence.(Perhaps I should clarify: Cape Verde is the island group, Sao Vincente is the island and Mindelo is the capital city/town). I may be biased, however. Last time we were here, on another Sunday coincidentally, they had launched a new national beer the night before, with many freebies, and EVERYTHING was shut – even the CHURCHES. Apparently, even clergy get hangovers when the beer is free. In the whole town centre, as I recall, only one shop was open, selling cold drinks, and that was run by a bloke called Mike, from Brixton. Hopefully, we’ll have a little more luck tomorrow.

Another formal night tonight, so much planning and preening to be done before 6.30. At least my toe is better today, so I have unstrapped it. I might not wear heels that are too high, though. No need to place unnecessary pressure on it just yet.

You may or may not have noticed that I have not mentioned any theatre West End-style shows yet. Today we found out why. Firstly, the Headliners Company didn’t board til Tenerife, but as the stage is broken and it isn’t safe for them to dance on it, there wasn’t really any need for them to be aboard any earlier. Hopefully it will be fixed soon, though.

2130. There are phrases that I never thought I would write. The following is one of them. Brace yourself.

Tonight I went to a show and watched a James Brown song (‘I feel good, I got you’) performed on a kazoo with ukulele accompaniment.

You can see why I never thought I would type that. The group was called Ukebox and they are VERY good. If you ever get the opportunity to see them perform, please do yourself a favour and go.

CORRECTION: Mindelo is not the capital. It is the main port (carved by the sea from a volcano crater). The capital is called Praia and is on a completely different island.  I’m sure you feel better for knowing this corrected information. I do.

Thursday 14^th January – Sea Day 4 of 4, for now at least

Today I had a shower. This may not seem momentous at first glance, but bearing in mind what was on my bathroom floor yesterday, I feel so brave I can’t stop myself feeling like someone should give me a medal for bravery or a Purple Heart or a prize of some sort. Or at least a chocolate. Not much chocolate on this ship. Or at the very least some antiseptic wipes for my feet. But today was calm, and the humidity in my cabin was astonishingly high and the carpet was still reassuringly wet in patches (damp means clean – hence reassuring, but also hence the internal humidity), so I went for it. The shower has that lovely stuttering raindrop setting, which I find almost unbearably luxurious. It feels fantastic.

When you become hypervigilant (as in astonishingly paranoid about germs on the floor, no idea where that piece of unprovoked paranoia came from), and then relax, you notice the silliest little things. Despite the fact that it was very calm today, the water still sloshed all over the bathroom floor, so it got another wash. Which is a Good Thing, definitely. Bizarrely, however, it went AROUND the bath mat, which stayed bone dry til I stepped on it. Very odd. I have no explanation for it. Maybe something about the way the ship is moving? Or the camber of the floor? I dunno. Just odd. Entertainingly odd. But odd. That’s the sort of minutiae you spot when you have become really really paranoid about the floor.

Lunch was lovely. We sat outside, and Subodh brought out my GF burger in a GF bun. In the shade,  because Mum once took a drug which caused increased susceptibility to sunburn and now will never, ever sit in direct sunlight ever again, no matter how many times you point out that she hasn’t taken that drug in five years. Either that or she has vampire ancestry that she has yet to mention… Sitting in the shade was just a little too breezy for long-term book reading without a cardigan around your shoulders (which I had), but it was nice to be outdoors. Dad and I moved into the sun after Mum went to a talk by a Magistrate. It was good to get a bit of Vitamin D and some sun on my face. Shame the muzak was so loud.

Apparently, because the air con vents are on the deck above, and make a constant whooshing noise, no passenger can possibly stand to sit on deck and read or sleep without sixties and seventies disco blaring out at a volume so loud you cannot converse with the person next to you. Never mind that some people LIKE white noise… When I asked them to turn it down, they said they couldn’t. So I went into the cupboard and found the OFF button myself. No one batted an eyelid. When I later went to the loo, I came back to find it was all back on, but they had turned it down (suddenly apparently, you CAN alter the volume). When I asked why they couldn’t leave it off altogether, the bar manager tried to convince me that someone had asked for it to be turned back on, although he couldn’t actually look me in the eye when he said it. A new war of attrition begins here. If you think I’m letting you ruin my sunbathing time for the next four months with non-stop Tom Jones, Motown and Abba, you are sorely mistaken. And if I have to go into that cupboard every day myself and turn it off, don’t you worry, I will. I’ll poll the passengers if you really want to argue with me on this. Don’t think I won’t.

