The Canadian Cross-Continental Train
September 2024
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The Eden Project – Mixing it up
April 2023
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Oz to UK – QM2 Half World Cruise
March – April 2023
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September – November 2019
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November – January 2019
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January – February 2019
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June – July 2019
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Previous sustainable travel menu
There’s a twist to this story about half a world cruise on Queen Mary 2. Find part 1: leaving Sydney, part 2: cruising around south Oz, part 3: sea to island hopping and part 4: South Africa and UP and now read the rest …
Taking time to travel gives the traveller a perspective on distance. This journey, literally crossing the globe in a pointy tin can, twenty times longer than a flight, offered wide horizons of land and sea, and the realisation that human beings are miniscule in the face of wind, water and rocks. What do the planet and the atmosphere have to do with homosapiens? Weather in one land goes unnoticed in another. We know of terrible floods causing huge human loss. Sometimes fire, flood and hail combine in one country. Sometimes extreme weather conditions (such as the heavy rainfall in late August which caused a huge rockslide in the Maurienne Valley to close train links between France and Italy) merely derail plans. Some of us, who held a defunct train ticket from Paris to Milan, had to make quick decisions. Bus? Blablacar? PLANE??? … a tiny blip in the global weather crisis but a personal philosophical dilemma. Read on.
Back to the QM2!
DAY 30 – AT SEA
There was a devil sitting in the jacuzzi on Deck 6. When the red lights changed to lime he became a laughing stock; an ordinary man bathed in extreme green.
On we go.
DAY 31 – AT SEA
Finally, I was invited to a cocktail party! Where would that elusive Engineer be? We formed the obligatory Cruisers’ queue across the dining room for entry. Sauntered past ‘The Selfie with the Captain’ queue and made a beeline for the first uniform. Turned out to be Head of Provisioning. Don’t think he was called the Quartermaster but that’s sort of the thing he claimed to do. I asked him about sulphites. Many of the dishes on offer in the Kings Court were labelled with potential allergens. Milk and eggs, obviously, gluten sometimes and, very often, sulphites. I’m prone to react with too much sulphur, so I asked why there were so many treated dried fruits and nuts in the displays. He didn’t know anything about that label. Whaaaaaaa … ?
He couldn’t immediately see an Engineer on display, so I went to join my tablemates who were clustered around the Head of Security, a large, cheerful, retired police officer. Given my experience on the container ship, I asked what arms there were on board. (The Captain of my first container ship admitted to having tazers, handcuffs, and a lockup on board.) QM2’s Security denied having a tazer or even a baton. Pirates are not an issue for a ship the height of QM2. Due to the outward curve of the hull there’s nowhere pirates can attach. When the ship travelled into areas of heighted tensions, such as Yemen, Sudan or through the Suez, a specialist squad of trained mercenaries would be in attendance – so not on this stretch. The ship preferred to stay well away from trouble and the Head of Security preferred to play down any threats.
Head of Security couldn’t find an engineer either, but pointed towards Matt, the Deputy Captain. Tablemate Andrew, a retired teacher, who kept referring to this pleasant young man as the Vice Captain, asked for a definitive statement about the different colours of the ocean. Matt agreed, the colours of the waters did indeed change with depths, algae, and weather. He admitted there were no engineers in attendance at the party. What? None at all?
I commended the fantastical 180 twist on the spot and the hypnotic journey out of Walvis Bay and, happy with this subtle flattery of his driving, the Deputy Captain was happy to answer questions about the pods (see previous posts) and the stabilisers – those wings that fold into the hull of the ship when not in use. I’d been trying to find them from the deck when we went into choppy waters. He said they were far too deep to see but there were photos on display. Click here to see that they’re more like wings of a glider, thinner and more shapely than a stout plane wing. Depending on the roll, they might use one or two and rarely have all four out at once.
DAY 32 – AT SEA
Near the Dampier Seamount, 550m below the surface. Here’s a link to a blog about dredging the Walvis Ridge Seamount Trail.
The Captain’s report announced we were off the coast of Gabon and close to Ascension Island. We could see sea.
