Sea Days and Setting Sail for Australia

As we set sail from the Land of the Long White Cloud I felt a pang of sadness. Yeah, we had been to six cities and had seen some wonderful sights, but had we got to know it?

The answer, sort of, is no, not really. Maybe we should return one day and do it from the inside rather than the outside. Trouble is, though, our recent visits to East Asia have opened our eyes to the other incredible destinations that have our names on them. It is now a different wanderlust calling out to us.

It is hard to explain because as much as I have always loved Australia and New Zealand there are many other places around the world to visit and, I am afraid to say, not enough time left to us to see them all.

I don’t really suffer from anxiety, hardly anything bothers me, but to be at sea for the best part of three whole days filled me with terror. I understand that some people love their sea days but I have always dreaded them.

Last week I was most fortunate to speak to a lovely couple, Alison and Phil, who have recently moved to our area, and we got onto talking about cruises. You can always tell when people are extra nice as they take the time to read this blog. Thank you.

Earlier this year they had been on a, and you’ll have to excuse me here as the detail might be scrambled somewhat by Ghost Ship, thirty day cruise to the Caribbean, of which twenty days were sea days.

Jane and I had looked at similar itineraries but two-thirds of the time was scheduled to be at sea? Wow! Just imagine how many battlegrounds, castles and museums you can learn about in that time? I’ve always thought of seadays as wasted opportunities.

Jane has always fancied the idea of driving to Southampton, parking the car and strolling onto a luxury floating hotel. Never for me, or so I thought.

Another couple we entertained this week, Chris and Julie, from Western Australia, who have featured in these pages before, we bumped into them a couple of times in Langkawi, also welcome their days on the high seas.

Both couples whom I chatted to over a period of two days have convinced me otherwise. I am now actively pursuing the thought of a trip to the West Indies and, I can’t believe I am saying this, by ship. Thank you both, Phil and Alison and Julie and Chris.

New Zealand disappeared over the horizon. Goodbye! Australia was one or two nautical miles over the western horizon so it was time to make the most of it.

Jane was booked into the spa for a couple of treatments but until recent times I have shunned this as a worthy activity. I do quite like a massage or two now.

Of course, there is, quite literally, boatloads of relaxing downtime. In the main, that is what I did, I downloaded a few audio books which, along with my library, which now runs to about 200 titles, I wasn’t going to go short of reading matter. The balcony beckoned.

As nice as the open air is, and not a bad place to while away the hours, you have to remember that there was nothing between our ship and Antarctica so, as it proved, a southerly zephyr, even in the middle of summer, was enough to drive one inside.

The impending three days were not going to be the only time sailing the briny deep, so I will now try and cover the different activities that were on offer to both the discerning traveller and, indeed, the undiscerning traveller.

Some things were good, some not quite so good and one or two were, well, bizarre. There were no children on board but, I am sorry to report, there seemed to be many who regressed into a childlike state of mind. Apparently, according to Jane anyway, I should loosen up and throw myself into these activities, who the hell were we ever going to see again? Good point, but I was born middle-aged and have only matured since then!

First of all, I was booked in for a haircut. I can’t actually remember when I last booked a slot at a barber’s. I usually rock up and, if they can’t accommodate me, wander down to the next one in the street.

Not on this ship, you don’t! I arrived for my appointment. Bearing in mind that I usually select a buzzcut, either one or zero, I was staggered to see that the hairdresser, not a barber you will note, had more tools laid out than a top surgeon. In addition to the tools there were enough lotions and potions to do a witch proud. I felt my stomach knot.

And, horror of horrors, there was a basin; what the hell was that for? You got it, he spun me around and nestled my neck in the slot at the front. God, he was only going to wash my hair or, at least, what little there was of it! What was the point. By the way, he used a rather pretentious Italian name, Valentino or something like that!

Hair washed in a floral scented shampoo, shower gel usually does the trick, he patted my hair dry. My head doesn’t normally need to encounter a towel.

“What a lovely hair you have.”

You what, I thought, but just grunted an acknowledgment.

Then, out came the first set of trimmers. How many did he need? Well, he used about six different gadgets to give me a number one buzzcut. Wow! Sideburns were neatly trimmed and measured in relation to the level of my earlobes. Another tool was brought out to sort the fuzz on the back of my neck. I can’t believe how long he then spent on my eyebrows, they must have ended up the precise mirror image of each other.

