For the Annual ramblings , click on the link
Saturday 17 December
Off at a decent hour
after Martyn had checked tyre pressures. Plug broken on electric pump N°1. Electric pump N°2 not working. Sainsbury’s air line out of service: ça
commence déjà bien, said I to myself.
Patchy fog en route, despite which countless kamikazes were hurtling
into the gloom at 80 mph with no lights on.
Still, the M25 was a bit less
busy than the last few times we used it, so we were at Mr & Mrs Engineer
Smith’s place by 11:00 as planned to deliver their Christmas present.
We were at Southampton a
good hour and a half before our due time, but despite injunctions to arrive no
earlier or later than the stated hour, we were quickly parked, relieved of
luggage and through the check-in process.
It’s all a bit airport-like these days, but at least the staff were all
mature, pleasant and just witty enough.
The
‘stateroom’ is clean and well-appointed, with adequate if not generous space,
and provides a small sofa and a hard chair at the desk. There’s a pleasant little balcony with a
couple of armchairs and a table, though I doubt we’ll be basking in the
sunlight at this time of year! The power supply is not generous, though: there are four US-standard 110v outlets, but only one European 16 amp and one UK 13 amp outlet. There are strict injunctions not to use irons or kettles in cabins (OK, the former scarely figure in my vocabulary, but deprived of tea without a long walk or hefty outlay, I become fractious! I gather that the next refit will include tea kits in cabins). We were also instructed not to leave things on charge when we left the cabin, nor to leave them on overnight. Owners of Samsung spontaneous combustion phones were told to power them down and lock them in the safe!
As I write, we’re coming round the Isle of Wight and progress is quiet and smooth, quite unlike any other motor vessel I’ve been on. But then, we’re doing a stately 18 knots or so, and have the joys of the Bay of Biscay to come…
As I write, we’re coming round the Isle of Wight and progress is quiet and smooth, quite unlike any other motor vessel I’ve been on. But then, we’re doing a stately 18 knots or so, and have the joys of the Bay of Biscay to come…
We are definitely at the
lower end of the age spread of passengers.
Should be restful, eh? There is
quite a large population of wheelchair users, a forest of walking sticks and
quite a few of the rest of us without props plainly have dodgy joints. Fortunately, our neighbours at the adjacent
table are a pleasant and interesting Welsh couple.
Sunday 18 December
Saturday’s dinner was
pretty good, with portions that were not excessive. We have signed up for the wine package, and
have resigned ourselves to a $40+ bottle per evening. Last night’s Rioja was very good, without the
overpowering oakiness that Riojas can sometimes suffer from. Service is attentive, and just the right side
of obsequious. I didn’t feel I could
deal with that first thing this morning, so we went up to the self-service
buffet and indulged. They helpfully
offer an eggs to order service, so I could have my massacred eggs without
fuss. Another chap had the same order:
when I saw him a little later, he said he’d then been back for kedgeree. We’re going to have to watch it, or we’ll be
spherical in eleven days’ time.
Not the greatest of
nights: I was either too warm with the covers on or not warm enough without, so
sleep was kinda intermittent. I’ll get
the hang of the thermostat, I expect.
There was a bit of movement as we made our stately way down the Channel,
and when I went on my route march to get some tea, there was an alarming
creaking noise from stairwell A… As we
approach Cap Finisterre, we’re starting to get an idea of the familiar Biscay
mix of pitch, roll and yaw, although the sea looks perfectly calm.
Dithering whether to go
for digital photography or watercolours this morning. The programme is wide-ranging and very
full! [Later] In the event we opted for the morning pub
quiz, with the questions asked in Mrs Merton style by a sparky young
hostess. (We got 13/20, with the winner
scoring 15).
At lunchtime we went
along to a presentation about Madeira, delivered by a young fellow who would
have fitted in better at Butlin’s. Quite
informative, but the presentation was really about selling excursions.
We made the mistake
yesterday of having hot breakfasts and a hot buffet lunch, so were
already quite well filled when dinner time came round. Once again, portions were sensibly sized and
well prepared. Prawns provençal style
with a rosé from the same region. We
have two more days at sea, and at this rate will have to be wheeled off the
ship at Funchal with sack barrows – and we still haven’t tried the afternoon
tea!
Monday 19 December
A better night’s sleep,
thank goodness, though punctuated with crazy dreams such as are provoked by
excessive amounts of richer than usual food.
