What an absolutely lovely island. The people are not without their flaws, however, but humans are humans, I suppose, but more of that later. Aruba is one of the ABC islands that make up the Dutch Antilles, namely Aruba, Bonaire and Curacao, but don’t try spending euros here, they only want American dollars and, unless you specifically ask, they will try and give you your change in East Caribbean Dollars. It is odd holding a coin that says ‘One East Caribbean States Dollar’ on one side and has the Queen’s head on the other. Yes, Queen Elizabeth the Second. Yes, I know I said it was the DUTCH Antilles. Yes, it is part of the Kingdom of the Netherlands. Like I said, it’s confusing. I don’t think the Netherlands royal family has a Queen Elizabeth the Second, I’m pretty sure it’s our queen. It’s not a Barbadian dollar, that’s for sure, but other islands, such as St Kitts, Antigua, Dominica, St Lucia, St Vincent and the Grenadines and Grenada use the ECD as well… I think. I’m sure the Netherlands does have a royal family, but I don’t claim to be an expert. Can someone ask James for me? I thought the Euro would be currency here, but apparently not. The trouble is that every single island around the Caribbean has a different language and most have a different currency and my guide book, which was last updated in 2008, seems woefully out of touch, and is so virtually worthless on the topic. Luckily, they ALL accept the US dollar (except Cuba), so as long as you remember to ask for US change, it’s not really a big problem. It’s just making my head hurt a bit.

Anyway, I digress. Aruba is lovely. They know their market (most American cruise ships stop here) and the usual dose of Diamonds International, Emeralds International and cigar shops line the road that runs between the dock and the town. In fact, most of the shops in Oranjestad are jewellers or expensive designer labels. There is free wifi and cafes to eat at, including all the major US chains, such as Iguana Joe’s, Hard Rock Cafe, Pizza Hut and Dunkin Donuts. In fact the only non-chain cafe I could find was closed! Mum and Dad saw Wendys, KFC, Senor Frog’s and another Hard Rock on their excursion out of town, as well. They took a glass-bottomed boat to look at the fish on the coral reef and also saw a shipwreck under the sea. I refrained from taking yet another boat and just pootled around the town on my own. It’s really very pretty indeed, particularly as one of the shopping malls, centred around jewellery and t-shirt shops as per the norm, was designed to look vaguely like an Indian temple, only pink. I’ll try and upload a photo. It is by far the prettiest shopping mall I have ever seen.

Minimum spends on credit cards exist here, as with many of the islands we have visited, but, unfortunately, this place is so much cheaper, it is virtually impossible to spend twenty dollars! In one bar, I bought a cocktail, a large Diet Coke and a bowl of fries, but I still only spent eleven dollars! I simply couldn’t take in any more! In St Maarten, a t-shirt cost about twenty dollars, so that was easy. Here, they cost ten, which makes things much more cash-intensive!

Mercifully, the Dutch Antilles are not only far enough west and south (only 17 miles from Venezuela) to be beyond the hurricane belt, but are also coral, not volcanic, and therefore not rainforest and not nearly as humid as previous ports, so we only had heat to contend with, which is much easier to take, particularly in conjunction with a light sea breeze. In order to protect the coral, in fact, which virtually surrounds the island and most of which is protected National Marine Park, we were escorted in, through a very narrow channel, by a tug which nudged us if we veered too near the edge of the demarcated line. Being nudged by a tug is no little thing, trust me. We got quite a jolt!

Anyway, I said I would talk about humans. There was a cruise ship full of Americans in today, which probably made town probably significantly more noisy than it otherwise might have been. Don’t get me wrong, Americans are lovely and always friendly, but they are a noisy bunch!

As regards noise, they need to build a bypass. They’ve created this beautiful waterfront shopping heaven with food and all lovely stuff and they’ve even build a little clock tower with a carillon on top (that plays at completely random intervals), but then they drive container lorries with engines that make your ears bleed right through the middle. Definitely time to build a bypass or motorway of some sort.

But it was a local woman who made the most noise. She left a bag on a bench and a homeless man walked off with it. When she challenged him, he asked for money in exchange for its return. She refused and threatened to call the police, but in the end, she just left without it. The shop assistant explained that the homeless man hadn’t stolen anything, he had simply taken what he found, perfectly legitimately. Clearly, the law is different here, because in England we have an offence called Stealing by Finding. But here, everyone just shrugged and let him walk away with whatever it was he had found. And before you ask, no, I don’t speak the local lingo – every island has its own patois, you’d go insane learning them all – she explained it to me in English!

Tonight, we have each received our specially-printed invitation from someone called BBC World News to attend the wedding of some people called Kate and William. 4am, they want me to turn up on Friday, apparently. Yeah, right. I don’t care how much or little of a royalist you are, 4am is a bit much…

Now, pay attention. Barbados is NOT part of the Caribbean Curve. It’s 100 miles or so east and isn’t even made of volcanic rock. It’s made of two separate masses of coral rock that merged together.