Tonight’s cinematic offering was ‘The Whale’ directed by Darren Aronofsky, adapted from a play. (Not about the ocean.) It was an erudite work, peppered with allusions and anger. It was impossible to trust the characters, they sprang from ledges of kindness like wild cats. I wondered what the playwright thought of the film. Would they prefer the live emotional vibrations, which would demand so much more of the audience, or this version, with realistic prosthetic armour pasted around the man?
Such a thought-provoking day began as usual in the gym, breakfast, Italian homework and then, still in my Chart Room office, I was able to have a friendly ‘off the record’ chat with staff. I feel honour bound to share with you some of our discussion which leads back to the question: fly or ship?
We agree that cruise ships have a bad reputation in terms of pollution, especially as they’ve grown physically bigger and need more people to operate. They travel around the world’s oceans, filled with pleasure seekers and bacchanalia, often with more than 4,000 paying customers and 2,000 staff. The fuel used to power these juggernauts is filthy – their emissions as bad as a city full of cars – and the ‘guests’ excrete continuously. Not only biological waste but there is also plastic, paper, and glass to be considered. So, what are customers paying for? They would say luxury experience, but think of this, they are manufacturing a product and that product is their waste. Someone buys it. The waste industry is a serious business.
Cruise companies influence the global waste industry. Clearly, major ports such as Amsterdam, Venice and Barcelona adjust for disruption to locals. But in other places, where the environmental laws are not as strict, Carnival (owners of Cunard and P&O) would say theirs is an educational role. They have to after their 2017 conviction for dumping oil at sea and fine of $40 million.
Say you are a recycling company in a port of Africa, or Indonesia, or the Philippines perhaps, you must uphold your side of the bargain. There is good reason to clean the port – pleasure seekers don’t like to see refuse floating outside their expensive bedrooms. More importantly, you must actually do what you say you will, really recycle that glass, which is carefully sorted on board ship, crushed into portable bales, and carefully delivered onshore. The collection trucks are observed from the ship and if any irregularity is noticed, say paper is seen to mix with plastic, questions will be asked, flags will be raised, and warning notices will be issued. If fault continues to be found by regular inspections, the contract will pass to another, more obedient company. Money is an incentive to good environmental behaviour. And Carnival wants a good environmental reputation. There are no plastic straws on board this little black ocean liner!
It is still a mystery to me as to how we calculate the difference between flying and shipping. This article states: “A return flight from London to Cape Town generates roughly the same amount of C02 emissions, per passenger, as it would take to heat the average home for a year. On a Boeing 777, as used by British Airways for the route, that’s 396 passengers or the greenhouse gas output of 396 houses.” And this article says: Flights account for around 2.5% of global carbon dioxide production at the moment, but the industry is expanding. And because planes fly high in the atmosphere, the greenhouse gases they emit do more damage than on the ground.
Cunard and P&O are under the control of Carnival. Here is their sustainability webpage. Two of their latest P&O ships, Iona and Arvia, are both bigger and gas powered. No need to scrub emissions. Next ships should be hydrogen – that will be the big step for humanity – when you can drink the water that is emitted from the engine. What is hydrogen energy and how to make it?
https://www.imo.org/ International Maritime Regulations are created by the International Maritime Organisation – 1973 – part of the UN. Most countries are signatories. Not all. Signatories are bound to follow regulations but recently, they have been found difficult to enforce. Regulations are continually evolving. Next focus will be gray water which will probably will need to be treated before discharge.
WATER
QM2 can’t carry enough fresh water so it has to be created on the go. There are three ways to create fresh water from the sea. First, using the exhaust gas boiler where the engines create heat that boils the sea water and the steam is caught to create potable water. This is the cheaper option as the engines are already in action.
RO is reverse osmosis, the second preference. Actually, it’s the process of desalination plants.
Finally, gas fuel boilers boiling water using fuel only for this purpose is clearly the most expensive method and used in a last resort.
QM2 uses two types of fresh water – potable for drinking and washing – and technical which is less pure, used to wash down the ship. Technical uses less energy because there’s less filtration.
