Madeira stinks.

This is not an insult, it’s a very pretty, friendly place, which is very heavily reliant on the tourist industry for its economic survival, but it PONGS. As you leave the cruise terminal, you are greeted by not just warm sun and refreshing breezes, but also the unsanitary odours seemingly emanating from the backs of the excursion coaches, whose rear facilities smell like they haven’t been emptied or cleaned this millennium, although the staff loos at Customs may also be partly to blame. Then, once deposited in town by the shuttle bus, via its usual circuitous route of all the way to the other end of town, u-turn and come back to the beginning to drop us (one-way system), now extended by the closure of the road from the ships to the town, which now entails a trip through not one, not two but three tunnels just to get us back to the point where we can commence the one-way system bit, you are assailed by the smell of the sewers. You daren’t converse for fear of what you might inhale or swallow from the air.

This is, in fact, rather convenient, because it minimises the arguing you can undertake with the taxi drivers who pounce as you disembark the buses. One fool, despite being told several times that we had been here before and did not wish to take a half-day tour, tried to charge us forty dollars to go to our shopping centre of choice, wait and return. We left him and went to the official taxi rank twenty yards away, where we got the one-way trip, the shorts I wanted to buy and the return fare into town and still had change from what he wanted.

For fans of C&A, whether it be Clockhouse, Canda or Sixth Sense, the place to be is a shopping centre called Forum Madeira (pronounced Ma-dare-a, incidentally). It, like the other decent shopping centre, Dolce Vita, is just an ordinary shopping centre, with a supermarket in the basement and a large over-priced electronics store (about 2.5/3 times GB prices), but is quite pleasant and has well-maintained toilets, which do not smell, which is always good to know. It is also quite a scenic drive around the coast to the suburbs of Funchal. C&A still exists all across Europe – only the UK part closed down – so whenever we are in Europe (Madeira is Portugal), we pay a visit. Even with less than half a day (we didn’t dock til 12.30pm), it’s worth the effort, although mum was unimpressed with the current selection and bought nothing. Despite this, we sat and ate ice cream in the shade to reward ourselves anyway.

There are three ships in port today: the Costa Victoria, the P&O Arcadia (obviously!) and the Pullman Empress, which none of us have ever heard of. Looks nice enough, I suppose. This meant that we were moored ‘at the back’ of the quay, furthest away from the town. This wouldn’t be so bad if they didn’t make us walk the entire length of the quayside to walk through (unattended) Customs and then all the way back to opposite the ship to catch the shuttle buses into town. Doesn’t put you in the best frame of mind to arrive with! And then the smells hit you. Not ideal…

Ironic, really as we arrived in a very good mood. We came around about half the island, which was very interesting, allowing us to see a few of the black beaches (Madeira is volcanic) and the haze over the cable car to the top of Monte gradually lifting, while we waited outside the port for a while. While we waited, we noticed a windsurfer with a neon yellow sail heaving his sail out of the water. It took him some time to get upright, but when he did, there was absolutely no wind whatsoever, and he was completely becalmed. He just stood there. We were killing ourselves with laughter. When he finally moved about ten feet before falling over, he got a cheer and a round of applause!

Restaurant review: “O Portao”

I found this restaurant on TripAdvisor. It had outstanding reviews for simple food well done and being cheap but quality at the same time. We were not disappointed. The welcome was effusive and the menu written in about six languages. We were able to fiddle with the food, such as melon without the ham, and so on, and they didn’t bat an eyelid no matter what we tried (sardines and chips?!). We had three courses and two large bottles of mineral water for three people for twenty quid a head, which was very reasonable. We ate outside for the first two courses, but moved indoors for dessert, as mum was getting a little chilled. The melon starters were lovely and the tomato soup went down very well, the steak diane vanished so completely that the plate didn’t need washing up and my chicken and mushrooms with rice was delicious. A warning to the lactose intolerant: Madeiran cuisine is cream and cream and cream and alcohol. Take your LactAid! I forgot mine. For dessert, we annihilated two chocolate mousses (mice?) and received complimentary glasses of Madeira wine for our efforts. No one had any complaints about their meal whatsoever (and we are a moany bunch!).

Whatever you do, you MUST order the sweet potato bread with garlic. It’s divine, but everyone will have to have a bit, cos it is VERY garlicky

For those who judge restaurants by other means, the toilets were PRISTINE. They looked brand spanking new, I felt like I was the first ever person to use them. Clean, spotless, with plenty of toilet paper and soap, but only a hand dryer, no hand towels. Health warning: the Stiebel Elson hand dryer is REALLY HOT!

The only negative point was that they had VH1 playing on a little television behind the door. I have no idea why. But it was on low enough that it didn’t spoil the evening. If they turned it off altogether, the place would be perfect.

Overall, we were very impressed and cannot recommend it highly enough. It is a little tricky to find, but if you go to the Zona Velha restaurant quarter and ask anyone, they will point you in the right direction – it’s just past the church. Six out of Five, Eleven out of Ten, Outstanding.

First observations. This ship is HUGE. I feel like I’ve walked miles just looking around. My feet are killing me! On the plus side, however, my cabin is also HUGE, maybe twice or more times the size I’m used to! I could easily get another single bed in the gap between the foot of the bed and the wardrobe. Never had that much floor space in my life! I don’t even have that much room at home! Just enormous. Oddly though, no drawers. Only shelves. Every ship has these slight curveballs that throw you a little. With no drawers, where do I hide my knickers?! So much for privacy!