The motto of Barbados is Pride and Industry. Not much of the latter on show today, that’s for sure. Barbados is shut. Well, it is Easter Sunday, to be fair. But when I say shut, I mean shut. There are opening scenes in 28 Days Later that have more activity. We pootled through the terminal shops, as is clearly standard practice in the West Indies, and purchased some postcards, which mum is now sitting writing industriously. Once outside, we found a cab to drive us into town, but the whole place was shut down. Metal shutters as far as the eye can see. Even the supermarkets and convenience stores are closed. Nothing, except, I imagine, the churches, is open for business. We asked to go to the Waterfront Cafe, recommended by both guide book and personal friends (thanks, Ange and Karen!), but even that was closed. So we fell back on what we knew to be safe – the Boatyard.

This where we came last time and was probably the only place open in Bridgetown. You buy a wristband which allows you to use the beach, the equipment and the bars and restaurants and wifi and then you walk through to the beach. They have cabanas and sun loungers and umbrellas and things in the water to swim out to and lie on and a rope swing to dump you in the water. And a bar in the shade and music that is not too loud if you sit at the other end. And the bluest, most startlingly turquoise water you have ever seen. The kind of blue you see on holiday brochures or CSI: Miami and assume they’ve used a red filter to get it that bright. Water so clear and turquoise and sand so white, it’s hard to believe it’s real. I can’t tell you how lovely it is here. If I’d realised we’d end up here, I’d have bought my cozzie and a towel, because the water looks ever so tempting, although I imagine the sand is scorchingly hot underfoot, so getting there would be tricky! Your wristband entitles you to one free drink, as well, which is a nice touch. The barman accidentally poured two diet cokes, and when we pointed it out, he said “Ah, just take it”. So I got TWO free drinks, which is even nicer!

It’s weird doing absolutely nothing. Just sitting watching the world, with no purpose or action or movement. No duties or plans or things to do or even think about. Mum dozed, dad went for a wander, I just sat and stared at the water. It was almost like meditation, watching my own thoughts wander past. I spotted the DJ from the ship, who is going home this evening, playing football on the sand. That got Together in Electric Dreams running through my head, as we sang it together the other night, which meant I then found myself thinking about the concert at Audley End where I heard Phil Oakey sing it live, and that was the day it rained so hard, we could barely see. So I found myself sitting on a beach in Barbados, where it was blazing sunshine and 30 degrees in the shade, thinking about heavy rainfall. Like I said, it’s weird watching your thoughts wander past – you never know where they’re going.

This evening I voted. My postal vote was sent from Huntingdon to Southampton, whence it was forwarded to Barbados to meet the ship. Despite a little left hand not knowing what the right hand was doing, and repeated denials of the existence of any envelope whatsoever with my name on, with enough nagging they found my envelope and delivered it to my cabin just before dinner. I was then able to complete both ballots, local election and referendum on the Alternative Vote, and seal up the envelope. I then went to reception and bought far too many stamps (possibly as high as three times that required) to ensure that nothing stops its safe return to Huntingdon for the count. My parents went down the proxy route, which means my poor uncle has to deal with it for both of them, as well as his own. Simpler from their point of view, but the control freak in my nature likes it this way.

I have spoken to other people on board whose local councils refused to accommodate their voting whilst being away. After some discussion, they conceded that they may not have asked the right questions or pressed hard enough for inclusion. Having personally been deliberately and maliciously disenfranchised during the last round of local elections by a delay in the moving of a ward boundary, there was no way I was going to miss out this time. I know some disagree, but I am very passionate about my right to vote and being on the wrong side of the world isn’t going to stop me. In particular, the potential for a permanent change to the way Britain votes in the future is far too important to leave to the whims of others and I was determined to make my voice heard. So dad and I went ashore and walked back into the terminal to put the envelope in the postbox ourselves. I could have simply handed it in to Reception for them to post, or put it in the on board postbox, but for the sake of a ten minute walk, I have now personally put it into the Barbados postal system, so the number of people able to make a mistake with it is now reduced to the bare minimum, and all I can do now is hope it arrives back in time. Job done.

I’m always intrigued by intelligent friends of mine who don’t vote. It’s not often anyone asks your opinion, so when they do, why would you not contribute? It’s not like you don’t have an opinion, everyone does, so express it. Never mind the number of people who have fought, been jailed and died for your right to vote, it’s your chance to express your opinion and shape the way the country works. I can’t even begin to comprehend the idea of not wanting to be a part of that. If you don’t vote, you can’t complain about what you end up with – licensing laws, schools, hospitals, the nhs, legal aid, benefits, immigration, potholes, dog licensing, straight bananas, the price of petrol, none of it. If you can look me in the eye and tell me that none of the above affect you or your life or your family and none of them matter, then fine, but otherwise, you should be voting.