Other than that, it is a lovely day. Having passed the weather system that was making things decidedly uneven, the sea is now so calm that you have to glance over the side to be sure we are still moving. It’s a perfect royal blue (aquamarine for the artists), so much so that if you painted it that colour, people would say “Nah, it’s never THAT blue”. It’s the colour that P&O intended their new livery to mimic, I think. They failed miserably and ended up with a dusty/dirty imitation thereof, but they tried. Personally, I miss the old cream/yellow/buff coloured funnels, but I am a notorious creature of habit, who hates change at the best of times (hell, I’m still sulking about puberty), so maybe I’m the wrong person to ask.

So, so far, a lovely day… So far. Let’s see if we can get all the way through it without P&O making me cry. Nothing like a lofty ambition to keep things interesting…

I talked about chocolate earlier and now I have a chocolate craving, so let’s see what is available on board in the way of solid cocoa products.

1730. I seem to be finally starting to relax. I’ve slept for two hours straight.
1731. Visited my bathroom. Found FOOTPRINTS. Now, I don’t care what your definition of cleaning or sanitising or disinfecting a surface is, but leaving your dirty footprints on it doesn’t count, not from where I stand. Called the Deck Supervisor and said he had to redo the whole room tonight while I am at dinner. He tried to make excuses, but I reminded him that I was taking the risk of walking around in sewage and this was not good enough as a reassurance the floor was clean. He agreed to redo the whole room when I go out. There is a formal tonight, and gala dinner and drinks do (which, as my regular followers will be aware is the only chance of a free drink on P&O), so they will have over two hours to clean my room again from scratch. I do not feel safe here.

UPDATE: Turns out our bumpy weather was us passing through the depression that is now forming into Hurricane Alex, the first January-born Atlantic Hurricane in about sixty years. Spiffing. Luckily we are heading south as it heads north. Good luck to the Azores.

2005. Came back and found a NEW, different footprint this time. Different tread. Called the Deck Supervisor. He rubbed it out with his finger and said he could not deal with this and needed to escalate it to his manager. I said I was going to the Spinnaker Bar and he could come and find me there. He agreed.
2006. Went to Reception. He never showed. They sent for the Night Manager. His name was Cyrus. He made a whole load of excuses. The day manager person was busy with some burst pipes which is why he didn’t bother to come and see me before he went off shift. The sewage wasn’t sewage it was “overflow”. The footprints were made of carpet shampoo. This is a man who has, to my knowledge, never been to my cabin, remember. He said an Assistant Someone Or Other would come and see me at 5pm tomorrow. After he had gone, I went back to Reception and spoke to Mika, who had taken my original call, and seems to be the only person on the ship who does her job properly and tells the truth without making excuses (her and Subohd are pretty much it for decent staff on the whole bloody ship, so far). She said it would not be an Assistant someone tomorrow at five. She would make sure it was a ‘proper’ manager. She’s finding it as hard to understand as I am, I think. If not, she gives a very good acting performance. I said if they are not there at 5 PROMPT, my next appointment will be with the Captain himself, who I happen to know from previous cruises. I’m sure he’ll be delighted to hear this story, and will be SOOOOO proud of his team.

I’m going for a walk. It’s a formal night, it’s warm and dry outside, I’m all dressed up (I look lovely, if I do say so myself). I should feel pretty and glamorous and cheerful, not seethingly angry and stressed and sad and disappointed and exhausted. I’ve wasted enough of my evening on these incompetents and dumb insolents. Time for some fresh air and some alcohol, methinks. Someone said before I left that I should make my blog more ‘positive’. I’m trying, really I am, but it’s not easy!

Oh, here’s a positive: my toe doesn’t hurt as much any more. Only if I do a lot of walking in one go. So that’s good then.

Wednesday 13^th January – sea day

Had a lie in, in view of my somewhat late and disturbed night. Met the parents for lunch. Subodh found me (head waiter who promised to take care of me). He offered me a choice: GF pasta or a GF burger. I chose the burger. He brought it to my table, complete with fries and ketchup. It was YUMMY. And just so nice not to have to fight and argue for the right to eat it.

After lunch, I went to see The Martian on the big screen in the theatre. Loved it. Just brilliant. And a surprising amount of laugh out loud humour, which I was not expecting.