CHIMNEY
Heavy fuel oil (heavy black oil, looks like crude) has to be heated it to liquify it. It’s the leftovers after the first fractioning operation to get cleaner fuels. Think clean fuel (diesel) as virgin olive oil and next press as heavy scum – still oil. The four diesel engines on board QM2 can use both heavy and diesel. Heavy is cheapest. And more dirty.
Marine gas oil is used by the two gas turbines on the top floor for turbo charging in serious weather.
International fuel regulations allow heavy oil to be burned in the middle of the sea. Sulphur in fuel is one of the leading causes of climate change. QM2 can’t use fuel containing more than 3 and a half percent sulphur. They simply can’t buy it if it exceeds this amount. International Regulations mean fumes can’t have more than half a percent of sulphur content. The smoke has to be cleaned on the way out of the chimney. Literally scrubbed.
On board QM2, scrubbing is the action of spraying sea water into the fumes in a chamber of the chimney. The engine exhaust is a gas which includes sulphur dioxide, nitrogen dioxide, and carbon. The gasses dissolve into the water resulting in clear water (with no visible particles) which is then directed back into the sea. It is a form of carbon capture. Nobody scrubs the lighter diesel. It’s pointless as it normally has a content of less than point one percent – almost nothing. There are different ways of scrubbing – Cunard uses open loop exhaust gas clean systems or advanced air quality systems which means dirty seawater is discharged back into the ocean. But the air is a bit cleaner.
Black soot accumulates on the inside of the chimney. ‘Soot Blowing’ – couple of times a week – sends pressurised air up the funnel – such high pressure blows up into the sky and blows over into the sea. Normally done overnight – when there’s no one on deck to get sprinkled with soot.
They don’t burn heavy fuel oil in a small, enclosed port or fiord where they can’t discharge scrubbing water. In an enclosed area the contaminants would build up over time. It is different in open sea and apparently does not affect fish in such an ever-changing environment. We hope.
BUYING FUEL
Fuel must come from trustworthy sources. Two-way certificate of analysis – sales company comes up with their own results while Carnival sends samples to another lab to confirm. QM2 has refused to bunker oil if it’s over point one percent. An onshore team – The Fuel Ops Team – sources fuel full-time.
They have more than enough fuel on board at anytime.
GREY WATER (click here: sink, shower, washing machine) is discharged straight into sea. All ships must follow International Maritime Regulations – any where, any harbour, any time. But is that enough? There’s pressure for grey water to be more regulated. Not before time.
Carnival won’t discharge grey water inside territorial waters within 12 nautical miles of land. It could accumulate. They release dirty water only in open sea where there’s no obvious effect and of course, no filtration or treatment.
SEWAGE (black water)
Treated to a much higher standard on board ship than land-based treatment plants resulting in possibly cleaner water, including less microplastics and chemicals, than gray water.
Biological treatment (ballast water also ‘killed’ with biological treatment) is filtered and only a clear liquid is discharged into the open sea. Solid waste resulting from filtering could be sent ashore for disposal or burnt. Water resulting is randomly tested to make sure there’s nothing nasty going overboard.
INCINERATION
There are two incinerators on board. The emissions are not scrubbed because the incinerators work at such high temps – 850 – 900 degrees Celsius. (Note a crematorium burns around 1200). Apparently this heat destroys anything harmful – even heavy metals – and leaves no trace – all fumes well within acceptable limits – following the regulations again. But does it harm the environment?
GARBAGE MANAGEMENT
High focus on segregating – only one bin in cabin – stewards sort rubbish as they remove it – paper, tin, soft/hard plastics/, glass, cans. There’s a recycling centre down below where glass is crushed, hard plastic is shredded, paper is baled up, tin is pressed. First for storage – need for volume reduction in limited space, secondly for the recycling, for example, glass is preferred to be pre-crushed to make it easier for waste vendors on shore.
General waste, like contaminated paper and disposable items like rubber gloves, all gets burnt. Soft plastic is burnt – very high temp gets rid of dioxins and other nasties.