In fact, privacy has been given very little consideration on here. There is a shop that sells sweets, toys and essentials you may run out of or have forgotten. But it’s in the middle of a corridor! Who is going to ask for tampons standing there where everyone passing can see and hear you?! Seriously?! I mean, if you forgot your toothpaste, fair enough, but what if you need Imodium?! Absolutely no privacy whatsoever.

Arcadia is looking a bit old and tired, generally. She has American plug sockets, made of dark brown Bakelite-style plastic that look like they probably predate my very existence. Continuing the old and tired theme, walking around the ship, although the public areas are very new and shiny, and I mean SHINY (although they have toned down the epilepsy-inducing carpets since its launch, to be fair), there are definite signs of age. Not least, on deck 3, the sighting of at least three damp carpets, one of which still bears a bucket for the catching of the drips. Not the world’s most reassuring sight! Dad assures me the ship is less than ten years old. It certainly doesn’t look it. They seem to have gone for a sort of seventies decor theme. It’s all polished brass mirrors and dim downlighting, which probably doesn’t help.

First dinner on board. The waiters tried, but the first night is always chaos. The food was good, though, so that’s a relief. And even more of a relief, our tablemates are delightful. John, Hayley and Ted are on their first ever cruise, and Shirley and David have cruised before but not with P&O. Hearing them describe Independence of the Seas, which I am thinking of going on next, as Butlins on Sea, is a leeetle bit worrying… All bar Ted (Hayley’s dad of 83) would fit into my category of having a pulse and they have promised to meet me in the nightclub later. We’ll see. I reckon everyone is too shattered from the day’s travelling. It is a very long day, no matter how organised you are (and we are!).

Of course, us being organised is one thing. The crew and staff being organised is quite another. Some people still had not received all of their luggage, even after dinner. They keep making announcements assuring us they’re working on it, but we are not impressed. I’m all unpacked, and although I have a little shaking down to do, it’s all done. But others could be unpacking late into the night, rummaging for pyjamas, etc. To not have your suitcases by dinner, when you boarded at 1pm seems a bit off. Nul points for organisation, thus far, I’m afraid, Arcadia.

The Pilot was taken off during dessert, so now we are running down the Channel, at 22 knots, heading out towards the Atlantic, via some of the more choppy waters around. The Western Approaches are where the Channel meets the Irish Sea and Atlantic, and are rarely smooth. Hopefully, I’ll be asleep by then!

Post script to the first missive: I was asleep in time, but only just. Had to call Reception at midnight and ask for a CLEAN duvet cover. Tut tut. The poor soul who came to change it had to go back again about six times, because they were ALL marked! In the end, I stopped mentioning it, I felt so bad! Needless to say, I had a word with the Hotel Manager this morning…

Day One? Day Two? Not sure where to count from!

Had a quiet day today. Did as near to nothing as makes no difference.
Watched Chocolat and Oliver Twist (the film not the musical) and the Pride and Prejudice starting Matthew whathislovely and Keira Knightley as Emma and a film with Adam Sandler as a bloke with a remote control for his life. Very moralistic and terribly predictable, but the show is stolen, as one might expect, by Christopher Walken as the Angel of Death. Superb.

Excitement

Not all excitement is a good thing. That is why the Chinese curse is “May you live in interesting times”. Well, today it got interesting. Again.

During dinner, we noticed that we seemed to be making a lot of course corrections (turning, to the uninitiated), mostly to port (left). Our table overlooks the wake, so it was pretty obvious. Shortly afterwards, there was a tannoy announcement. Someone had fallen ill and a helicopter would be coming from Northern Spain to get them.

In order to avoid too much lollygagging and to avoid any flash photography blinding the pilot, we were evacuated from the restaurant, desserts and drinks in hand, and forbidden from going on the outside decks or onto the balconies. We settled in the card room and played patience by a port side window, which conveniently still had the blinds open. While we played we watched half a dozen crew on deck in various uniforms and garbs doing not a great deal other than standing around. It eventually dawned on us that they were standing by to man the search and rescue lifeboat in case anyone ended up in the water (i.e they dropped the poor sick bloke!). Luckily, they didn’t. Meanwhile, the helicopter landed and took away its cargo. The poor second sitting diners had to wait over two hours for their dinner, but everyone was very willing to obey and wait patiently.

Then the evening continued just as normal with only dinner and the show running behind schedule. I hope he’s okay, the bloke. Those who have been reading this blog for a while will know this is not our first excitement, and in roughly the same part of the world, too. Those who don’t know what I’m talking about, please do rummage around in the archive section on the left-hand side of this page. I would suggest you look around January 2010 for two pieces entitled The Cruel Sea and Six Degrees of Separation. I should warn you, they don’t have a happy ending. Here’s hoping for a better outcome this time.

Went to the nightclub and danced from 10.30 to 1.30 almost non-stop. My feet are NOT happy. The DJ’s name is Arwyn (Welsh, don’t ask me). He is very obedient, which is a good thing in a DJ! Note to Simon and Guy. Before Arwyn was Rob, Martin and Paul. Looks like Lulu left not long after you did! Arwyn’s never even heard of her!