Then went to Reception to complete my accident report. Got a muppet. Took me ages to get the right form and then, when I completed it, the Head of Security, Martin, came out to discuss it. Apparently, he has so little else to do, he investigates all accidents on board. I asked him why the suitcases had to be in the cabins under the beds, because they are creating a trip hazard where there doesn’t need to be one. Then I went back to my cabin for a rest.

Then Martin turned up with Umesh, my steward, to take a photo under my bed (I kid you not). Not sure why the steward needed to be there. The fact that he had not done my room today (because of my lie-in) was probably a point against him, but it’s hardly his fault that they won’t store the suitcases properly.

Not long after, Martin rang me to say they wouldn’t apologise or compensate me because they don’t consider it their fault or problem. Nice.

So now I have to continue the next few weeks of my trip with a limp. No yoga, no walking a mile with dad every day, no taking the stairs, not even sure I can swim. Lovely.

Went to dinner. Well, got ready for dinner. Was planning a shower, now that things are calmer, but went into the bathroom to find what we will gloss over for now and refer to purely as brown water sloshing around the floor under the toilet.  Rang Reception and asked for a plumber. Went to dinner.

Had a lovely meal. I do like our tablemates. Shame we will lose all but one in Valparaiso.

But on return to my cabin, after avocado, lamb and veg, and jelly and a gluten-free roll and butter (and the obligatory two diet cokes, don’t forget!), I found that my toilet issue had not been fixed. Queue more ringing Reception and an incremental increase in yelling. Apparently the phrase RAW SEWAGE is not enough of a stimulus to get anyone to actually give a damn. Reception denied all knowledge of my ever having called,  and sent the Deck Supervisor. He apologised profusely, denied all knowledge of my ever having called and said he would ring the plumber direct, himself. I said if there wasn’t a plumber in my presence within fifteen minutes, I would scoop up the liquid and go and find the captain’s cabin, pour it on his floor and see how he liked it. Queue embarrassed smiles. And, less than ten minutes later? A plumber.  Who had, in fact, been working around the corner and my steward went and got him. Who had not been informed of an issue that I reported over two and a half hours earlier. Typing this while he crashes and bangs, and then the steward has promised to sanitise the entire bathroom for me when the plumber is done. Which is very sweet of him. He shouldn’t have to clean everything twice just because no one else can be arsed to do their jobs properly (or, indeed, at all).

Went to Reception, while he was working, to make a formal complaint about the two and a half hours of raw sewage and what they thought they were doing when they ignored the issue for that long. Had to get the Reception Manager out from his dinner break. Like I care. I have a bathroom floor I daren’t walk on in bare feet. Makes washing kind of tricky. Ever.

2140. Men have arrived to clean the bathroom. And I mean clean. Hands and knees with the strong stuff they use for norovirus cleanup. Kills all known germs and also ones you haven’t heard of. Kills everything. Allegedly. We’ll see, won’t we!

On the plus side, the air temperature outside seems to be rising nicely – mid teens now we are halfway down Portugal, so maybe I will go for a walk and leave them all to it. Clear my head and breathe some uncontaminated air for a while. I am heartily sick of being in this cabin, and, in fact, of this whole cruise. I have been in tears every day so far, and I really don’t know how much more of this I can take.

Still, Robocop the Remake is keeping me entertained while they scrub.

2330. In the end, I went out. I went up to the buffet and got some fruit and then wandered through the various pubs and bars trying to find a band with a singer who could hold a tune. Ended up bumping into Hugh from our dinner table, and we had a drink and a chat together. He’s a fun person to hang out with, and funny, too. Came back to a wet and slightly wet-dog smelly carpet and brand new pair of slippers. Still not sure I’m happy to walk around the bathroom in bare feet, but we’ll see how it goes.

Tuesday 12^th January 2016 – at sea

By ‘eck, it’s bumpy. We are just coming to the Western Approaches, where the Channel meets the Atlantic and the Irish Sea. We are right at the tip of Cornwall. This is usually the worst possible bit of any journey. The best way through is to stay sat down, or better still, lie down, until it’s over. This is when a not snowy tv reception would be most useful, as it is one of the times when I stay in the cabin and move around as little as possible. I don’t get ill, I just don’t like falling over, and when the ground is moving from under you constantly, in a variety of unpredictable directions, sitting is definitely the safer option.  This is also the time when it would be most advantageous to have a cabin on a lower deck.  Sadly, on this trip, I am on C deck, which is the highest I have ever been, and, most bumpy it is too. I also have a cabin right near the back of the ship and also as far to one side as possible, which just increases the movement possibilities. It is a cabin that we have laughed at others for taking. I’ll cope, but probably by sleeping a lot. The unceasing rocking motion has the rather beneficial side effect of making you feel like you’re being rocked to sleep, so, provided you don’t mind a bit of creaking, and the unused wooden coat hangers chiming against the sides as they attempt to make a break for it out of the wardrobes they are shackled to (yes, we have the ones that are welded in – cruise passengers will nick anything, given half a chance), it’s a very soothing sensation, and quite hard to stay awake. Allegedly, outside, according to the Passenger Information Channel PowerPoint on channel 24 (why don’t they start at one like normal people?!) it is currently a Force 8 wind and the air temperature is 9 degrees. The sea state is described as “rough”. I’m staying right here. *nods*