TRAINING
QM2 provides in-service environmental training for their international crew. Many of the crew have never thought of environmental actions and, after working for Carnival, those workers might influence their kids, local governments or even politicians.
Crew trainings begin with ‘Do you have kids? Do you want them to have clean air and water in the future?’ The crew are reminded that it doesn’t matter how many times you go to the gym or fuss about food – if your air is contaminated or your food is grown in contaminated soil – you won’t be able to control your health.
Are financial carrots the answer? If the ship uses less fuel, the crew get a financial bonus at the end of the year. And there’ve been quick results as people want to switch off the lights and turn off the unused freezers. Money is an incentive for everyone and in the end the environment is the winner. Apparently.
An environmental team of four Carnival UK people work full time across all ships – even something as small as stopping the use of plastic straws can make a difference. Cleaner water all around the world as a result of better sewage treatment might be a bigger improvement.
Read more about Carnival’s sustainability goals here.
DAY 33 – AT SEA
EQUATOR – King Neptune came on board as divine realm border control. It wasn’t very exciting.
Neptune was not Godly nor Regal nor impressive in any way. A little parade of dressed-up staff awkwardly read doggerel while some team ‘pirate’ sports took place with shy performers sniggering around the edges. First-time equator travellers, (pollywogs) volunteered to have disgusting foodstuffs provided by the chefs – mainly pasta and fish – thrown (gunged) upon them before they climbed into the pool on Deck 8 to get washed down. There were not enough seats for the crowd who wanted to witness this strange, half-baked production. One of my 680dotcom put on a brave face but I’m not sure it was in any way good. The pool had to be closed, emptied, and cleaned as a result.
DAY 34 – AT SEA – WORLD ART DAY
Still in the Adriatic with Liberia to starboard and Brazil (a little way off!!) to port. Usual morning activities slightly heightened by mild Art Day celebrations in the watercolour class. Yes, we painted bookmarks to be sold in the fundraising Fair in a few days. The best (or the first hundred?) would be signed by the Captain. Excitement ensued.
Attended enriching talk about seabed techtonic plates and mountains. An approachable introduction to continental drift. The poor scientist, Alfred Wegnener, who came up with the theory was rubbished for it in 1915 and it took 50 years to prove him right. Now he’s got a school of geography named after him.
Cinema gave a filmed ‘As You Like It’ by the RSC because the touring group were on board. Directed by Kimberly Sykes, it was fast paced and funny with splendid ensemble performances. As usual, I wished the camera angles had been locked off – zooming and reframing to suit cinematic tastes do nothing to enhance stage presentation of voice and attitudes.
Dinner ended with us all pressed against the windows looking out at the water. Andrew had sighted ‘Green stuff!’ What could it be? Chunks of bright green blobs floated haphazardly in and out of view. Was it some disgusting discharge from the ship? Some horrid pollution from a vile factory? Some dumped rubbish? Or could it be entirely natural? We trooped up on deck, mobilised, and excited by the mystery. Finally, we agreed, it must be a seaweed. There was too much of it and too far away for it to be caused by us!
DAY 35 – AT SEA
Near Sierra Leone, Guinea and Guinea Bissou, we’re headed around West Africa – turned the corner if you like. Or gone round the bend. One week to go. Hard to imagine re-entry into real life. Whatever that means!
The Country Fayre (Or Sea Fair): Action and excitement in the Ballroom as staff and volunteer guests prepared games and stalls for the throngs to play skittles, buy art work (so many bookmarks!), second-hand ballgowns and the medical team explained first aid and emergency care on board. They seemed very capable. I arrived just at closing, enjoyed a one minute massage and played Live Fruit Machine, where three staff members sat in separate booths with a bowl of fruit. On a signal given by their whistling attendant, the three lifted their choice of fruit in unison. Obviously, if all three chose an apple, prizes were on offer. I was faced with an orange, a kiwi and an apple. De dah.
And guess what I found on the way out? I found the ENGINEER’S display as they were packing up. No time for piercing questions. Grrrrr.