Daily total: 3 gin cocktails (two Tom Collins and a gin and tonic from a waiter who misheard Gin Collins as Gin and Tonic). WAY too much Diet Coke. 1.5 litres, I think, possibly more. Three quarters of a litre of water. And some mediocre but very loud singing. Poor Arwyn. At least I only sang the Spandau Ballet, not the Adele…

WORD TO THE WISE: ARCADIA IS NOT A BRITISH CRUISE SHIP. IT WAS BUILT IN AMERICA AND ALL THE PLUG SOCKETS ARE AMERICAN, NOT BRITISH. I kid you not. When I went to Reception, I was told they don’t have any for loan and I would have to BUY a converter from the shop if I wanted to plug my laptop in anywhere other than in my cabin. Seriously. Am surprisingly furious, if I’m honest. There are things I can get over, but this is as close to outraged as I can recall being on a cruise (other than the Mayotte visa incident of 2007). I am disgusted and I will be making a formal complaint. I should not have to buy an adapter in order to charge my computer on a British cruise ship.

I’m re-blogging someone else’s blog piece here, because she says it just as well as I can, and I’ve added my comments at the bottom anyway.

The divide between ‘traveller’ and ‘tourist’ seems to me to be an entirely artificial construct, created by those who feel the need to be better than everyone and so a second category must be created for them to look down upon, with a somewhat ‘holier-than-thou’ attitude.

In my view, unless you have a postal address there, you’re a tourist. Get over it.

Please do add your comments. I’d be interested to know what others think on this point.

Click here to go to Cynthia Ord’s blog piece ‘Weighing-in-on-tourist-vs-traveler’

In “The Cruel Sea” (27 Feb 2010) I mentioned a trick performed by one of our waiters, using two forks, a wineglass and a toothpick.

I still have no idea how it works, but it’s just appeared in a repeat episode of The Mentalist (The Thin Red Line, Series 1 Episode 8).

Although very slightly different, in that he rested the toothpick on its midpoint on the edge of the glass and then used a match to burn away the half hanging over the glass. He also used a spoon and a fork, rather than two forks. But other than that, the trick is the same and I STILL don’t have the faintest idea how or why it works.

And a year on, it still bugs me just as much…

If anyone can put me out of my misery, please do!

Excursions – booked

Lunch in Ketchikan – booked

Travel journals – check

Typhoid jab renewal – ow

Foreign currency – found

Suitcase padlocks – found

Passport – located… phew…

Enough pages left in passport?!  Erm…

Planning a long cruise is a fairly epic exercise that has to be started months in advance.

The least is putting all the bills on direct debit. What about medication? I’ll be away for two and a bit months this time. So I’ve started ordering extra.

Regular readers will be familiar with my angst about taking enough, but not too much, by way of cosmetics, such as cleanser, moisturiser, etc.

This weekend we started booking excursions.  So far I have booked the following:

a helicopter trip over the montserrat volcano,

sailing on an america’s cup yacht,

seaplane over alaskan fjords,

dogsledding in alaska,

trip up the inside of a wind turbine in vancouver, and

astronaut training at the kennedy space center.

now, to swim with dolphins in mexico or not to swim with dolphins in mexico, that is the question…?

Wow, how adventurous do i sound, all of a sudden?!

If you’re wondering why I haven’t posted anything for a while. Sea days. Lots of them. Lovely. Proper relaxation, do nothing days. Almost like being on holiday!

Oh, by the way, the Code Alpha bloke survived two days, but then died. His wife and brother are still on board, apparently. Well, where would they go?

We’re so far from anything that the only thing marked on the Channel 1 You Are Here Shipping Chart is the Equator. We crossed the line at 2.30am this morning. Again. We’ve crossed it four times on this trip! The heat and humidity yesterday were stifling. Even the hardened (literally!) sunbathers could only stand about half an hour without shade. There was no breeze, nothing.

We’re in the Doldrums. There is no wind at the Equator. The Doldrums extend about five degrees north and south of the Equator. There is no wind and, usually, no sun, just cloud. We’ve been treated to blazing sunshine this time though, which is odd, but makes the heat and humidity even more oppressive. The Doldrums are synonymous with depression and misery in English parlance because there is no wind. In the days when the only mode of propulsion for your ship was wind, this was a dangerous and boring place to be. You would be becalmed, going nowhere, sometimes for weeks at a time, watching your food and water supplies dwindling by the day, waiting for a freak wind to appear from nowhere push you onwards to more active waters. Sometimes it never came. Wind here is rare (not like in Cape Town!) and many sailors perished because the Doldrums starved them to death or they died of thirst first. The only way out was to lower rowing boats and tow the ship until you found the wind. As long as you knew which way to go to find it…

We keep moving, of course, because we have four engines, which weigh four tonnes each, with 1500 tonnes of fuel, churning away beneath us. Most of the time we only use three, keeping one in reserve for the odd occasion we have to go at full pelt, which we have done a couple of times on this cruise, such as when we pegged it through the Malacca Straits. Most of the time, things are more relaxed than that though. It’s been a bit complicated recently though.

As I mentioned, we were trapped in Cape Town due to high winds. We left 15 hours late and had to give it everything we had to get to Walvis Bay. In the end we arrived a day late. To compensate for this in the itinerary, they cancelled the stop in St Helena, which upset a lot of people, but wasn’t all that unexpected, frankly. They’re always very pessimistic about getting into St Helena. It’s a tender port and the swell at the landing site can be up to 40 feet. No, really. 40 feet. The pier has ropes hanging down so that you can SWING ashore if necessary. Not really suitable for our passengers! It seems we have been very lucky to have been to St Helena in the past. No one else has ever seemed to make it! Everyone is very jealous when I say I’ve actually been there. Didn’t seem like a monumental achievement at the time, but still… Just goes to show. One person’s ordinary day is another’s unachieved dream.