Fyi, the only channels that have no snow, and are therefore watchable, are Sky News and Sky Sports. Not my first choice, but it will have to do for now. Actually, the mast cam channel is playing some decent music (Cruise Radio Arcadia, I kid you not) and the picture is surprisingly calm-looking, so maybe I’ll leave it here for a bit. The camera on the mast can be accessed via the P&O website, if you are seized by a desperate urge to see what I see at any time.  It is currently at a slightly jaunty angle, but the horizon is (pretty much) horizontal, so it’s not too disorientating.  The number of white horses seems to be diminishing, which is nice, but I could have established that just by standing up.  It’s when the bow disappears under the waves (which I have seen in the past – can’t watch that for long, believe me), you need to worry. This is fine. The music is currently a Terence Trent D’Arby song I’ve heard before. I’d know that voice anywhere, but the song is not familiar. Very odd, but pleasant, nonetheless.

Right, can’t sit here enjoying myself. Spanish class starts in half an hour and I’m still in my pyjamas.

Some time later: Couldn’t join the Spanish class. There were people standing in the doorways. Not enough seats for all. Couldn’t see, couldn’t hear. Gave up. Went up to the canteen/self service restaurant had had some fruit. Whatever anyone tells you, don’t believe them when they say you cannot eat healthily on a cruise ship if you want to. Ate a whole plateful, so that’s the five a day done for today – cantaloupe, galia, watermelon, two plums and some pineapple, for the detail-minded among you. Met Janet and David, the first couple I have found who are doing the whole thing, like us. Everyone else seems to be getting off at either Rio or Valparaiso.

Then lunch. And it all went to hell. I had been dreading it so much that Dad offered to come with me. And I was right. They had done nothing we were promised in our emails with Southampton and the head chef of Arcadia. They had not labelled gluten free food options. They had not MADE any gluten free options. Apparently coeliacs are not allowed hot food for lunch, unless they are happy to eat, and I quote “curry or chips”. That’s it? That’s it. Salad, curry or chips. Not even a hot vegetable. Needless to say, I did not consider that this was an acceptable offering for the next four months of my life. I tried asking for gluten free pasta. “No”. NO?! Are you kidding me? Have you EVER heard of customer service?! You don’t say NO to a customer! EVER! Particularly not a customer who, paying single person supplement for her holiday, has already paid TWICE for every meal anyway. Head waiter very unhelpful. Just shrugged and offered me soup. In the end, the restaurant manager saw me crying and came over to see us. He said he would fix everything. I don’t have to decide today what I want to eat tomorrow.  I don’t have to book, beg or ask permission. I CAN have gluten free pasta, if I want. I WILL get the gluten free burgers I was promised IN WRITING. He will take care of my lunches personally, every single day for the rest of this cruise. In the end, I just ate some chips and a bowl of tomato soup and a jelly. It’s enough, and by then I was so distressed, I had difficulty swallowing anyway. I cancelled everything I had planned for the afternoon and went to bed. Couldn’t go for a walk anyway (raining), couldn’t do yoga (too rough), couldn’t face trying to get into Spanish again. Will try and start my life again tomorrow.

Maybe I should rename this entry: “How to ruin a passenger’s entire sea day in one easy step”. Just lie to them. Say anything to get them to shut up. Whether that’s in person, on the Oceana, when we discussed this trip with the Executive Chef, and he said he would pass on our concerns THEN to the Head Chef of the Arcadia. Whether that’s in writing, by email in our correspondence with Karen – head of Special Diet Reservations in Southampton, because I wrote when we got back and said how much I was dreading lunch on the Arcadia (that’s when I was promised gluten-free burgers that would be made ready for my arrival). Or when the Only Coeliac on the Ship Who Apparently Eats Lunch pitches up and says, well, having made me all these promises, what can I eat? Just lie, prevaricate and insult her until she gives up and goes away to cry. That’ll cover it. That’s not going to cause any problems for the next 114 days. Oh no, not at all. That’s all dealt with now.