Last time I checked there was a spellcheck function in PowerPoint, isn’t there? There’s a page on the television Passenger Information Channel which informs us that the “Captial” of Barbados is Bridgetown. Okay, so you may not give a rat’s whatsit about typing this stuff, but couldn’t you at least re-read it, just once? Pleeeeease? I’m not asking for a great deal and I’m sure it would cost you nothing in time or financial terms. Just click on the spellcheck button. Just once. That’s all we ask.

In fact, we’ve been having issues with punctuation for several days now. Dad has been particularly put out by a plasma screen playing a PowerPoint of information next to the Excursions Desk which said that “Our local agents have informed us that we will be arriving in St Maarten on Good Friday!!!” No, really. Three exclamation marks. Would you like to stick an ‘OMG!’ on the end as well, for good measure? Are you really so devoid of any intelligence whatsoever that you don’t realise that Good Friday is the same date all over the world? P&O, what kind of morons are you employing exactly? We managed to work it out for ourselves before we even left Southampton!!! To try and add extra exclamation marks in a rather fatuous attempt to insinuate that it came as a complete surprise to you is, frankly, insulting to your passengers, and dad, for one, is more annoyed by the exclamation marks than the shop closures. We knew they would be happening, we just didn’t realise how stupid you’d be assuming we are at the same time. And, yes, they did put up a similar message for Easter Sunday in Barbados. *sigh*

St Lucia is lovely. The view from the ship was amazing, nothing but green treetops, punctuated by the occasional red-tiled house roof, as far as the eye can see. But St Lucia is HUGE. The official thing to say is “twice the size of the Isle of Wight”, which means nothing to most people. But it is MASSIVE. It’s not a cute little island you can drive around in an hour or so.

St Lucia is one of the volcanic islands that make up the Caribbean Curve of islands. Hurricane-prone, rainforest-covered volcanic rock. Yes, feel free to read that again. Rainforest-covered. Whatever anyone tells you about the Caribbean, it is mostly rainforest, and, as a consequence, the humidity is ludicrous. It feels like we’re all suffering from very low level pleurisy. The air is so moist, our lungs simply can’t process it, and I know of at least one elderly friend who has ended up in the Medical Centre on oxygen, because his heart can’t clear the liquid from his lungs fast enough. Even I’m finding it a little harder to breathe than normal. The end result of which is that every step you take takes more effort that you ever imagined possible. Luckily, all the recent islands are used to this and provide LOTS of places for mum to sit down and take a breather. I’m even having to take a few, myself.

We took an early morning boat ride out to look for dolphins and whales. The size of the island only really becomes apparent when you try and sail around it. We sailed for an hour and a half and barely made it a quarter of the way around. We saw some dolphins, but unfortunately, our boat captain was an idiot and whenever he saw a pod of dolphins, he put the engines on full throttle and drove straight at them. Needless to say, they scattered. Surprise, surprise. What a fool. He got precisely no tip whatsoever. But we saw a few and it was a pleasant enough morning. I did, however, get very, VERY burned, particularly on my arms, despite applying and reapplying my sun cream several times.

The shops on St Lucia’s quayside were a delight (except for the karaoke bar with the REALLY loud microphone, which was disturbing us before we even got off the ship). A mixture of touristy stuff, clothes, jewellery and handicrafts. I bought two t-shirts and had to deliberately stop myself buying more. I am particularly happy to say that one of them was manufactured in Haiti. This is cool, because it means that their economy is boosted by my tourism here (Haiti is also in the Caribbean Curve). It is possible to be a tourist with a conscience, and to bring benefit to the world, whilst still travelling and exploring. We all joke that we aren’t shopping, we’re boosting the local economy, but in fact we are really doing both and the benefit is genuinely mutual.

Mum bought a hand-carved duck from the artist himself, who had a little stall of his work and he amended the beak to mum’s requirements, which proved they were really his own work. It was made of white cedar stained with brown Kiwi boot polish. How creative is that?! His cousin is also an artist and is making something to be presented for the Royal Wedding, apparently. See? There’s no escape the approaching nuptials, even here!

The sailaway party today was all about patriotic songs – a bit of Welsh, Irish and Scottish before the Englishness kicked in for St George’s Day. We did Jerusalem, Rule Britannia, even the National Anthem (and, yes, most people did stand!). Even dinner was “British” – roast beef and Yorkshire pudding.

Today was Hayley, Ted and John’s last night, so we went out for a drink with Sheila and Dave at the pub. Sheila and Dave then invited us to their suite, which was immense! They have the back left-hand corner of the ship, essentially, with an L-shaped balcony, a butler and his and hers bathroom sinks! All very swanky. They then turned in and Hayley, John and I went up onto Deck 9 for further drinks and talking until 2am. They had to pack before they went to bed, so that their suitcases could be sorted overnight. Apparently, it took a hour! I’m going to miss them dreadfully, and can only hope we don’t lose touch. They’ve been told that their flight is delayed, so they are being put up in the Marriott overnight. Huzzah for Thomson inefficiency! Ironically, the flight is delayed coming in, which means we have to stay as well, to wait for our new passengers. This will make us late into Aruba. Marvellous. Oh well, can’t have everything, I suppose.