It rained. No, that’s not really sufficient. What with gale force winds AND rain, it was, without a shadow of a doubt, the worst weather of the whole cruise. It was easily possible to comprehend how a place we considered a warm, sunny, almost tropical island, could experience such flooding that over 50 died. It fell down. But, troopers that we are, we weren’t going to let that get in the way of a good time. Dear me, no.

It was actually warm and sunny when we disembarked and queued for the shuttle bus. But the second the bus parked in town and opened its doors, the heavens opened. We legged it into McDonalds (the nearest shelter!) and then grabbed a cab. Our driver, Ricardo, drove us up through the town, pointing out damage caused by the flood waters and then out around the west of the island to a beautiful fishing village called Camara de Lobos (the cave of the seals). This is where Churchill used to come to paint. Yes, that Churchill. The restaurant where we ate is where he sat on the balcony and painted the harbour. Presumably in better weather, though…

The service in the restaurant was lethargic, to say the least, but the owner was friendly and the waiting staff (literally) were very obliging and we were in no hurry to go back out into that weather (although it was trying very hard to come in through the windows!), so we sat and chatted with Ricardo for a couple of hours. He used to live and work in Guernsey, so his English was superb, which helped, because our Portuguese is non-existent!

When the food did come (the delay was caused by them making the vegetable soup from scratch), the portions were huge and it was all delicious. I managed less than half of my lamb, which was heartbreaking because it was so yummy. We couldn’t possibly have eaten dessert, which was a shame, because the dessert trolley looked amazing. Oh well, can’t have everything!

Camara de Lobos is a beautiful little village and we had a look round before heading back towards Funchal. Ricardo dropped us at a shopping centre, because we were in a European country so we HAD to find the C&A! Oddly enough, the architects weren’t aware of Madeira’s propensity for rain because, even inside the mall, the roof was only a sort of mesh, so it was just as cold and rainy inside as out, although the wind was less. Very odd. Anyway, we found C&A and did our economic duty and then Ricardo drove us back into town. We visited the Dolce Vita mall, which has a coffee bar made to look like a giant grand piano. Dad went to the giant electronics store and bought a new camera. Trust him to only twig his was dying the day AFTER we left Japan…

Then we pootled sights and shops until it was time for us to go to Reids Palace, where i had booked a table for dinner in their italian restaurant, which overlooks the bay. Needless to say, we sat indoors… After a ludicrously civilised but eyewateringly expensive meal, we returned to the ship and crashed out.

We were in Madeira from noon til noon, so the next day, mum and dad got up (into blazing sunshine, i kid you not) and went to see the Festival of Flowers. They had laid flower carpets all down the centre of the main street. I stayed in bed. When we sailed, we began to realise just how big the island is, and just how little of it we’ve seen, despite our many visits. The eastern end looked particularly rugged and magical. Oh well, that’s for next time, I guess. There was a sailaway party on deck and several people were in tears as it started to dawn on them that the next time they saw land, we’d be home.

The packing is a nightmare. Every time I think I’m done I realise there’s a whole other cupboard/drawer to do. It’s never-ending. It’s not going to all go in. I’ll have to buy another bag, just for the blinking presents. Do you have any idea how much space a singing goat takes up? Granted, that’s for me, but still, you get the point.

Luckily, the sea has been like glass. Even the Bay of Biscay and the Western Approaches, which is very unusual indeed. My friends on the Arcadia went through a few days before and sent me an email to say that they had had lots of bumps but they had ironed out most of them for me. And they were right. The Bay of Biscay was like a millpond. We took photos, it was so flat. No one would believe us otherwise! People tend to get off or on in Spain or Madeira and fly the last bit to the UK, just to avoid the Bay, so you can see that it is usually rather rough. Not this time. Cosmic payback for Madeira trying to blow us clean off the island, maybe.

And so, the end is near, etcetera, etcetera and so forth. Goodbye Aurora, you’ve been a wonderful home and we’ll all miss you dreadfully.

Right, now, what do i do with 8,209 photos?

Cape Town is lovely. We quite like Cape Town. If we could just stop P&O and every South African we ever meet blathering on about how dangerous it is, it would be ideal. South Africans seem to take a strange pride in how dangerous their country is. It’s all they talk about. I dare you. Next time you meet a South African, get them into conversation about their home country and I’ll place a standing bet of a pound that in less than five minutes, they’ll have mentioned the violence and crime where they’re from, and how dangerous it is to live there without barbed wire and dogs and armed response units. I’m starting to think it’s a form of camouflaged racism. They’re not allowed to say “coloured people*/black people are bad/evil/lazy/scary”, so instead they bleat on about crime and violence and car-jackings and this leads them to mention unemployment and poverty and… TADA… we’ve found the darker skinned residents in the conversation. Amazing. I suppose it could just be me being cynical, but that’s how it seems to a rather jaded outsider. In fact, the only local I’ve ever met who DOESN’T talk like this is our Cape Convoy guide, Rob, but more of him later.