We had tea, OJ and toast brought to the cabin this morning – and shall
not trouble with the toast again! But it
is better than walking the length of the ship to the self-service tea
machinery.
As I write, we’re just
turning the north-western tip of the Iberian peninsula, according to one of the the
helpful shipboard TV channels. The wind is up to 27 kts and
the sea is described as moderate. The
ship is so enormous, however, that you scarcely notice the movement until you
get up and move around – or try to address the sanitary ware accurately.
This afternoon we
attended a charming little string quartet concert given by four young Ukrainian
women, the Eos String Quartet. A nice
little collection of lollipops and fun pieces, pretty well played. Then a brief pause followed by afternoon tea:
what else? Next we shall attempt to pour
ourselves into our DJs for the first of a number of formal evenings.
Tuesday, 20 December
A pleasant, mild day with
quite a lot of sun: we sat outside on the balcony for a time. Last night was a little bit rough: I was
conscious of me and the bed not moving quite in synch. We were both a little restless for a time and
had the light on briefly. Entertaining
to watch the dressing gowns on the hooks opposite the foot of the bed swaying
through around 15° as the ship rolled and yawed!
Most of the fellow
passengers we’ve talked to are veteran cruisers. I still have an open mind as to whether I
have the makings thereof. The food is
generally very good and nicely presented, but the opportunities to overeat are
just too many. Still, I cut down to
somewhere around three times my usual breakfast this morning, adding just a
bacon sandwich to my two slices of toast and marmalade.
I’ve
done two sessions of watercolour painting today, and have turned out a pretty
feeble sketch of a strelitzia flower. No
more painting for the next four days, on all of which we shall be on dry land -
provided we can get into my email account and retrieve the car rental voucher
for Gran Canaria. We have booked
excursions on Madeira and La Palma, and plan to explore Tenerife and Gran
Canaria under our own steam.
Wednesday 21 December
The shortest day, and it
was sometimes damp, and quite chilly at altitude. We took an excursion to Cabo Girão and
another rather less impressive viewpoint looking across Funchal from the Pico
dos Barcelos. From there, we wound our
way up the mountain to the Pico do Serrado, for tea, buns and Madeira, and
views of the astonishing Curral das Freiras.
Much photography.
As is so
often the case, we preferred the time we had to ourselves. We’d come away with incomplete documentation
for one of the car rentals, so needed to find WiFi so as to find the documents
without paying the eye-watering amounts that Cunard charges for internet access. Well, taking a tip from our Redcoat – oops,
sorry: tour manager! – we took a turning off the main drag and found a little
restaurant that provided the necessary wizardry, and had soon saved the car
rental voucher to the iPad. The waitress
who served us was happy to indulge my poor Portuguese. We had a lunch of scabbard fish (delicious)
with a shrimp sauce for Martyn, and the traditional Madeira accompaniment of a
fried banana for me. Surprisingly good!
We had a nice prowl round
Funchal after lunch. The place is
decorated for Christmas, mainly with sculptural plantings of poinsettias, but
with a host of other quirky and amusing ideas.
When the ship is in port, a fleet of shuttle buses plies between the
harbour and the western end of central Funchal, so, although I’d walked
reasonably comfortably for half an hour or so, I was content to be spared the
last mile. We paused for refreshment in
the café at the cruise terminal, and finished off the necessary on-line tasks
on their free wifie.
We both felt faintly
emotional as the ship left port to a cacophony of ship’s whistle, foghorns,
pressure-can horns and much cheerful waving from the port staff on the end of
the mole.
Maybe that’s why I was
feeling so tired and crotchety at dinner.
There was nothing wrong with the meal, but the wine the sommelier
suggested with the venison was a coarse, immature claret, which we didn’t
finish. Everything seemed very rushed,
and Martyn’s pudding plate was whipped away before I’d finished my cheese. I’ll have a word with the head waiter when
I’m rested and less hypertensive.
Thursday 22 December
We ran into Sta Cruz de
La Palma in a glorious sunrise, and a healthy swell, which prevented the pilot
from boarding: we watched a number of heroic attempts, and a very sensible
abandonment. We took a walk into town
after a recidivist breakfast, and enjoyed the relaxed atmosphere of the town,
which, like Funchal, was much decorated with poinsettias. The town prides itself on its floral
balconies, which we found in good shape and well maintained. A café in town provided orange juice and free
wifie, so catered for our immediate needs.
As we returned to the
ship, the crew boat drill seemed to be finished, but the boats were still
hingin’ oot on their davits: good to see that they work – at least on the
starboard side.
