Tuesday 26 February 2008, Hong Kong

Today was the day for returning to Shenzhen. I’d gotten myself a visa allowing multiple entries, in case I had to return for a fitting or to pick up my suit, but I’d arranged to collect it from an address in Sheung Wan, not too far from our hotel. Beyond reasonable walking distance, so a taxi or tram would be the go, but not as much fuss as a long train ride to and from Shenzhen, together with two sets of customs and immigration formalities.

“One country, two systems,” goes the government line, when referring to the way that residents of the Hong Kong Special Autonomous Region have more freedoms and different rules, and even a touch of democracy. I wonder privately why they don’t say “One country, three systems”, but I guess they don’t want to talk about Taiwan until they get it back. If they ever do.

I still think, the way that capitalist attitudes increasingly rule in China, that the easiest way would be for Taiwan to take over the whole operation anyway, leaving the Chinese Communist experience another failed experiment for the history books.

Anyway, I wasn’t going to Shenzhen. My son only had a visa for one visit, and he’d had it. There was no way he was dragging himself back over the border for more shopping torture, anyway. We left him to vegetate alone in the hotel room exploring the cable channels, with the possibility of him venturing outside to buy lunch if he felt brave enough to cope with it.

I gathered up my cameras and batteries, a book or two, and set off with the girls. Taxi down to Sheung Wan station – we’d asked the female taxi driver to take us all the way into Central, but the peak hour traffic was so busy that she suggested that it would be quicker and cheaper for us to get the train from Sheung Wan – and then into Central, where we did a reconnaissance for the Airport Express gates. Interestingly, I found that you could check in for your flight at the station, leaving your bags there and getting a boarding pass on the spot.

I pointed Kerri and my daughter towards the station to Tsim Sha Tsai and found my own way out into the open air. Aurora was due in at eleven, or possibly eleven-thirty if you believed the port authority website, and I wanted to be in a good position to see her arrive.

I scouted locations along the waterfront near the main ferry wharves. Across the harbour was the main cruise terminal, three berths occupied, and I was pretty confident that Aurora would dock there. I just didn’t know the exact time or position or the direction she would approach from, and I wanted to be flexible enough to get good angles, without committing myself to a position where I might turn out to be poorly placed.

The Star ferries pier turned out to be a good observation post. I stationed myself at the end of the pier with a large Starbucks and watched the patterns of movement on the harbour. The ferries across to Kowloon had a good view while they were actually making the crossing, but they chose alternate sides of the wharf, meaning that half the time the harbour view was obscured. This applied for the Kowloon side as well. I mentally dumped my plan to spend the morning on a ferry shuttling back and forth. I’d have a good chance of missing my chance for the best photographs, although my fantasy of ducking nimbly under the oncoming cruiseliner’s bow for an unforgettable action shot could only be achieved from a ferry.

One of the two cruiseships at the terminal began backing out. Star Cruises’ Gemini. She looked to be about the same size as the Aurora, and I looked at her keenly, to see which way she would turn.

Starboard, towards the east. She passed in front of me, big as one of Hong Kong’s many towers lying on its side, and made her stately way down the harbour until she disappeared from my sight around the curve of Hong Kong Island. A few minutes later a smaller liner followed in the wake of the first. This must be the main shipping route to the open sea.

I looked at the Kowloon skyline, which would be the backdrop to any photographs. Interesting, but not nearly as dramatic as the mountain range of skyscrapers forming the Hong Kong waterfront. If I crossed over, I’d be able to find a spot on the Kowloon side to catch the great ship making her way in, with that exciting background behind her.

I boarded the next ferry over, the brightly-painted red Morning Star. And seized the opportunity to release a book on the seats right at the bow. The Golden Galleon, one of those swashbuckling naval war in the age of sail adventures that have followed in the wake of Hornblower and Lucky Jack Aubrey without quite achieving the same greatness. A Napoleonic technothriller. Seemed kind of appropriate for this maritime setting.

On the Kowloon side, the perfect position suggested itself to me, a waterfront walkway with a row of seating. Just right for what could be a long wait. The Gemini had long since vanished in the haze, and looking at the point where she had gone, I noticed that visibility was dwindling. Victoria Peak was merging with the low clouds and the whole place was becoming decidedly murky. Just like the rain drizzle that had set in when I drove up to Sydney to see Aurora docking under the Harbour Bridge.

Eleven o’clock came and went. I put my feet up and took a few pictures of the activity. A military helicopter, tugboats, the ferries passing under the skyscrapers.

Half past eleven. Not even a shimmer in the distant haze. I glanced the other way now and then, but no Aurora. I was beginning to wonder about that time. Maybe it was eleven o’clock at night? I didn’t think that I was keen enough to make a midnight trip through Hong Kong just for a few photographs.

Noon. The haze deepened, and I contemplated leaving my post to check the docking time at the cruise terminal. One last glance and I could see a flicker of movement in the gloom at the far end of the harbour. Far away, some mighty ship was coming in. It could only be Aurora!

And it was. It took a while for her to come into plain sight, but when she did, I contemplated plastic surgery to widen my face to fit my smile in.