DAY 36 – AT SEA
Usual day, topped by Enriching Informative Talk given by the designer of the QM2, Stephen Payne. A nautical architect, he presented a well-worn speech beginning with his early childhood Blue Peter experience. A personal connection that drove the narrative of his address in a heartfelt manner.
QM2 evolved in our minds as his life’s work. She is the Only Ocean Liner at work today on the world’s oceans. The best ship ever. Unless, he quipped, someone in the (captive) audience has two billion handy and he’ll make another even better.
My heart sank when he said the four pods were equivalent to four jumbo jet engines. One jet has four engines. Jumbos can carry 366 passengers. Let’s say 8 jumbo jets to carry 3000 people from Sydney to Southhampton in, say, 24 hours – ish. (Interestingly, during the airport strikes in the UK, I took the Eurostar from London to Paris and asked how many passengers they usually carried. The staff member I spoke to said between 650 and 800 people – approximately double the amount on a plane. So that has to be less emissions per person.)
SIDE NOTE: Hearsay from a Chinook pilot. It takes one ton of av gas to get a Chinook helicopter (flown by British airforce) into the air. Then it takes a ton of av gas to fly one mile. It makes sense that a ship is lifted up by the water upon which it travels, while a plane has to blast off before it is cruising.
Check out interesting infographic here.
I don’t know. YOU do the math. If a vehicle stays on the ground it will use less fuel. That much we know.
We passed between the cape Verde Islands to port and the coast of Senegal (capital city Dakar) and Mauritania to starboard, the Westernmost point of continental Africa. Then, altering course past Cap Blanc, only around 20 nautical miles to starboard.
DAY 37 – AT SEA
Dolphins rolling through the waves – I watched them as I cleaned my teeth. At least a dozen, curving lazy through the unctuous waters. No rush. Such a contrast to the ebullience of the wild splashing NZ crowd seen from the train near Kaikura!
Stephen Payne OBE, the QM2 designer, enriched us with a talk about airships, another of his passions. Once again, the magic of hydrogen power is seen as our saviour. New airships recently developed seem incongruous at best. How can they possibly be economic or sustainable? Although he described clearly power needed to lift balloons and the shape of the craft and their purpose, I did not understand what caused their direction shifts. Surely to alter the course of such a vehicle would take energy? Where does that come from, then?
Sat through the credits of ‘Wakanda Forever’ in awe of the amount of CGI and VFX firms from around the world involved. After ‘The Woman King’, another solid empowerment film, I think Wakanda advocates for nobility and peace, but I can’t be sure due to the amount of spectacular fight scenes. Lots. I mean, LOTS. I did wonder what James Cameron thought of the Blue Warriors? They weren’t really blue – more pale and watery. And scary. Nice origin stories and an heir to the throne to take the pressure of the Princess. Interested to see what will happen next. Their work is done.
Also, as we in the QM2 go further North into the Atlantic Sea (where they’re apparently searching for vibranium) there is a bit more movement from our ship. Looking forward to some land.
DAY 38 – MY BIRTHDAY IN TENERIFE! (which, as I write, is under threat of wildfire)
Long bus ride up to the base of Mount Teide, the feature volcano in a ring of them around a caldera (geographical cauldron or bowl). Mount Teide is 7,300m above sea level and is the third largest volcanic mountain in the world. Bar the two in Hawaii.
We were amazed by the dramatic arid outcrops reaching up to the iridescent blue skies over us. This extreme environment is home to a large Astro-physics observatory and science hub. Brian May (scientist and guitarist) wants his ashes there. The landscape, standing in for the wild west, alien landscapes and fast roads, plays host to many ads and films. Rachel Welsh filmed 1,000,000 years BC, while some of you may have seen The Clash of the Titans and there’s a recent Amazon blockbuster to look forward to.
A loud American lady took our guide to task for only giving us twenty minutes to see the dramatic lava film location sites while we were parked in by two other buses. What was the rush? She was quite right, we could have had more free time to galumph in the bumpy laval terrain but the driver was trying to work to a timetable. Could he have predicated the amount of buses surrounding us? How often does the QM2 come up the hill?