Poor St Maarten. It’s not the island’s fault. It’s not the people’s fault. They’re lovely. But half an hour before it was time to leave, it was announced that the America’s Cup crewing excursion I was booked on was cancelled, due to lack of wind. We’ve been through some astonishing levels of wind in the past week, and yet, when we get here, there isn’t enough to even lift the flag on the bow. On the mastcam on the telly, it can be seen hanging like a wet dishrag. So I won’t be crewing an America’s Cup yacht around part of the America’s Cup course. Disappointment No. 1.

So I changed my clothes and we went ashore instead. There is a lovely little purpose-built quayside, with the usual, eye-wateringly expensive shops and some cheaper ones as well. The stuff on offer was lovely, and I bought a few gifts and a t-shirt (or two…). We stopped for a drink with a gecko and a chicken. Mum was finding it hard to deal with the heat, so we went back to the ship, and its associated air con, for lunch.

We went back out again with the intention of taking a taxi tour of at least part of the island, but they have carteled the prices and mum and dad decided it was too expensive. So we just went into town, Philipsburg, and Dad and I walked along the Broadwalk, which reminded us very much of Na’ama Bay in Sharm El Sheikh. This means, essentially, a purpose-built, crescent-shaped beachfront with beautiful white coral beaches like you see in the postcards, umbrellas and sunloungers to the left and bars and restaurants to the right. Most of which were open on the seafront, whereas one street further back, the main shopping area of the town was utterly desolate, completely shut down.

Because the other problem is that we are in Dutch (and French) territory on Good Friday. So everything is shut (except, presumably, the churches). It’s tricky to see what a place is really like when it’s shut. Disappointment No. 2. Even if I had remembered to bring my euros ashore, I couldn’t spend them.

So we went back to the port. We had another drink and enjoyed the sunshine and then the parents went back to the ship and I wandered around the shops a little longer before returning myself.

We had a fabulous sailaway party on deck 9 and then I rushed to dinner and the evening proceeded as usual. I avoided alcohol and opted for an early night, as the back to back port thing is starting to get to me a bit.

WARNING: RANT AHEAD

Good morning, welcome to St Maarten. Now, I know that you are all British and stupid and desperate to get off the ship and onto the beach to start damaging your skin in earnest. So you can now go ashore and do just that. The shops and restaurants near the ship and the beach are open, despite the fact that it is the holiest day in the Christian calendar. So off you go, go for it.

Quarter to eight in the morning. Read that again. Slowly. Quarter to EIGHT. Not quarter to NINE. Quarter to EIGHT. SEVEN FORTY-FIVE IN THE MORNING. Yes, of COURSE I was asleep! Wouldn’t you be at QUARTER TO EIGHT in the morning when you’re on holiday?! I don’t even get up that early when I’m working, for pity’s sake!

Now, granted, I have an excursion at ten I need to be up for, but it is going to be hard work and I also therefore need SOME SLEEP BEFOREHAND. Yes, I appreciate that it is already 25 degrees in the shade, and, yes, I am also aware that we are leaving slightly early today, at half four, in order to get to St Lucia on time tomorrow, so time to damage your skin and your wallet is slightly more limited than you might otherwise like.

But, QUARTER TO EIGHT? Seriously?

Happy Good Friday, everybody. I’m going BACK TO BED. My alarm is set for NINE, not eight, and certainly not seven anything.

Antigua

Wow. There is no way to describe the humidity today. The air temperature in the shade is in the high 80s, but the humidity is monumental. There is little or no breeze at ground level and shade is a precious commodity. Still, Antigua is a friendly place and everyone is willing to share their shelter.

What a good-natured friendly bunch Antiguans are. As you disembark the ship and walk into the centre of their little capital, St John’s, you are greeted by the usual taxi tour offers and then find yourself at a crowd of stalls that stretches back seemingly forever, in which lots of different women try to sell you almost identical items. But they’re so NICE about it! Even when you’re being pressure-sold, or someone is trying to con you, they’re so nice about it, it’s almost a pleasure! The plus side for the canny shopper is that you see what you want and keep going from stall to stall until you find it in the size and colour you want and then you haggle over price. At 18 dollars, my polo-neck shirt was still over-priced, but it wasn’t the 25 she initially asked for, and as the woman who wanted 15 dollars didn’t have my size, I don’t think I did too badly.

The taxi drivers are equally nice and also speak perfect English, so they can’t pretend they didn’t understand “No, thank you”! They only ask once, twice tops, unlike some other countries where they literally chase you down the street. This attitude is also more laid back because we are on Island Time. Here, cruise ships are like buses, there will be another along shortly, so why worry? Only two cruise ships in today – us and Adventure of the Seas (Royal Caribbean). It’s a wee bit bigger than us, but, boy, what an ugly ship! Sorry, RCL! The front is studded with what must be picture window cabins, but it just looks like a spider with hundreds of eyes staring at you. And the back and sides aren’t much to look at either. Apparently, the port can hold up to seven cruise ships at once, although I’m not sure where they’d put them! We both ran out of pier before we ran out of ship, and we are not the largest things afloat by a long chalk!