This lovely ship, this marvel of magnificence, this towering streamliner, she was to be my home for the next month as we cruised the tropic waters of the world and explored exotic ports. I’d read the brochures, I’d browsed the website, I’d exulted when I got my tickets, but here was my dream holiday in the flesh, as it were.

If only the haze would clear. Honestly, it was a job to make out any details in the skyscrapers just across the harbour. The mountains beyond had long since vanished. I did my photographic best as Aurora drew level and sailed past, but if I had any shots worth keeping, it would only be as a result of considerable software enhancement.

And I had some great moments right there before me. The ferries at her feet, as it were, mere minnows against the great curving flanks of the cruiser. A tug or two, then three special forces boats raced past, throwing up feathers of foam. And beyond the ship, the hazy but impressive Hong Kong skyline, a jagged fence of verticals to contrast the flowing horizontals of the harbour and this great ship.

She went past and gave me her quarter. I moved along the shoreline to the cruise terminal, where about a thousand onlookers were hanging over the rails, nudging each other, pointing and taking pictures as Aurora prepared for docking. Like magic, four little platforms dropped out of the bows, ant-like figures of line handlers bending out over the void, while the ship slowed and turned, gently drawing in until the narrowed water vanished and somehow she was silently in place, never a groan, never a jolt.

I took a look inside the terminal. It was all gleaming shop windows and designer labels, the real deal here, not the “original copies” of Shenzhen. Signs showed me the way to the embarkation point, quite a way inside the terminal, where we would board the next day. I made a mental note of the route we would have to take with our luggage, and turned away, hunting electronics shops.

I was searching for an iPhone, Apple’s amazing combination iPod, video player, camera and cellphone. With a web browser, email, notes and other goodies thrown in. Basically, an iPod Touch with a phone added. If I could find a sixteen gigabyte model that was unlocked to accept my Australian SIM, I’d be a very happy man indeed.

And I did. Shopped around a little, bargained the seller down, but here was the gadget I wanted, hacked by some team of Chinese software wizards. Just slide out the SIM tray, slot mine in, make a test call, and it worked! The problem with iPhones is that they are hard-locked to a specific network, in this case AT&T in the USA, and they need some tweaking to make them work with other carriers. Apple keeps on plugging the holes, and the hackers keep finding new ones. One ingenious solution involves a fake SIM wafer that slots in under the real one and convinces the iPhone that there’s a genuine AT&T SIM card in there.

A happy man, I caught the ferry back over the harbour and found my way back to the hotel. Son was pretty well full of cable TV and gladly accepted my suggestion to go out and get lunch. For ease of convenience, this turned out to be McDonalds. I had some products unknown in Australia (and possibly the rest of the world). Red bean pie and golden crayfish bisque. My adventurous son opted for a cheeseburger meal.

Fortified, we went hunting up and down alleys and odd little malls for a supermarket. I had a few things I wanted for the ship and our travels beyond. Earl Grey tea and decaf coffee. A pair of scissors. Washing powder.

It took us a while, but we finally found a Chinese supermarket, and had a wonderful time holding up products to each other, exclaiming over clever or bizarre features. The locals must have thought we were mad, chortling over their everyday products, but I dare say that if they had been let loose in an Australian supermarket, they would have found our shelves full of curiosities. “What this Vegemite? Boot polish, maybe?”

Kerri gave me a call from Shenzhen saying that she’d be back in an hour or so. This was the first incoming call on my new phone, and I was glad to see that it worked flawlessly.

She came back after dark, tired but happy after a full day shopping, laden down with new purchases, and we all spent our last evening together cheerfully chattering and preparing for the morrow, when the kids would have to be packed and away bright and early for a day flight to Sydney.

And we two would be boarding Aurora for a grand adventure.

Friday, 7 March 2008, Aurora, at sea

Mid-morning, and I’m up in the Crows Nest bar, a great expanse of busy shipping lane before me. Sumatra just over the southern horizon, supertankers strung out in the distance, and we’ve got a naval vessel of some sort on our port quarter. A corvette, maybe. A very light grey, and we’re overhauling her gradually. Prime territory for pirates here, and it’s good to see the authorities patrolling.

From up here it seems that we are barely moving, but from our cabin just above the water, the ocean fairly surges past. We’d be doing 23 knots or so, a very good clip.

For a wonder, we can actually sea the horizon. Ever since Hong Kong, it’s been nothing but haze. There’s even some blue sky above. With any luck it will be clear until Southampton. Apart from good honest rain, of course.

My computer had some sort of seizure last night and it’s crippled. The desktop doesn’t appear and if I want to fire up a program I have to use Task Manager. This cuts out all sorts of options for me, such as wireless connections, and makes it inconvenient to do anything. Luckily I can still save files to my USB key, and the internet room computers are working, so I can post updates and photographs.

It wasn’t a cold, it was bronchitis. I’ve been having trouble sleeping but so long as I keep myself drugged up, I’ve been able to function and to enjoy the cruise.