Watch this space. Tomorrow will either be fine or ALL HOLY HELL is going to get loose.

By contrast, dinner went very well. Hugh is very entertaining, Bob was a bit more vocal and Peter got more chatty whilst we were examining his gluten-free beer (from Suffolk). The only fly in the ointment was that, for some reason, our corner of the restaurant was FREEZING. In the end, the head waiter had to lend me a spare jacket (kept for those who don’t come up to dress code on posh nights).  I bought my own diet cokes in from the bar outside the restaurant and drank them veeerry slowly. I’m pretty sure the wine waiter saw them.  And he’ll be seeing them every night for the next four months. Aside from that, everyone seemed happy with their meal, which was nice, and we discussed power cuts we have experienced on previous cruises. Turns out Bob has travelled on Costa ships, as have Peter and Nicky, but he’s done it SINCE Costa Concordia.  Wouldn’t be MY choice…but he had no complaints, other than the fact that muster is carried out on deck, come rain or shine. Different, but you can see why they would feel it necessary.

Update: After I went to bed, I made the mistake of getting up in the night. This was a mistake because… No, from the beginning. Usually, on P&O ships, empty suitcases can be stored in the hold, out of the way. I won’t need them for months, after all, so why have them cluttering up my cabin? However, when I put them out on this ship, the steward informed me that they were not allowed to put them in the hold on the Arcadia, and I would have to have them in my room. He assured me he would make them fit. When I came back after dinner, the big case had, as promised vanished. I assume he got it under the bed somehow. Good for him. However, what I did not notice was that one wheel of a case was now sticking out from under the bed. The coverlet thingy that hides the base hid this also. Which meant that, when I got up in the night, the little toe of my right foot slammed straight into it. I tried to run cold water on it, but the shower would only give warm water. So I rang for some ice.  Which helped a little, but not enough. And, of course, I am at PRECISELY the opposite end of the ship from the medical centre. But I limped there anyway. A shop girl found me near the medical centre and telephoned them for help. The nurse came to the door and greeted me with “You do realise we are closed, don’t you”. “Oh, I apologise”, I said. “I will try and ensure I break my toe during normal working hours in future”. She backtracked, saying she was concerned I had been waiting outside, despite the fact that no one had suggested any such thing. She looked at my toe and said it was “probably” broken, but any examination by a doctor and/or x-ray would have to wait til morning, and would be chargeable. I’m damned if you’re charging me for damaging me!

So I got sent back to my cabin (a porter pushed me there in a wheelchair) and told to ICE (ice, compression, elevation) it. Here endeth the day. Again.

Here  beginneth the longest cruise we have ever done. 115 days.

Itinerary here.

I could moan about the fact that P&O allow unlimited baggage, but the coach company that takes you to Southampton limits you to three suitcases. But we managed. I ended up with four and a half cases and one vanity case. Mum had three and a half cases and four vanities. Dad made up the rest of the nine. But, what a palaver trying to prep for a cruise this long in just four months! Usually we plan eighteen months ahead! I have no idea if I have enough cosmetics, or underwear, or notepaper, or anything. Meh, we’ll figure it out. What’s the worst that can happen?

Monday 11 January 2016 – departure

On board. At last. Snowy tv signal and no broadband whatsoever, so heaven only knows when you’ll get to read this! If this is how things are in port, I dread to think what it will be like when we actually set sail. Good grief.

Leaving the house was surprisingly stress-free, considering we had only one minicab in which to fit nine large cases, five vanity cases and one very big, heavy piece of fragile hand luggage (laptops). Luckily, Amir came in the biggest car I have ever seen. Strictly speaking, it was referred to as an eight-seater, but it had so much room, we could have taken more luggage if we wanted! And more people! When we got to the coach stop, the coach was already there, and the entire passenger list was nine people, so we had all the room we could have wanted. The journey down was smooth and relaxed, and Adrian the driver was very friendly. His coach’s little loo had a choice of 9 different soaps. Cola bottle scented?! Gave that one a miss, but thanks for the offer…

Boarding was as irritating as ever. They have developed the American habit at Security of changing the rules every time you visit. Last time, I just wheeled the buggy through. This time, they wanted it lifted up onto the conveyor belt to go through the bag scanner. Dad hurt his back yesterday, packing, and mine hasn’t quite recovered from some damage a couple of weeks ago, so we refused to lift it. They had to find a stevedore, because they’re not allowed to lift things either. Why they think we should damage ourselves to humour them, I have no idea, but we all got quite annoyed. In fact, Dad got so annoyed, he forgot to empty his pockets, so they tortured him all over again, just for the fun of it.