Anyway, we got off at about 9.30ish and wandered into town. I bought a t-shirt and a diet coke. Mum and dad bought postcards, a fridge magnet and a Fanta – of the rather virulent International Orange/ Easyjet orange colour I encountered last time we were in the Caribbean. I’m getting used to it now. It doesn’t terrify me nearly so much as it used to! Clearly, they are not worried about the effects of food colourings here! We pootled on foot through town and declined all offers of tours of the island, as I had to be back for my stupidly timed excursion. Mum wasn’t feeling good anyway, so we returned to the ship about half eleven so I could grab a bite before heading off. This was our first day of real heat and humidity and we haven’t acclimatised yet. Everything felt like hard work.

John Bird, our helicopter rep, corralled us together and we took a people carrier with dubious air con out to the heliport which is on the edge of town. There, we had a safety briefing video and read the cards you usually find in the back of aeroplane seats, and we all put on a little lifejacket in a pouch which you have to wear around your waist – think a cross between a yellow bumbag/fanny pack and a poncho anorak/foldaway raincoat – and then off we went. Six went into the seven-seater red helicopter – they went off first – and then we got into the little five-seater blue- green helicopter. I refrained from calling it Budgie. I got to ride shotgun! There were some complicated seat belts and headsets and stuff to arrange and then the rotors started. To be honest, the noise wasn’t nearly as loud as I expected, but I can see how prolonged exposure to it would be bad for your ears. Our headsets all had microphones so we could talk to each other and ask the pilot questions, but he was so informative, there wasn’t much to say! It was 35 degrees in the cockpit, but when we took off, a breeze came in the window and reduced it to 27 degrees, much more manageable.

Lift-off was a little disorientating. I’ve never been in a helicopter before, but I’ve seen them on tv, and I knew that the tail would lift off first, so I wasn’t that surprised to find myself tipping towards the ground, but it’s an unsettling experience, nonetheless! It took me a moment or two after he straightened up to calm myself, but after that, it just felt amazing. First he flew us over the ship, which was entertaining, as there was not a single soul on deck to wave to us. What a wasted opportunity! Then he headed across over the town and out to sea. I took some photos of the clear water, which, despite being nearly 100 foot deep in places, is still clear enough that you can see the coral on the bottom, and a few of the coral reef (Cade’s Reef, I think it’s called) which is the best place to snorkel, as well as distance shots of Guadeloupe and St Nevis, which are only forty or so miles away in either direction.

Then, at a height of 1500 feet, we flew over Montserrat. He flew us right around the volcano, and showed us the destruction wrought by the pyroclastic flows, which travelled at speeds of up to 100mph and simply buried everything in their path on their way to the sea. When they cooled and hardened to form new land and black beaches, Montserrat was so much bigger that it was nearly two miles nearer to Antigua! He flew over where the city of Plymouth had been and where they THINK the airport was… Very few people died in the eruptions – only twenty-odd who refused evacuation, out of a total of over eleven thousand -, but the city is no more. Two thirds of the island is now an exclusion zone and the remaining 4,500 people live at the other end. They struggle financially as they have no tourism and apparently drug trafficking is becoming a worrying side industry. Entering the exclusion zone either by land or by sea is an arrestable offence. The remaining residents have an airstrip that ends in a steep drop. Seriously, it’s a cliff edge. I took a photo of it. Earlier this week, a pilot drove off the side into a ditch rather than go off the end, as he feared he was going to.

Whilst zooming over the water in a helicopter with a glass floor at 120mph is indeed exactly like the opening credits of Airwolf or Nine to Five, only oddly slower (so slow, in fact, I was a bit nervous we might stall!), over land it’s a different story. The speed remains the same, but it feels much faster, and when we turned right or left, the lurch, although not actually sickening, was certainly noticeable to my system, which clearly much prefers upright. Factoid: my ears pop at almost exactly 1000 feet. I have no idea whether this is true for others, but there you go.

On the way back, we flew over the water at about 400 feet to see if we could spot any whales, dolphins or turtles. We got a glimpse of two turtles and what may have been a couple of dolphins, but that was all. Still, we weren’t there for the wildlife, so no one felt hard done by!

Random observations: Double yellow lines on the roads. The shop mannequins are pale-skinned. UB40 is very popular here, although no one knows what a UB40 actually is/was. Volcanoes smell very strongly of sulphur. Royal Caribbean paint their communications golfballs with dimples so that they look like golfballs.

Last thought: you know it’s a good sailaway party on deck when the people on the next ship over are joining in!