*’coloured’ here means mixed-race. It’s a specific term. It doesn’t cover all non-whites, like it does in the USA.

Anyway, Cape Town is beautiful. Not the town itself, which is a city, like any other, with pretty bits and ugly bits and office blocks and concrete. The waterfront, purpose built for tourists, to corral them in a place that they can fill with security guards and tell them is safe day and night, is, of course, lovely. Bars, restaurants, live music, restored old buildings, and quite possibly one of the world’s most disorientating shopping malls, full of names such as Gant, Hugo Boss, Keedo and anyone else with the chutzpah to charge those sorts of prices.

You may be able to tell by my tone that we’ve been here before. We’ve done the open top bus ride before. We’ve been up Table Mountain on a clear day (which apparently we were inordinately lucky with). Most days the Tablecloth comes down, which is a cloud that pours over the top and obscures everything. On days when the wind is strong enough to blow away the cloud, it is too windy to take the cable car up and it’s closed! So getting up there on a clear day seems to be somewhat of a lottery. It certainly wasn’t to be for those here for the first time on this trip. This time we had two days in Cape Town, the first of which there was absolutely no wind whatsoever. The Tablecloth was beautiful from the ground, but I can’t imagine they saw much from the top. And the second day was windy so the cable car was closed. Ain’t Mother Nature grand?!

We booked a private tour on Day 1, because, once again, P&O didn’t do tours that covered all the things we wanted to do. I suppose you have to limit things when you have a 60 seater coach. Getting P&O passengers on and off of these things is a bit like herding cats, and I wouldn’t want to be a tour guide trying to do so! When we have a small car or taxi or minibus, a photo stop is a minute, maybe two. On a tour, it’s a minimum of fifteen. Five to get everyone off – some have mobility issues, bad knees and so on – five to push in front of each other to take the photo and another five to get them all back on again. And there will always be two short when they do the headcount, so you have to wait for them before you can leave. Unless you’re in parts of the world that have a tendency to drive off without you, such as Mumbai.

So, anyway, our private tour. Pay attention. The company is called Cape Convoy. They have no big busses, only little minibuses and vans. So no cat-herding required. The lovely Rob, with the Ilford accent (I kid you not, he’s an Essex boy), picked us up from the ship (once he’d found it, that is – they really plonked us in the back of beyond this time!). Because the marathon was on, he reversed the route of the tour he had planned, as there were a few road closures, although by the time we got up and going, the marathon was almost over anyway. They start at 5.30am to avoid the midday heat.

We drove first to Simon’s Town, which despite its naval port history, is one of the prettiest little towns I have seen in a long time, and certainly the prettiest I’ve ever found in South Africa. We stopped for a coffee and some photos with the statue of Just Nuisance, the Great Dane dog who is a legend around here. When it was a naval port, he used to get on the train and come down to the port to see the sailors, and he would drink with them and walk them home if they were too sloshed to make it unaided. When the train company threatened to shoot him for riding for free all the time (nice people!), he was formally inducted into the British Navy, which entitled him to free train travel and meant they couldn’t shoot him as he was a British officer. When he got married (!), he had a full British Naval honour guard, and when he died he was buried with full military honours, gun salute, the works. You’ve got to love the British colonial way of thinking. No one else would be mental enough to do stuff like that.

Our second stop was Boulders, the penguin sanctuary. They have built a wooden boardwalk over the beach so that you can walk among the nesting penguins without disturbing their nests, which are just tucked into the sand. Beautiful, silly little creatures. So enchanting. We could have watched them for hours. How they felt about the screaming toddlers and shouting Japanese tourists, however, is anybody’s guess. In the little shop, I suggested they might put some signs up asking the visitors to be quiet, but as I was making this suggestion to a man who thought that staring hard at a malfunctioning till would make it work, I’m not holding out much hope for the poor penguins. (For those who are wondering, his telekinetic powers failed him and he had to eventually press a button and start again, after which it worked just fine.)

Rob then drove us down the east coast of the Cape, through Fishoek, a nice little town, built along the curve of the half moon-shaped beach where every six years or so someone gets eaten by a great white shark in less than three feet of water. Nice. I asked why no shark nets and Rob’s reply was that they can swim under and get in but then they can’t get out. It becomes a sort of buffet!

And onwards down to the Capes. Yes, CapeS. There are two. Now, pay attention. The Cape of Storms is on False Bay. It is the point where the two oceans meet – the Indian and the Atlantic. It’s usually quite rough here. In fact, Vasco de Gama went into False Bay and couldn’t get out for three weeks, because the winds were so strong. He named it the Cape of Storms. The Cape of Storms is now called Cape Point. It is the southerly most point of Africa. When we were there, on Saturday, it was like a millpond. Not a ripple. Remember, I said there was no wind on Day 1. The British built a lighthouse on it. I climbed up to it. You can’t go in it, but you can reach the viewing platform built around it. 120 rather deep steps up and 120 rather deep steps down. Two days later I still hurt. But the view is astonishing. There are no words to describe the sight, there really aren’t. You can see forever in every direction. It’s spectacular.

There is a restaurant there, called, rather unimaginatively, the Two Oceans. Dad said it should be called The Restaurant At the End of the World, but maybe Douglas Adams didn’t make it over here. The food is lovely, the service is good, and the waitresses and serving staff came out and sang an African song to us, complete with all the harmonies and everything. Lovely. Then I climbed the lighthouse and came back down again and we drove to the Cape of Good Hope. The Cape of Good Hope is the southWESTerlymost point of Africa. It’s very nearby! But it’s at ground level, so to speak. You just drive up, walk over to the sign, get your picture tooken and get back in the car. There’s not a lot there, not even much of a beach, but it’s pretty cool, nonetheless.