In the afternoon we took
an excursion across and down the island and back again. We were disappointed not to be taken up to
the caldera, but others who had booked a trip that went there were also
disappointed: owing to high winds, they couldn’t do the walk. The island is volcanic, and there is still a
very prominent lava flow from high up right down to the sea. The other scar on the landscape resulted from
a fire that took out 9% of the island’s vegetation last year. We didn’t learn the cause of the fire in
Madeira last year, but on being asked, the guide educated us on the La Palma
one. Evidently some fellow living in
nature had, following an appointment with the Ministry of the Interior, decided
not to bury the paper, but to burn it instead.
He owned up, but we didn’t learn how the justice system treated him.
Like all the islands in the archipelago, La Palma doesn't really get a winter, so the poinsettias grow into trees, the strelitzias thrive and the bougainvilleas burgeon.
The tour bus this
afternoon was very short on leg room, and high on amplification. I spent the first leg with the ears plugged
with paper handkerchiefs, and had a word with the guide when we stopped. She racked the noise down from painful to
merely loud, so the rest of the trip was less uncomfortable. All in all, we find we are not excursion
types. We were stamped with stickers
corresponding to the bus number each time, and didn’t greatly care for being
given 10 minutes here and 25 minutes there.
At each of the next two ports, we are renting a little car and buggering
off under our own steam. We shall learn
less, but enjoy ourselves more, we hope.
Friday 23 December
Some hope! The Purser’s Office couldn’t help us to find
the address of our car hire outfit. It
turned out to be in the building next to the one where the shuttle bus dropped
us. Given the uncertainty when we’d get
there, I tried to ring them to ask them not to let the car go if we were
late. On the rare occasions my useless
Samsung mobile actually seized the network, I got either RTNR or busy. So we just pressed on, and Martyn eventually
spotted the office in the upper floor of the Fred Olsen terminal. We’d a long walk to the car park, but
eventually got there and found our car, a Fiat Tipo, well above the grade we’d
booked, and quite roomy and comfortable.
Totally gutless, however, and quite unable to reach a decent cruising
speed on the climb out of Sta Cruz without revving the brute to screaming point
(petrol engine). This, I should add, was
only after a protracted tour of the docks and an endless shuffle through the badly
signposted town.
Well, on the gentler
winding roads up towards Teide the car acquitted itself better, cornering flat
and precisely on the countless bends.
The road through the forest is lovely, but there have clearly been heavy
rains and strong winds in recent days.
The roadway was practically carpeted with pine needles and twigs. There were no views to speak of, since it was
cloudy, and it rained practically all the time we were out. The road to Teide was closed, presumably
because of snow. We had got down to 6°
at about 1500m, so it would have been freezing around 2000m.
So, we snaked down the
hill to the coast road, thinking we’d at least find better weather in the
south. Well, we did catch the odd
glimpse of blue over the sea south of Los Cristianos. But there was not a parking space to be had,
and judging by the general tawdry awfulness of the place, maybe that wasn’t a
bad thing. We opted to grab a snack at
the South airport. Catering there runs
to sweet shops and a Burger King, so I’m afraid I declined to stay. Lunch was therefore a picnic of Fortnum’s baguette-pizza
in the car in the rain in the car park, facing a grey stone wall through a wet
windscreen. Since the weather was
getting worse again as we drove back north, we turned the car in early (once
we’d found the way into the rental firm’s car park), and repaired to the ship
for tea and a sandwich.
The officers’ choir led
the carol singing in the evening, so we added our struggling baritone decibels
to the cacophony. No Richard Salter
refinements, but I did sing as many of the rude words to the Twelve Days of
Christmas as I could remember. After
dinner we repaired to the Lido for tea and Armagnac, and paused in the Garden
Room to hear the harpist play a medley.
Saturday 24 December
We had a bit of a trek
into town to pick up today’s hire car from a scruffy back street operation
known as Orlando. The car – an elderly
Clio - went, steered and stopped. That’s
the good news. The bad is that it had no
hub caps, 105’000 km on the clock, dents or scratches to most panels and the
inside was, as we say in my country, mingin’.
All in all, it was the sort of car that your friends would rather you
didn’t park on their drive. Oh, and it rattled like a sack of saucepans. The clutch
and gearbox were OK, but, like yesterday’s Fiat, the car needed the whip to get it
to climb hills. We’re so used to our
grunting turbo-diesels, that it goes against the grain to have to make engines
scream to deliver performance.