Monday

First proper day for sunbathing. People are actually getting burnt and lounging in the pool and all the normal things you would expect on a cruise. Even I’ve got my legs out! A gentle breeze and a bit of cloud are keeping it deceptively lovely, but I’ve applied some sun cream, so hopefully I’ll be okay. There are some really lovely people on here. I’d probably enjoy them even more if I didn’t have a hangover and a UDI* at the back of my right calf. I’m on my third pint of diet coke, which is starting to clear my system out a bit, and I had a nice lunch, but I still feel the wrong side of dodgy. No headache or nausea but Advanced Fragile Around the Edges. Still, that’s what sunglasses are for!

Last night was karaoke in the nightclub. I sang California Dreaming, American Pie, Money for Nothing and That Don’t Impress Me Much, with varying degrees of accuracy/ success. Everyone joined in and at the end, the DJ sang Build Me Up Buttercup with Clem Curtis, lead singer of The Foundations (whose song it was). Sweet bloke, but he started pestering an Indian lady who clearly wasn’t interested. He’s a nice enough guy, but he seems to still have the sense of entitlement that goes with the really successful. Oh well, no one’s perfect, I suppose, and, boy, can he sing.

The nightclub is accessed down a curved corridor with a rather lovely little feature. Movement-activated lights. So you can do a sort of Billy Jean thing, except with overhead lights instead of paving slabs. It makes me giggle every time. It works better walking into the club than walking out, as the timing is a bit off that way round. Still, it makes going to the loo and coming back again surprisingly entertaining!

The sea is much calmer today and a bright royal blue in colour. The noon announcement said it was a Force 7, but I don’t believe a word of it. The water in the pool is staying where it should be, i.e. in the pool, and people are having to do their own work to get from end to end. The shiny metal sculpture in the shallow end that looks like a cross between a diving board and a wave is barely wobbling at all and no one on deck is falling or lurching or holding on at all. I don’t know where they get their wind Force figures from, but I think they’re looking at a different ship to the one I’m on.

There are quite a lot of non-flyers on this ship, of differing levels of militancy on the subject, i.e. those who are willing to give it a go/ make an exception and those who absolutely will not, except in case of dire medical emergency of themselves or a loved one, ever set foot near any form of flying apparatus. One lady even said she was unhappy on a hovercraft, because they were called ‘flights’. There are also those who don’t like heights, who presumably will not be coming up the wind turbine with me! But they’re a fit bunch, overall. The gym is heavily used and the pool almost always has someone in it, charging up and down doing their personal total of lengths before they feel entitled to a Walls Magnum or afternoon tea. I think the pace could best be described as Gentle But Determined. No one uses the Jacuzzi on its own – it seems to be reserved for use as a reward for having swum your required distance. You’re not here to enjoy yourself, you know. The pool water is lapping gently against the sides, making a noise not dissimilar to that you get in a boat moored upon a river, when the water gets trapped between the boat and the shore. It’s a very soothing sound and very relaxing. Only the triumphant yells of the table tennis competition down the far end breaks the quiet.

There is a lady sitting on the other side of the pool who is knitting something. At first we thought it was a string vest, but now it looks like a sort of spiral feather boa without the feathers. We have no idea what it is or what it is for, but it is keeping us entertained trying to guess! In the end, we watched her for several hours. When she finished it, we cheered and gave her a round of applause. She went bright pink and was clearly very embarrassed indeed! The final product was very pretty and I asked if she took commissions. She said not. I’m not sure when she’ll wear it though – tomorrow is a formal night, but it’s black and white and her boa thingy is blue! Still it’s lovely, whatever she does with it.

Tuesday

Phew, what a scorcher! I don’t think I’ll be sitting out in this too long, sun cream and hat or no. We’re really into the hot and heavy stuff now. There’s an occasional cloud and a shot of breeze across the deck, but for the most part, it’s just HOT now. The delightful band of nutters I sat with yesterday are not here today, which is a shame, but it’ll make chickening out and running for the shade less ignominious if they’re not here to laugh at me. On the back of deck 9, by the other pool, they are currently playing “Don’t fence me in” by way of muzak, which is an admirable sentiment for a cruise, until you remember that the lyrics are “Give me land, lots of land, under starry skies above”. A bit lacking in land in this part of the world, frankly. In fact, it is many days since we’ve seen anything of the kind and some people get quite antsy about it. It’s called cabin fever. No need to rub it in!

For days now, it’s just been sea, sea and more sea. This is a part of the world so devoid of anything to say about it, that the noon announcements tend to blather on about the mountains we are sailing over as we cross the Mid-Atlantic Ridge, some of the highest mountains on Earth. The Mid-Atlantic Ridge is what happens when tectonic plates are torn apart, as opposed to Japan and New Zealand’s problems which are caused by plates coming together. The USA and Europe are moving apart by about an inch a year, if I recall, which suits me just fine. If only distancing ourselves economically and politically were always as easy. As the plates move apart, they cause a tear in the crust which allows volcanic stuff to shoot up through the sea floor and into the ocean, where it is promptly cooled into mountains and hills, just like ordinary volcanoes, but without ever reaching the surface. In a few million years, they’ll probably be added to and will breach the surface and a whole new set of islands will come into being, seriously giving the Canaries a run for their money, as regards prize locations.