From there via Chapman’s Peak, Llandudno and so on back up the western coast. The scenery is breathtaking. Rock and cliff formations, with virtually no greenery (too blowy for trees) except in the more sheltered bays. Just barren and beautiful with a few scrub bushes here and there. We came back to Cape Town via Bantry Bay (Botany Bay as was), Camps Bay, where the houses are built into such steep cliffs they have little individual elevators to get up to them and where you can see Robben Island in the distance (28 year home of Nelson Mandela and now a bird sanctuary). And back into Cape Town, where Rob dropped us at the shopping mall at the V&A Waterfront I mentioned earlier. Incidentally, the V&A waterfront is not named after Queen Victoria and Prince Albert. It’s named after Victoria and ALFRED, her SON, who was apparently a big fan of this part of the world and did much to develop it, presumably while Victoria did India and Albert did England, well, London, anyway. So it’s the Victoria and Alfred Waterfront, which takes a bit of getting used to. Feels very odd to say.

So there you have it. Cape Convoy minibus tours. Superb. Interesting, informative, flexible and inexpensive. Ask for Rob, he’s brilliant.

Despite being utterly pooped, we did a little shop browsing and then retired to the Table Bay Hotel Atlantic Restaurant for dinner, which is WAY posher than it sounds. It’s a very old, very expensive hotel and the food is divine. It was during the meal that the wind started to blow, rattling the panels of the glass-roofed dining room above our heads. By the time we were back on the ship, it was pretty strong and we had trouble crossing the quay from the bus to the gangplank. It blew all night.

This meant that on Day 2, the boat trip we had postponed from Day 1 because of the marathon, out to Seal Island, had to be cancelled, as it was just too choppy. So we pootled around the shops and restaurants instead. Bought very little, but as it was Easter Sunday, there were Lindt people demonstrating chocolate-making in the Victoria Wharf, so at least there was some free chocolate! We came back to the ship about 4ish and I went to bed, as my exertions of the previous day were just starting to catch up with me. And just as I was dozing off, the Captain made an announcement. Due to the high winds (nearly 50 knots!), the port has been closed and we can’t leave. It’s just not safe. The estimate was that the winds would drop in the early hours of the morning, around 2am, so we would try and leave then. So instead of asking you to be back on board for 5.30pm, we are extending our stay to 11pm. Yay. Even after my nap there was no way I had the energy to go out partying, so we just went to dinner on board and then I went to bed at 10. It is now 6.30am and we are still here. and what is more, it looks pretty windy out (the mast webcam channel on the telly does have its uses!), so I reckon we may be here a good while longer… A fairly serious attack of wind, I think you’ll agree. We could be stuck here for DAYS!

How about this for a piece of bureaucratic stupidity? As a tourist, I am entitled to claim back the sales tax on the products I purchase in several countries, including South Africa. Duty Free is a wonderful thing, but you have to pay it and then claim it back, which is a bit trying. If I can even be bothered with the paperwork, that is. Anyway, in the purpose-built waterfront area, right next to the cruise terminal, there is a tax reclaim office. How brilliant is that? Perfect. But cruise passengers cannot use it. It’s for airport passengers only. Cruise passengers have to go into the centre of the city to make their claims. What kind of a moron puts the airport office by the water and the water office in the city?! Seriously?! Are you high?! Just astonishing. Just goes to show, you can never overestimate the stupidity of human beings. Whatever anyone may tell you, wherever you are in the world, the international language is not English, it’s Stupid, and most people speak it fluently.

For the more observant amongst you, who were wondering what I was doing awake at 6.30am, cast your minds back to the early editions of this blog. I mentioned I sleep a lot on cruise ships because of the rocking motion. Conversely, therefore, when it isn’t rocking, I find it hard to sleep. If we’re tied up and stationary, we aren’t rocking. I find it very difficult to sleep when we’re in port. Likewise, when I get back to the UK, it’ll be days before I get a decent night’s sleep.

(We later set sail at about 8.30am. I know this because when I woke at 9 we were pitching nicely.)(Remember the difference between pitching and rolling?)

Things I have learned on this cruise:

– Some basic Spanish
– About three phrases of Italian
– About three phrases of Welsh
– About three phrases of Chinese
– The designer label Salvatore Ferragamo does over 54% of its business in Asia and Japan. Of its 88 stores worldwide, 61 are in Asia and Japan.
– Some basics of neuroscience. No, really. It’s been fascinating.
– Art is the new retirement. Timmy Mallett, Dave Lee Travis. If in doubt, paint, or in the case of DLT, make photographic art. Funny old world…
– Maintaining a scrapbook is hard work. And one roll of sellotape is not enough to do the job.
– Taking a second credit card with you in case of emergencies is all very well and good, but losing the pin number is somewhat counterproductive…

This is getting a bit waffly so I think I’ll end here for now. Happy belated Easter to you all. Enjoy the snow.

Post script: 8.45pm

“This is the Bridge. Code Alpha. Code Alpha. Code Alpha. Deck 8 Photo Gallery.”

