Friday, 7 March 2008, Aurora, at sea

[skyring]

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.

Comments

[awaywithfairy1.livejournal.com]

What a bugger. Computers seem to know when to spit the dummy so as to cause maximum inconvenience. Mine conked out on me on Christmas Eve and, with all the public holidays, I couldn't get it sorted for a couple of weeks.

Are there any electronic/communications technicians amongst the crew who can be called upon to do some "extra duty"? Or will you have to wait until you hit land in Southampton?