Last night, I met some more new people, one of whom taught me something very important about the USA. Remember in the Eighties, when we got a bit narked with all their protectionism? Well, it never stopped. In fact, there is a law from 1920, called the Merchant Marine Act, which says that no US goods or passengers may travel from one US port to another other than on a US ship. All to protect the sanctity and business of US shipping lines. I was stunned when I heard it, but when I looked it up this morning, it’s true. It’s called cabotage, apparently, and forms part of what is known as Jones’s Law. Unfortunately, someone at P&O didn’t realise this – well, the law has only been in existence for 90 years, no rush – and has booked dozens of Americans onto cruises they can’t legally take. They won’t be best pleased, I imagine. It essentially means that US citizens cannot get on here at San Francisco and get off in LA. They have to get off in Vancouver, in Canada, and fly home. Only in America.

This may be why US travel agents have apparently never heard of P&O, despite being the World’s oldest cruise line. Princess? Yes. Carnival? Yes. P&O? No, not a clue. What’s that? If you can’t leave and arrive back in the States on a British ship, why would you sail on one?! If you use an American cruise line, you’ll have no problem. I have to say that this seems like protectionism gone somewhat too far, but no one else seems that bothered by it. I suppose if it’s been in place for 90 years, those in the know are used to it by now. I am intrigued, however, by the number of people, including P&O staff, clearly (!), who have never heard of it. I’ve been cruising for 12 years, and it’s the first I’ve heard of it, and I consider myself fairly well-informed. America for the Americans and everywhere else for everyone else. Again.

Black and white formal tonight and the last sea day tomorrow. Then the work starts. Antigua, St Maarten, St Lucia, Barbados, four ports in four days, with Barbados on Easter Sunday. I wonder how much of St Maarten will be closed for Good Friday?

Wednesday

Had another karaoke night last night. They are very popular and the singing standard is very high. Some new people turned up. Don’t know where they’ve been for a week, all very odd. Had a good time. Sang Hotel California, American Pie (the long version – about five verses!), I Will Survive with Hayley, Together in Electric Dreams in duet with Arwyn and did backing vocals with the DJ when Clem Curtis turned up to do Build me up Buttercup. Sheila and Dave came out to play last night for the first time. I think they had a good time. I volunteered John for Avenues and Alleyways and Take On Me, which he did in duet with Dave. He’s rather good!

Just when I thought I was sufficiently slowed down, laying on a sun lounger without feeling the need to do anything, we arrive in the Caribbean. Despite the fact that it is only about eighteen hours until the first flight takes off tomorrow morning from Antigua (helicopter over the Montserrat volcano, for the forgetful), they have yet to inform us what time our flights are. That’s the Caribbean lack of haste for you. It’s either morning or afternoon, apparently, although how that’s supposed to help, I’m a little unclear. Still, I suppose if we take our mobiles with us, we can always find each other if we have to. I just don’t know what time I need to be out of bed!

I now know that my excursion departs at 12.20, which is a surprisingly awkward time, if you think about it. It’s a two hour excursion, so you don’t get back til 2.30. Do you brunch early or take something with you, or try to hold out til you get back?! What if you’re delayed?! Tricky.

I have tried to avoid commenting on the news thus far, but the Arab Spring is now so prevalent and takes up so much of the television we receive, that it is unavoidable. Especially now that Tim Hetherington and Chris Hondros have been killed in Misrata. Once cluster bombs started being mentioned, it seemed, to my cynical and rather jaded mind, anyway, that it was only a matter of time before a Westerner was hit and, only days later, I am proved sadly right. Ironically, on a day with less fighting than usual – Gadaffi’s forces have the decency to fire less when there are rescue ships collecting people, apparently – they got hit by mortar fire at the so-called front line. Why are we talking about a frontline at all? How does Gadaffi even begin to justify bombing his own people just because they disagree with him? We have to do more to help. If Nick Clegg started bombing St Neots, I would expect the international community to come to my aid, that’s for sure.

On the upside, news-wise, the Clementi suicide has now led to 15 (count them, 15!) criminal charges against his roommate. Good. Lock him up and throw away the key. Not just a hate crime, but tampering with evidence as well, combine to produce a pretty clear sense of his own guilt from where I’m sitting. We in the “West” call ourselves civilised and hold up our society as the kind others should be aiming for. We simply cannot allow a student to bully his roommate to death for being gay and let him get away with it.

I think I’ll end here. I apologise if this has seemed a bit “bitty”, but I’ve just been jotting down thoughts as they come to me. Time to upload and edit some photos, I think.

*Unidentified Drinking Injury

Lying here, on a surprisingly comfortable sunlounger (mesh, not plastic), watching the roof open (and about time too, it’s like a sauna with it closed), it is quite a marvel to behold. It rolls back so quickly and quietly that if it wasn’t for the health and safety alarm that accompanies it, you’d probably never notice. At least not until the breeze kicked in. And yet, as with all British cruise passengers, immediately people start jumping to their feet and complaining that their shade has been taken away. Like there’s none of that available anywhere. One man actually waved his arms in the air to signal to whoever it was to stop opening the roof. Thanks. What about the rest of us?! That’s the thing about cruise passengers, they only think of themselves. I think it’s very refreshing and that we need some fresh air. We certainly didn’t get much of that in Madeira!