Oh dear. Code Alpha is Collapsed Passenger Probable Heart Attack.

Things you never want to see on a cruise ship #1. Both doctors. Running.

And now they’ve paged a Mrs someone. Presumably his wife. Not good. Not good at all…

Two ports in two days. Not as exhausting as three in three days, but fairly hectic nonetheless. Leaves no time for blogging, I assure you!

Mauritius first. We were moored in the container port. Again. Tiresome, isn’t it? And you’re just reading about it, you try living with it! Luckily, the container port isn’t far from town. Unluckily, there is a one-way system that means the shuttle bus has to drive all the way through the busiest part of town (read: solid traffic) to the other side to turn around to come back again to go into the waterfront area that can only be entered from one direction. Lovely bit of planning that, thanks. The purpose-built waterfront complex has a cruise berth, but there was a Costa ship parked in it. As far as I can tell from what I’ve heard from fellow passengers, Costa is basically similar to P&O (both owned by Carnival, of course), but with better parking spaces and terrible entertainment. So take your pick…

The waterfront complex is shops and cafes and stuff to please tourists, such as officially-regulated craft shops with labels saying “no child labour” and stuff. I bought my dodo and my t-shirt and postcards within minutes of arrival, which is nice, because it means I don’t have to think about it or remember to do it later (or forget, like I did in Burnie), I can just relax and enjoy the rest of the day. Got to buy a dodo in Mauritius (which is called Ile de Maurice by the French). Just got to. I like visiting a place called Morris. Sounds friendly. It IS friendly. They’re very nice people. They all learn English, French and Creole at school, so there are no communication issues whatsoever, which makes a VERY refreshing change, I can tell you. It’s a funny place though. The currency is the Mauritian RUPEE, I kid you not, there are 25 to the pound, roughly, and the writing on the bank notes is in English, French and SANSKRIT. Keep up here. They are almost all of Indian descent, they mostly speak French and they drive on the LEFT and all the road signs are in English. Still with me? The cars are even right-hand drive, just like the UK. Trust me, it’s all VERY odd.

Anyway, we pootled around the town a little and then it started to drizzle* so we dived in a cab and went to the Pamplemousse Gardens. Good idea. It’s raining? Let’s go to the most exposed and least sheltered place for miles around. Smart. Got SOAKED. Quite refreshing, though, after the stifling heat and humidity of the morning. It did clear the air a bit and once you got sheltered, it was still hot enough that we were virtually dry in a matter of minutes. The drive out to Pamplemousse was twenty minutes, which allowed us to see the real Mauritius, rather than just the capital city version. It seems like a fairly poor country, although there are modern-looking roads and schools and so on. Mauritius is an independent country, consisting, in fact of three islands, not one – the other two are Rodrigues and St Brandon. So now you know. The Dutch arrived, introduced sugar plantations, slavery and rats, killed all the Dodos and then left. The French used it as a base for attacking English ships, which, funnily enough, didn’t go down well, so the English booted them out and took over in 1814. They abolished slavery and introduced paid workers from India (hence the Sanskrit and rupees) and then in 1968 Mauritius became independent. The capital, Port Louis, was founded by the French Governor, Mahe de Labourdonnais. Did you spot that? Mahe (pronounce Ma -hay). As in the capital of the Maldives. See? It’s all linked around here. Everything is connected. His name will pop up again in Reunion, as well, have no fear. He got around. A LOT. English is the official language and they are the world’s third largest exporters of woollen knitwear. Like I said, it’s all VERY odd!

When we got back from the beautiful but rainy Pamplemousse Gardens, we stopped for a crepe (well, when in French-speaking countries…) which took ages and was STONE COLD when it arrived. It’s obviously called the Sunset Cafe because you order at noon and get your food at sunset. Seriously, I’m not a fan of hot food, I like tepid or cold food, always, but this was virtually refrigerated, it was so cold. Shame, because they were otherwise very nice indeed! The service at this place was shocking. When they can’t even be bothered to bring you the bill, you know you’re in the presence of the really apathetic. It took us the best part of an hour to order, eat and pay for two Oranginas, a Diet Coke and three identical plates of pancakes. If we’d ordered anything more complex, we’d probably still be sitting there! On the plus side, they allowed us to pay partly in rupees and partly in US dollars, so we reboarded the ship with no local currency left whatsoever. This is a Good Thing, because, whether or not you would LIKE to come back, you have to face the possibility that you won’t. Ever. So leftover currency is simply an exercise in futile clutter, and whilst I’m sure the RNLI** would appreciate it, none left is simpler.

I hadn’t realised how much the heat had affected me until after dinner, when I suddenly realised I was completely worn out. So I was in bed by 8.30pm. Slept til 3. Swore at the ceiling for an hour and then had some very, very odd dreams until my alarm went off at 7.30. Gotta get up. It’s Reunion!

I was booked on an excursion today, which is something we don’t often say any more! My parents just took the shuttle to St Gilles les Bains, the only deliberately seasidey touristy place. It was apparently very pleasant. Trouble was, due to the change in itinerary, this stop was bumped to a Sunday, and Reunion is a Christian country so everything was shut. But they had a nice time anyway. I got up at the crack of dawn to catch the tour bus to the volcano. There are two main volcanoes on Reunion, one which is extinct and one which erupts every year. A little bit. Not explosive or dangerous, but the lava flows in 2007 ran down into the sea and extended the island by 800 acres. So active enough, thank you very much. Piton de la Fournaise is, however, not the highest point on the island. This honour goes to Piton les Neiges, the extinct one, which is high enough that it snows on the top at night, but not high enough that it doesn’t melt in the morning! Apparently, you need another 2,000 ft before you can ski! We had the most wonderful driver (Fabrice) and the best tour bus guide in the world (Jean-Paul). He told us history, politics, civil service structure, exports, imports, economy, employment, religions, you name it, I now know it.