The north
coast of the island was looking superb, with huge breakers curling on to the
beaches. The roads are rather better
than they were last time I was here (37 years ago), but we’d to use the old
road for Plan B when Plan A was thwarted again by road closures. Said Plan B followed the route up to Tejeda
that Barbara and I did in 1979, and we were again rewarded with wonderful views
of the Arizona-like scenery around the Roque Bentayga. The mountain roads are generally
well-maintained, though there are some pretty ropey stretches here and
there. It pays to have served one’s
apprenticeship in the Hautes-Corbières.
Thereafter, we battled
our way back into Las Palmas, found a fuel station and got the car back to the
renters, thanks to Dotty. Said renters
had buggered off for their siesta (they had not prepared us for this), so we
abandoned the car on a motorbike parking bay and stuck the key through their
letter box.
A pulse-steadying glass
of white wine later, we trekked back to the ship for afternoon tea and the
afternoon quiz. All good fun, but the
questions were too easy – we found ourselves joint second at 19/20 along with
six or seven other tables. Four tied
tie-breakers later, we were stumped by the question of how many tiles there are
in a game of mah-jongh (144, it seems).
Best dinner so far, we
thought: rack of Romney Marsh lamb, perfectly done.
Christmas Day 2016
A largely restful day at
sea, following the exertions of the last few days in port: lots of reading,
some snoozing – and, of course, more eating.
I’m not sure whether there’s some sort of competition among the regulars
for the silliest Christmas pullover, but we are glad we aren’t required to
judge it…
We dropped in on the art
class this morning, but just to wish them a happy Christmas. There were quite a few stalwarts there. I shall join them tomorrow, armed with my
Christmas present brush case and sketching kit.
Martyn has also kitted me out with new cufflinks and a bow tie: they
will see service already this evening.
We each received a Christmas card signed by Madam Captain and her three
senior officers, together with a little Wedgewood dish. The signatures appear to be original, so they
must have been signing them in their sleep for the last month or so!
After lunch we were
treated to a game of charades in the ballroom, the captain’s team capably
dispatching the hotel manager’s. Great
fun. Then reading, snoozing and some
sorting of photographs until dinner time, then some more reading etc. A restful Christmas.
26 December 2016
We took the tour of one
of the galleys this morning – what a vast operation it is! The one we saw was for the lower floor of the
restaurant where we have been having dinner.
The restaurant caters for over 800 covers per sitting, so it’s nice to
know that they have good systems in place.
In fact, we’ve made more
than usual use of the entertainments today.
After lunch we went to a rather good piano recital: Fauré, Debussy,
Ravel, Granados, Albeniz and Saint-Saëns.
Hard on the heels of that came a talent show by members of the
crew. Great fun! It included a hip-hop dance routine by five
of the stewards, including our James.
Straight from there to the quiz: we teamed up with a couple we’d met at
breakfast and two of their friends, and won.
The tie break question was ‘how many cantons are there in Switzerland?’,
so the other lot didn’t really stand a chance.
Tuesday 27 December
We had opted for the ‘Santiago
de Compostela On Your Own’ tour, since the advertised guided tour was said to
involve a good two hours’ walking.
Although we probably did that, we did it at a pace that suited us, and
without being droned at by a guide. It
was noticeably cooler when we went outside in the morning, and the drive to
Compostela was foggy in places, with lots of frost on the fields. Today’s temperatures have been rather a shock
after the mildness of Madeira and the Canaries, but once the sun was
as high as it gets at this time of year, we basked for a while, seated on the
granite bench outside the south transept of the cathedral.
As I write, we both feel the benefit of a spot of sun on the skin. The warmth of the sun on black jeans on such a
cold day was pure luxury.
The bus was clearly
fitted out with people of Iberian dimensions in mind, so was not the most
comfortable of experiences. Still, it
was driven very steadily by Juan Carlos, and Jutta the guide was knowledgeable
and pleasant to listen to.
Once in town we had a
quarter of an hour’s walk from the bus station to the Praza do Obroidoro,
where we were disappointed to find the façade of the cathedral in
scaffolding. We were told on the bus
that this was the case, but those who had booked the tour with a view of the
façade as a highlight must have felt somewhat robbed. I was more interested in the pure Romanesque
interior, and cannot imagine what moved the authorities to mutilate the
cathedral with a 19th century baroque revival facelift. Spain, however, seems sufficiently proud of
it to adorn its small copper coins with its image.