It’s quite exciting in the pool at the moment. We are currently pitching every now and then (if you don’t remember the difference between pitching and rolling, you’ll need to delve into the archive, I’m afraid!), but not rolling, which means, from the point of view of those in the pool, that one well-timed stroke can get you carried from one end to the other on a very large wave which then breaks over the end of the pool and soaks those in the immediate vicinity. One bloke has hooked his feet over one end and is just using the waves as a sort of training pool, letting the force of the waves go backwards and forwards while he stays stationary. He’s working very hard for someone going nowhere. I’m sure he’s getting quite a workout, but I’m getting worn out just watching him.

Funnily enough, here, where I can see the three communications golfballs on the top deck between me and the funnel, and where I am maybe less than fifty feet from them with no obstructions between us, is one place on the ship where there is no internet signal at all. Ironic, really. But it gives me a chance to just lie back and watch the swimmers hurtling, willingly or otherwise, from one end of the pool to the other, while the rhythmic clitter clatter of the table tennis behind me patters away quite hypnotically.

I’m still not in holiday mode yet. I can’t shake the feeling I should be DOING something. It’s very annoying! I can’t even go for an afternoon nap because I crashed at 9.30 last night, as soon as we got back from dinner ashore, and, having slept twelve hours straight, and gained an hour as the clocks went back, and then had another hour and a half for good measure, I’m so completely rested, I don’t think I could nap, even if I tried!

Factoid of the Day: there are 46 liferafts, each with a capacity of 35 people, and 18 lifeboats which take 150 each. By my maths, that makes 1610 in the rafts and 2700 in the boats. That’s a capacity of over 4000. In fact, to be precise: “Arcadia has a normal operating capacity of 2016 passengers and a maximum operating capacity of 2120 passengers who are looked after by 880 staff and crew”. So that’s a maximum of 3000 people and 4310 lifeboat spaces. I know some of my readers worry about me perishing in some dramatic catastrophe, but as I can both float and swim, I’m not worried, so you shouldn’t be.

It seems as though there is going to be quite a turnover of passengers during this cruise. Whilst about 1000 are doing the whole thing, the rest are not. In fact, quite a number aren’t even doing the entire first sector to LA. I’ve met several who are getting off in Barbados, which presumably means quite a lot getting on there too. Can’t blame them really. What a lovely place to be stranded for a few days! Apparently, Barbados is about two weeks into the cruise, which is as much holiday as some people get from work, so it’ll be quite a dramatic All Change, I imagine.

Several embarked in Madeira, which was weird, although they may have been mostly crew, who are pinballed across the planet from one ship to another in such a random manner, I’m starting to wonder if P&O Logistics isn’t a whole new branch of mathematics, rather like Disaster Area’s tax returns*.

Sunday

Happy Palm Sunday.

The nice people at Passenger Services have found me an adaptor. Amazing what an open letter to the Managing Director of P&O handed in at Reception can do…

Late night last night. Got to bed about half two. But as the clocks went back again, I still got the best part of ten hours’ sleep, so although I feel a little, what’s the word? vague, I think fits best, I’m physically fine.

Which doesn’t seem to be the achievement it might be. We are currently going through a Force 9 and are rolling quite considerably. The water from the pool is being distributed all around the deck. Oddly, however, the sea appears so smooth outside that if it wasn’t for the swimming pool doing its rather dramatic thing, you’d have no idea we were in a rough patch at all. But the restaurant is nonetheless packed to the rafters. I mean, granted everyone knows that the best way to ward off queasiness is to ensure your stomach is never empty, but this is ridiculous!

The average age on this ship is much lower than I was expecting. I don’t know the exact figure, probably in the 50s or 60s, and it will probably go up after Barbados, when all those with two-week holidays go home, but there are very few really “old” people on here. Although this is not classified as an adventure cruise in the publicity, it is, nonetheless, for the more adventurous cruiser, and clearly that has an effect on the demographic it attracts. There aren’t even that many wheelchairs or walking sticks, although with the current bumpy weather there are a few more than usual about. No point in going for a Burton for the price of a little pride. The proportion of white hair is quite high, but that may have more to do with the fact that letting it turn white saves money which can be put towards helicopter trips, than a conscious submission to advancing years. It’s more about being comfortable with who you are, rather than trying to be something you’re not. They’re quite an honest, down-to-earth bunch on this cruise. No one is trying to seem richer or younger or healthier than anyone else. Everyone is just happy doing their own thing and to hell with any onlookers. Which may be why, in the middle of a Force 9, there is someone in the pool, just quietly doing his thing as the water carries him along.

*First Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy reference of the cruise!

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.