But we’re here now. And breathe…

My cabin is quite nice (despite the television’s reception). I have a sneaking suspicion it is the same size screen as I have at home, which seems far too big for a room this size.  It takes up over half the dressing table/desk space, which is irksome, because I could have used that space. The décor has a slightly seventies feel, with dingy wall lighters, spotlights in the ceiling and overly-huge mirrors. There seems to be shockingly little storage.  It’s going to be quite a feat to get all my stuff in here. Particularly with such an unnecessarily large fridge taking up ALL the spare space under the desk/dressing table.  Likewise with the bathroom – lovely huge shower – about four feet long – but shockingly little storage space/cupboards. Can’t seem to make the safe lock, but, that’s still better than the alternative, I suppose (not being able to unlock it!). All in all, so far so good.  Of course, as none of my luggage arrived until after muster, at about 5.45, although we boarded just after 1pm, I didn’t get it all unpacked before dinner anyway. After dinner, I got most of it sorted, although some socks and underwear and next week’s pyjamas had to go back in a case under the bed. On the plus side, as the whole room stinks of food (I think the aircon intake is next to the restaurant up on deck, and there isn’t much wind, so I can sit here and tell you what everyone had for dinner), by leaving them in the case, they will be a bit protected from stinking of roast beef!

Dinner companions: Sheila, bad leg (broke her femur on this very ship two years ago), uses a walker (sort of a folding Zimmer frame), very funny and mischievous and thinks I’m fab. Hugh, the only person I have met so far going further than Valparaiso, and even he is going home from San Diego (because he says his insurance won’t cover him any further?! bit odd, might have to investigate that further), Peter and Nicky (he is quite deaf and talks VERY quietly, even I can’t hear him and I’m directly opposite him on an oval table) – Peter is also coeliac and his prior requests were ignored as well, just like mine. For some reason, it doesn’t matter how far ahead you book or warn people you have dietary needs, on the first night, no one gives a damn. They just say “We’ll do it tomorrow. Make do tonight”. Which is both trying and annoying. If I wanted to make do, I wouldn’t have bothered contacting you in advance *sigh*. And you know perfectly well, because when we do discuss tomorrow, you produce a typewritten list that shows everyone at the table and who needs what. Irksome. Not fully annoyed, but just irked. And Bob. Know nothing about him yet at all. He’s quiet but cheery is the best I can divine thus far.

I usually order two diet cokes at dinner. They have a card you can buy, so that you can, essentially, buy soft drinks/coffees/ice creams (that’s three different cards, before you ask) in bulk and get a slightly cheaper rate. So I asked the wine waiter for a soft drinks card, and he said he would get me one, but I could not use it the dining room. Really? I have done on every other cruise I’ve been on in the past decade or so. Why not? Because we don’t have a draught pump – they are only in the bars. Oh, I need a bar? Like the one that is JUST OUTSIDE THE DINING ROOM DOOR then? It seems odd to refuse to do this for someone who is going all the way around. Wine waiters are on commission, so for every drink he serves me, he would have made money, personally, in his own pocket. Now, for the rest of the FOUR MONTHS I’m on this ship, I will buy my drinks from someone else and bring them into dinner and he can sit and watch me drink them and wonder who got his cut. He has deliberately refused the commission on 115 soft drinks (he doesn’t know it would have been 230), which seems very silly behaviour. Still, his loss. *shrug* Literally, in fact.

Talking of odd behaviour that makes no sense and seems purely designed to annoy, at muster, I was sent down the stairs. Five decks. Charming. I asked why I couldn’t use the lift. “Because in an emergency, you mustn’t use the lifts, in case the power is lost”. I get that, but this is not an emergency, it’s a drill. And I am on holiday. Why can’t I use the lift? “In case the power goes”. No, I mean now. Yes, now. And you need to learn the route. Down the stairs?! Oh, FFS. If you’re going to be that stupid/obtuse/dumb ignorant, there’s no point in even bothering. When I got there? Everyone else I spoke to had used the lifts. My knees were delighted.