The
interior is superb, with all I expected and more. The architecture is left largely to speak for
itself without the gaudy embellishments that wreck so many historic
churches. The organ case is something to
behold, arranged either side of the nave, with ranks of horizontal trumpets
facing each other as if challenging each other to battle. (Assuming that it sounds as warlike as it
looks, I declined to pay €25 for the CD…)
At the west end of the nave was a rather fine nativity scene of a whole
village with all its trades and activities, beautifully made and
presented. We passed on the shrines to
St James, since they involved more steps than I was keen to take.
What I liked most about
the place was the flag-stoned streets and old vernacular architecture. We visited the market, and would have made
good use of it had we been self-catering!
As it was, we had a passable lunch in a restaurant largely patronised by
local working people, and sampled the local Alboriño white wine, which I
greatly preferred to the overpriced, catsy sauvignon blanc we had at dinner
back on board.
Linguistically, not a
greatly challenging day. I bought stamps
for the postcards without difficulty, and a bit of pointing got me the plasters
I needed after grazing my arm on some millennial granite after tripping in the
cathedral. The restaurant offered an
English menu, and I found the Gallego version rather more reliable… I did get a chuckle from the restaurateur
when, on trying to read the small print on the wine label, I said in Portuguese
that I need new specs. (Portuguese and
Gallego are close relatives.)
Back at the ship, we
decided against the quick sprint round A Coruña that the timetable
allowed. I was never likely to sprint
anyway, and far less so after a day’s footslogging in Santiago. But the waterfront near our berth looks very
attractive, and mental note has been taken, we hope for future reference.
We left
A Coruña in daylight, and indeed in brilliant late afternoon sunshine. Since our balcony is close to the bridge, we could
watch the captain as she watched others doing the work. We also watched the pilot disembarking once
we had left the harbour: a less dramatic process than the pilot’s failed
embarkation in La Palma.
Wednesday 28 December
The early part of the
crossing from A Coruña was a touch on the rough side, so it was as well to be
on a vessel the size of the Queen Elizabeth.
We slept satisfactorily, but met a couple whose cabin was on Deck 1
forward, and who complained of a pretty poor night.
A couple of watercolour sessions today.
Miss wanted us to do pieces in the style of Picasso or Paul Klee. I made a start on a view of the rooftops in
Malcesine, but defaulted to a representational style, to Miss’s
disappointment. Towards the end of our
session, fellow passengers were invited to come and take a look, and they were
very polite… Meanwhile, Martyn did the
clean packing (I’d packed the dirty washing the previous evening) and spent a
while reading upstairs in the rather pleasant Commodore Club.
Most mornings we have
been rewarded with beautiful sunrises, and today’s was no exception. I did not have a camera with me, so just
enjoyed the experience of the evolving colours, the rays radiating from behind
clouds and the constantly changing glitter resembling molten gold of the sun
reflected on the waves. But I’ll sling
in a few samples from earlier days.
The colour palette has been pretty varied on our travels. The colours of the bougainvilleas in Madeira. The poinsettias and strelitzias on La Palma: and the deep brown lava. The arid expanses of southern Tenerife and the deep greens of its forests. The reddish brown desert scenery of central Gran Canaria.
Well, there we are:
finally on the last leg. It has been an
enjoyable experience, but we’re happy to be heading back to the home we
love. It has been great to be waited on
and pampered all the way, and the environment has been very pleasant. The catering has been good, if on the
over-generous side, but in that regard we have only our lack of self-discipline
to blame. We’ve had some very good
company, and we had the unexpected pleasure of meeting a childhood friend of
Martyn’s on board. Conversation in the
art class and elsewhere, however, has been about operations and what variety of
cancer late husbands died of, so the reputation of floating care home has been
well demonstrated. Shall we do it
again? Well, maybe, if there’s a cruise
to ports we particularly want to visit.
But we’re not rushing to book the first vacancy – and in any case shall
probably be in need of the care home treatment ourselves by the time we do it
again.
Unfortunately, an element
of the cruise that sticks in the mind – and indeed the craw – is Cunard’s
rapaciousness. Wine was very expensive,
at over $40 a bottle for indifferent wine, and internet access was priced out
of sight. We were for ever being solicited
to pay for massages, shaves, iPad lessons and the rest when we had already paid
handsomely for the trip, plus service charges on every purchase, and a daily
gratuity levy.
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