Reunion is a French department, which means that it is officially part of mainland France. And it is VERY French. They use the Euro, they drive on the right and they have that rigid thinking that I’ve talked about before, where if you don’t ask the right question, you don’t get the right answer.

For example, if, in England, for example, you asked a shop assistant, “Do you take US dollars?”, you’d probably get an answer along the lines of “No, but we can take credit cards, if that helps”. In France and Reunion, it’s just “No”. You then have to ask a fresh question “Do you take plastic?”, to which you will get a yes response. The French don’t volunteer information the way we do. It’s a funny feeling to be back in that way of thinking, although I was so enjoying being able to speak French all day, nothing could bother me.

The plains leading to the volcano and the volcano itself are completely barren. Nothing grows. The guide compared it to the surface of the Moon and it’s not hard to see why. It is breathtakingly beautiful and I would recommend that everyone goes to see it. This will please the Reunionais people, although the French like to keep Reunion as their own secret hideaway, so they’ll be none too chuffed if all my readers start descending on the place! But, seriously, if you get the chance, you MUST go. It’s not very energetic, physically, even though the air is a little thin at 9,000 feet, but do go. Really do. And if you hire a coach from Transports Mooland (I kid you not), ask for Jean-Paul as your guide. He’s hilarious. He tells jokes, he sings songs, we had the most amazing time. One of my favourite lines was when we needed to cross the road to get to the viewing platform. He asked us to be careful of the traffic, as he didn’t want us to get run over and damage any French cars. Brilliant bloke, can’t praise him highly enough.

We drove around virtually the entire island during the course of the day, only missing out the far south-east corner. We even went to the capital, Saint Denis, which, being a Sunday, was completely shut. Pretty colonial buildings, though, so it was an interesting drive. The island completely shuts down on Sundays. There aren’t even any markets! This surprised me greatly, as when I lived in France, I did my weekly shop on Sunday at the market. Here, there are no markets. Nothing. Luckily, this didn’t include our restaurant, museum or volcano gift shop stops, so I am fully provisioned as regards postcards and t-shirts! Had you worried there for a second! However, the price of stamps from here was extortionate (a quid each, seriously?!), so I won’t post them til South Africa. I may get home before them. Now there’s a sobering thought…

The fact is that the end is nigh, people. We are a week short of the three month mark and everyone is talking about going home. Swapping email addresses, talking about school or work or laundry or just how much they don’t want to be on the last stretch. I don’t envy Bobby Davro. He’s going to be playing to a bunch of seriously depressed people. They’re going to be a tough crowd. Some are even closer to the end. They’re getting off in Cape Town. Even if they’re doing an onward excursion for a week or two, they won’t be on the ship any more. Good grief, that’s depressing. I’m sitting here realising all the people I have to say goodbye to over the next couple of days. Granted, there are over 800 people doing the whole thing, but still, there are an awful lot of goodbyes to come.

Cruise friendships are powerful stuff. Somewhat similar to university friendships, in a way. You spend all day every day with someone. You go out to eat or clubbing or to the theatre together EVERY NIGHT for three months. That’s more than I see some of my best and closest friends in an entire year. Even if you skip the nights before ports(to be fresh in the morning) and the nights after ports (to recover), with 39 ports, that’s 78 nights lost (not all of which were, of course, otherwise I wouldn’t have been so hungover in Piraeus!). So even if you skip 78 nights out, that still leaves 26 nights out with your mates. How many people do you go out with 26 times in a year? I can think of people I HOLIDAY with that I don’t spend that much time with! And then there’s the daytime. You bump into people on deck, by the pool, in the restaurant, at activities, on tour buses. A cruise is a wonderful thing if you’re a sociable person. When I lived on campus at university, I used to have to build in extra time to walk from A to B to allow for stoppage time when I bumped into people, something I really miss in the real world. But on a cruise ship, the same rules apply. You need to be somewhere at 3 that’s a 4 minute walk away? Leave at quarter to. You might just make it on time. Maybe…

So saying goodbye to cruise friends is quite distressing and is often a terrible wrench. I still miss the friends who got off in Singapore 1, for heaven’s sake! You come from all corners of the globe, not just the UK. I’ve made friends from Australia, South Africa, Malta…You may never see these people again, even the Brits. The chances of me ever seeing the ones who live in Cumbria, for example, bearing in mind I live in London, are pretty remote, let’s face it.

So the goodbyes begin today. People are packing, planning, thinking ahead to real life, planning flights, paying bills. There is very little joy left on board. Like I said, when Bobby Davro gets on, he’s really got his work cut out.

Great, I’m SO depressed now, I think I’m going back to bed.

* Welcome to the tropics. Bring an umbrella.

** The Royal National Lifeboat Institution is the British charity that funds all the UK’s lifeboats without any Government help. They accept any amounts of any currency whatsoever, so if you see a collection box or boat, you can put in all your leftover currency and they will convert it into usable funds.