I’m pretty shattered (five flights of stairs may not have helped with this). It’s been a rather long day, and my nap was rudely interrupted by the muster announcements, so I may have to have an early night. It took me nearly two hours to unpack, so a break is definitely overdue. I do have some stuff to do, and some menu typos to download (yes, already!). But they can wait til morning. Gnight.

Day Fourteen – Sea Day 3 of 3 – last day before Southampton and home

Or, in this instance, bumpety bump.

The last day always goes by in a whirl. It was still warm enough for shorts and flip-flops, but still a little on the bumpy side (it’ll calm down again once we enter the Channel). A mixture of packing and filling in forms took up most of the day. Dad met with the Customer Services Manager to discuss not only the party in Ajaccio and the offence it probably caused, but the miserable way our complaint has been handled by her staff.

My cabin steward blotted his copybook tonight (not wise the day before tip day!), by not having finished my cabin by the time I came back from dinner. He said he had started at the other end today. Really? You’ve been so badly trained that no one told you to do the first sitting passengers while they are out, and then do the second sitting passengers when THEY, in turn, go for dinner? Seems pretty bloomin’ obvious to me, but then I think I’ve been on cruise ships a lot longer than most of the crew on this ship. I’ve actually started to wonder if this is a training ship, where new staff come to learn their trade, before being let loose on ‘proper’ passengers on ‘proper’ ships. Because there isn’t a single department on here that hasn’t in some way behaved in an incompetent/ downright shambolic manner at some point over the last two weeks. Food? Tick. Cabins? Now tick. Reception/Customer Service? Tick. Maintenance? Didn’t stop hammering during the minute’s silence. Tick. It’s pretty woeful, frankly.

Still, for all my apparent criticisms, the weather has been brilliant and all the ports enjoyable, so overall, we had a good time. We always do. It takes a lot to ruin a cruise in our eyes – we’re usually just really happy to be there. But the little niggles that mar things, and prevent you from having an even better time, they’re the ones that bug me. Because they CAN do it, when they can be bothered. It just seems that, on Oceana, at the moment, they can’t.

Next cruise: January 2016. Toodle pip!

Day Thirteen

Sea Day again. Yay!

Boy, there are a lot of speed bumps and potholes off the coast of Portugal. It’s very bumpy today. Quite hard to stay awake, to be honest, because it’s so soothing, the rocking motion. Except when we hit a pothole and your teeth bang together. That’s not so soothing.

Got up early today and went to see a film. First one I’ve made it to on this entire cruise. The Second Best Exotic Marigold Hotel. Thoroughly enjoyed it. They have no theatre on here, so they lower a big screen onto the stage of the theatre, which means very comfy tiered seating, but right at the bow of the ship, so not the best location on a bumpy day. Particularly when we are mostly pitching, not rolling. Still, I enjoyed it thoroughly. Such a wonderful cast.

I have watched some movies in my cabin, though. I think I mentioned Frozen and Paddington. If I Stay was VERY good – highly recommended, The Fault in our Stars was not nearly as schmaltzy as I was fearing – very enjoyable, and I have also seen Mockingjay Part 1 – I think, I missed the first few minutes. I have also watched bits of The Theory of Everything, Annie, and Still Alice, but none grabbed me enough to stay for more, and one film I cannot find the name for. The bit I saw was a man in a spacesuit trapped in another dimension (time) inside a bookcase and he communicates with his daughter using Morse code to make her watch stop. Does that ring a bell with anyone? It was weird, but weirdly enjoyable. If I could find out what it was called, I might endeavour to watch the whole film some day. Please let me know if you know which film I am babbling about.

Then a late lunch up top in the sunshine, but indoors (a bit blowy for outdoors – hence the bumpiness). The white horses are rather plentiful in this neck of the woods – the Bay of Biscay –but the stabilisers are dealing with most of it. Some people refuse to cross the Bay, and fly into and out of Barcelona in order to skip it. I don’t see the problem, myself. Although it is a little tricky to get anything done when you can’t keep your eyes open.