[Later] We drew up with the naval vessel, and it wasn’t a warship as such. To my surprise, she was unarmed, and when I raced below to get out my camera with the zoom lens, I found that she was the US Naval research vessel Henson, apparently doing some surveying hereabouts.

Eleven thirty, and it was time for my French lesson. We’ve got a pair of mademoiselles – twins, actually – running the language courses here. French en le matin, et Spanish in the arvo. Useful phrases. Bonjour madam, mangez-vous les petits-four a quarte heures? No, messieur, je mange petit-djeuner a onze heures.

We actually had breakfast – in the Bordeaux Cafe – at eight. Kedgeree for both of us. Usually it’s kippers and Special K in the Medina, but we’ve been trying out our options.

I came down to meet Kerri for lunch. She’d been at a morning talk by a paper money specialist, who is a millionaire several times over in various currencies. The bridge announced that a pair of whales were passing down the port side and we looked out the window and sure enough, there they were, a few backs and spouts in the middle distance. We’ve seen very little wildlife so far. A few flying fish, some jelly fish, and a curious long fish in port in Thailand. It was good to behold Leviathan, even if not at close quarters.

Lunch was the usual random mix. Dinners are fixed, and we have the same companions each night, but lunch depends on who turns up when, and the restaurant manager will fill up tables as he goes. Kerri and I were the first, followed by a couple from Ohio who sat opposite, and the six table was filled by “a pair of girls from Perth”, half of a group of four who are travelling together, sans husbands, and doing a bus tour of the Continent. These girls are well into their fifties, I might add, and having a wonderful time.

After lunch Kerri went off to the gym and I made up for an early morning session up in the internet room by taking to my bed and reading, followed by dozing and then sleeping. Kerri returned, full of moral high ground, and found me snoring unashamedly. I missed my afternoon art class, but frankly, it was good to have a few hours where I wasn’t actually doing anything, and I can’t say that my sleep has been the best recently.

High tea in the Medina. We sat down at a table loaded down with tea things – little fancy cakes and the like – beside a fellow Aussie, travelling alone. A couple from Townsville sat down opposite, and the sixth was a lovely English Lady, who asked where everyone was from in reverse order. She looked at us to finish, and I said, “Well, actually, you’re the only Pom here.”

But she was grand, as charming as ever you please, and we all munched our salmon sandwiches without crusts and spread cream on our strawberry scones and talked of England and Malaya, the weather to be found in such parts, the local beverages, odd behaviour of the natives, plans for the evening and so on.

It’s a formal night tonight. The Black and White Ball, though Kerri and I aren’t much for dancing. Instead we’ll go to the Curzon Theatre in the bows and listen to a pianist giving a recital. Now, excuse me while I dress for dinner.

[LATER] It’s fun getting dressed up, though when you’ve got a limited wardrobe it’s hard to compete with people who get on at Southampton with a full load, take the whole trip and then get off again. We’ve got to fly, and even with my excellent luggage allowance, there are limits.

Dinner was delightful. It takes an hour or so, with entree, soup, main and dessert, and any number of optional extras. There’s multiple choices at each stage, all of them excellent. Let’s see. I started off with a salmon brulee, a little tub of yummy baked stuff with bits of smoked salmon. Gave the soup a miss and my main was the seafood grill, with a huge scallop, a peeled and prepared prawn, and half a lobster tail. With vegetables, potatoes and some sort of Oriental green. The waiters bring around the vegetables separately, and if you aren’t quick, they’ll load up your plate. Look away for an instant and you’ll look back to see a mountain of carrot slices, seven or eight spuds and a waiter offering you a plate full of green beans.

The waiters are superb. Dressed up in crisp whites and immaculate jackets, they work in teams of two, looking after a dozen or so diners. Just ask, and anything you want appears. We’ve got Joe and Dominic, with Sebastian as the wine waiter, and if any of those are their real names, I’ll eat my BookCrossing cap. The crew are mostly Indian, but somehow their nametags all give them distinct, unique European names. This is for ease of identification – if they had actual names on their tags there’d be several dozen Sanjits, I’ll bet.

Dessert for me was the Stilton, rather than one of the five sweets on offer. A waiter comes around with a big wheel of blue vein, scoops out half a plateful and offers you cracker biscuits. Mmmmmm. Coffee to wash it all down.

Chilled water all through the meal, of course. Wine (or beer) is available, but honestly, at the prices charged, I’m happy to go without. We could spend a hundred dollars a day on alcohol easily without getting more than tipsy.

About eight, after sitting down since six-thirty, we rise. Kerri and I head off to the theatre, a seven hundred seat affair in the bows. Red plush seats, a multitude of lights on a stage with bits that go up and down, and a professional performance every night. This evening it’s a pianist and singer, fresh from a West End season, backed by the ship’s orchestra (seven very talented musicians and a drummer, ladies and gentlemen). She belts out some great old tunes and gives a very energetic recital of some jazz standards and a few hepped up classical pieces. The hour just whips by.

And then we’re filing out, a slow turn around the promenade deck in our evening finery, and then to bed. A typical sea day.