The aftercare took on another level of service. Different liquids, usually of an oily viscosity, were applied, in turn, to my buzzed scalp, neck and eyebrows. Then there was the hairdryer! Why? It was already dry! Next to no hair usually means what little bit I do have dries before the hairdryer can be plugged in.

“Perfecto!” exclaimed Valentino, producing a mirror for me to peruse his work of art.

I didn’t say anything but made an ostentatious grab for my white stick.

“A signature, signor,” he said as he presented a tablet thing to me.

I pointed to my eyes.

“Sorry, signor, sorry,” he said whilst bowing slightly.

I’m not too sure that I liked him very much!

“I’ll sign it,” Jane said from the waiting area.

Formalities complete we returned to our cabin. I could feel a grumpiness coming on. On returning to the cabin I took a beer out of the minibar, knocked the head off and took a gulp.

“It probably is a good job you can’t see sometimes,” Jane said whilst looking at the receipt.

“Why?”

“You might have had a moan about the price.”

“How much was it?”

“How much do you reckon?”

“Probably on the high side,” I guessed. Now, bearing in mind I normally pay no more than ten quid and, just sometimes, get change out of a fiver, I said “Maybe twenty quid?”

“It’s in American dollars.”

“Oh! I don’t know, 22 or 23?”

“Well, it was 75.”

There was no might have moaned about the price, I most definitely would have moaned about the price. I took another slurp from the longneck. I had just used up my entire annual budget for haircuts on one visit.

We weren’t to know it, but Covid-19 was just around the corner so I didn’t need to cross the threshold of a haircutting establishment for at least another twelve months. I grew a beard as well, out of protest. My eyebrows ran wild and my neck looked like a tangle of mangrove.

It is safe to say that I will stick to my Turkish barbers; who gives a monkey’s if they are money launderers to boot!

The entertainment on board was absolutely first class. Excellent singers and musicians, I am told the dancers were very good too. One singer who stands out is a Kiwi named Will Martin. Look him up, his music is available through Spotify and Apple and is really brilliant. My humble opinion, of course. Despite flirting with bankruptcy in the hair salon, we did buy a couple of his CDs.

There was the cinema for those of that persuasion. I did go to a showing of something, don’t recall what, with Jane, and after a couple of glasses of wine was soon knocking out the zeds. I never realised how sharp Jane’s elbows were!

The highlight or, in my opinion, the lowlight, was a form of entertainment called “Ye Olde Village Fayre.” Yeah, I know! I tell you what, though, some people actually enjoyed it and talked about it for days on end. Needless to say I didn’t take part. I did watch a little before I headed back to the security of our cabin.

One particular raucous and, apparently, thoroughly entertaining activity was, what I can only describe as pooing into buckets. The competitors, there were prizes, had to grip a beanbag between their buttocks, waddle along to a bucket, which varied in size, the smaller the bucket the bigger the prize, and deposit their load from a great height into the campsite toilet. I wandered away, past other games of a similar banal quality, members of staff dressed as fortune tellers or some such.

One of the waiting ladies was sitting behind a desk and asked me if I would like to make a wish. To be fair, and thank goodness it was, all of these activities were included in our cruise charge.

“It’s alright,” I said. “I have already made one and within about fifteen minutes, it will come true.”

“How so?”

“I will be sitting in the bar sipping coffee.”

I pictured her smiling. “Lucky you.”

“I know.”

Coffee necked, I returned to the cabin and listened to a Jack Reacher story. I don’t think Reacher would have taken part in such trivial pursuits either. In time, Jane returned carrying a stuffed toy, I forget what. “Look what I won!”

“What for?”

“You remember that game with the beanbags and the buckets?”

“Yeess! Don’t tell me you got a prize for shatting into a bucket?”

Her face beamed!

Different strokes for different folks! If only it hadn’t been too early to drink!

I think the best part of being at sea is that there is no rush to do anything. It doesn’t actually matter if you miss breakfast because you fancy a little more time under the covers, there is always something available somewhere. As we made our way north along the Queensland coast sitting out became more comfortable. It was usually well in the thirties although very humid. There was a persistent film of salty residue on all the outdoors surfaces even though it never rained.

I can sense it won’t be long before we are boarding a Barbados bound liner leaving Southampton. Watch this space.