Poisoned again tonight, but not (as far as I know thus far) by gluten. I ordered a chicken burger, which they assured me would be in gluten-free breadcrumbs in a gluten-free bun. I ordered it yesterday – twenty-four hours in advance. When it came, it was not in breadcrumbs, but in some brown gunk that looked distinctly unappetising, but I gave them the benefit of the doubt and ate it anyway. Big mistake. I now know, with the benefit of 20:20 hindsight, that the chef, for some reason best known to himself, decided that what this perfectly ordinary chicken burger really needed was large slices of RAW GARLIC hidden inside it. My mouth was on fire all through the meal, and my dessert tasted very odd indeed. I have now brushed my teeth and rinsed with mouthwash, in order to get rid of the taste (and make me acceptable to talk to!), but I may have another go in a few minutes, just to be sure. What kind of a moron thinks that you put raw garlic into a burger?! Raw onion rings, perhaps, tomatoes, maybe, lettuce, definitely, but raw garlic?! I had been looking forward to that meal for twenty-four hours, and I am beyond disappointed. So sad that they cannot even be trusted to make the simplest of dishes. No matter how much warning/time you give them, they will still not produce what you asked for. Mum actually had to send her order back tonight, because it bore no relation to what she had ordered, either. And it took nearly twenty minutes for a replacement to arrive. Which was still wrong, but at least edible.

Everyone I have spoken to says the food on this ship is diabolical. People who have sailed on her before say that the deterioration has taken place in the last twelve months (some people like going away in November on a regular basis). I have not met one person who is complimentary about the food. The best I can find is ‘not bad/alright/okay’, which is hardly a ringing endorsement. Yesterday, the chefs paraded through the restaurant for their traditional end of cruise appreciative round of applause – their reception was lukewarm at best. The waiters, however, got a roar of cheers and applause. I’m sure the chefs heard the difference just as much as we did.

There may be a clue, in fact, in the parade we saw. Dad said at the time, “There’s not many of them, is there? Not like usual”. And he was right. They presented a skeleton crew at best. Maybe that’s why we have had consistently bad service (did I mention the day we didn’t get our hors d’oeuvres until 40 minutes after we sat down?), with delays in delivering food every night, and badly-prepared orders, as listed.  The food has also been bad cuts of meat, poorly cooked, under-cooked, incorrectly cooked, it’s shocking really. There’s no point in asking us to applaud them making 10,000 meals a day if the majority are inedible! This may have to go in the customer satisfaction questionnaire, methinks. It’s really not good enough. To be fair, inedible food is occasionally a good thing on a cruise ship, because the weight gain is thus limited a little, but not every night! I have never before, in all the years we have been cruising, been looking forward to getting away from the food served on board. But this time, I’ll be glad to get back to dry land, where I have at least the modicum of hope that what I order will be what arrives. Very sad indeed. Right, time to go and rinse again, I think.

Day Twelve.

Sea Day. At last.

Slept nine hours last night. We all feel a bit weak and wobbly/drained today. I call it barely upright. Scorchingly beautiful hot, sunny day today, blue skies, the works. Must enjoy it while it lasts, because we’re heading west and once we turn north, things will probably cool down pretty sharpish. People in contact with the UK have been using words like snow. This may be the last day I wear shorts for a while. Dad and I even sat on deck and ate Magnums, which was nice.

Last formal tonight, so had to spend time washing hair, dressing up – new dress bought in Gib – jewellery, makeup, all that nonsense. Felt very nice when all done, but, by ‘eck, it is a hassle getting there.

No quiz tonight, because the crew are doing a show. But we had a drinks party before dinner, and I managed to drink a good litre of orange juice – the only free cold/alcoholic drinks on P&O – so that was a job well done (you can have all the tea and coffee you want, as long as you’re happy to make it yourself). Didn’t win the crystal sweetie bowl, but not hugely gutted, frankly – how are you supposed to get these things home?! When they gave us all crystal vases a few years ago, they had to arrange shipping to everyone’s home address, because they weighed more than some people’s entire baggage allowance!

Then dinner, which was very nice. I had salmon, for a change. Everyone enjoyed their meal today, even Eddy, and he ordered a steak, which if his previous experience was anything to go by, was a risky choice. He ate every bit, although he said it was quite tough. But at least it didn’t get sent back, like the last one!

Tonight, in view of the weather we have been promised on our return to Blighty, we all told our stranded in the snow stories, and I told mine about the freak blizzard in Leeds, when I walked to work in t-shirt, shorts and sandals on a lovely sunny Easter day, worked in the basement for eight hours and came out to find four inches of snow on the ground and buses sliding backwards down the hill.  Mary and Eddy come from Scotland originally, so they had some tales to tell on the subject!

We turned right during dinner, and are now heading north. We are definitely moving about a bit more than before. Welcome back to the Atlantic, everyone. Maybe that’s why I can’t keep my eyes open – I’m being rocked to sleep!