On the way up we stopped at Bambi Café, (totally suitable name, don’t you think?) and on the way down we were released from the bus to gaze upon ‘La Torta’, a mini-flysh, an uprising of geological layer cake.
Drove back down the mountain through pine forests reminiscent of the those around Rocio in Andalucia. Winding roads gliding down from the pristine clear oxygen less air, looking down on the carpet of clouds, and down through the misty clouds themselves and down to the city scape hugging the coast and then into the roads and buildings of the city.
The centre of town was very like the traffic free areas of Sevilla. I felt right at home, walking across the bridge and straight into the Correos. Posted a handful of postie cards and had my usual charming chatter with kind staff. Found tourist info in a graceful old castle. I wish I’d examined that building more closely but I was hungry. My sister had kindly given me some euros for birthday lunch and snack purchasing but I was interested in exchanging my rand/rupees. I was directed to a Rock and Roll Tee Shirt Shop that would have happily taken my American dollars but that was as foreign as the currency was allowed.
I was very happy strolling around the food department at Corte d’Inglis. I used to live next to this department store in the middle of Oveido – there’s at least one in every Spanish city – and they sell exactly the same stuff.
On return to QM2 the Captain’s report included reassuring remarks about the light smoke discovered in the Princess Grill area. The fault had been isolated and the first response teams could stand down. The ship’s company was also allowed to stand down. The guests who had been dining in the Grill were evacuated so I suppose they had been lightly smoked as well.
I received a large birthday card from Cunard. If there are 2,100 passengers plus 1500 staff aboard on this day (we have been shrinking in number since Sydney), one twelfth of that is about 2,225 so there could be at least seventy people sharing my birthday. I was worried Richard, the caring Head Waiter would come at me with concern about lack of vegan cake but he didn’t.
I suppose the food has to have economy of scale but considering the cost of the meat/fish plates, you’d think a vegan spread could be quite easy to get right. Tonight there was quite a nice cucumber/radish/endamame salad: 4 strips of cuc, 3 bits of beet garnished with 3 beans. Then, a mushroom stroganoff, clearly mushroom soup with rough bits on the shrooms and nothing else. Luckily there was some rice. No leaf, no sprinkle, just lumpy soup. HOWEVER, there was a pleasant vanilla slice. Glad I found a jolly pasta place for lunch in Tenerife!
DAY 39 – AT SEA
Near Madeira and Portugal.
I’ve visited the most Westerly point of the Iberian Peninsula on foot and now I could see it from the sea. Another brilliantly sunny day – the Captain reported it would be our last. Also, at sunrise, a lattice of contrails became apparent. Constant stripes across the sky all day.
I was really looking forward to speaking to my son Felix for his birthday. Trying to calculate the best time. 22:30 would be either his 07:30 or 08:30 depending on the ship’s variable time. Either would be within reason, unless he’d had a heavy night before …
I took the opportunity to indulge in a birthday massage. My lovely Melbourne friends had gifted me some cash before I left, exhorting me to spend it on something I would not normally buy. So a Wellness-Centre Massage in an ocean liner seemed to fit that bill. The masseuse told me she was on duty from 07:30 to 21:30 with one hour off for lunch and another for dinner. She will have three months off beginning in July. She says she spends the first three weeks trying to sleep but her sons don’t let her. I met my steward Roy afterwards and asked about his holiday rota. He told me he will have to undergo further training during his three months off back home in the Philippines. So not all R&R.
Although my masseuse was very kind she was also a strong salesperson and tried very hard to upsell me from the basic US$125 but I thought that was enough use of the Frag money at this stage. I’m still looking for the other half of their gift. So generous of them. Grazie mille, Gals!
The masseuse came from Bali. Her two sons were at home with dad. Both her parents died of Covid. I didn’t ask about her husband’s parents. Too sad. A sombre heart note to the proceedings.
For the rest of the birthday I planned more work on my project, dinner, perhaps jazz in the Chart Room that has no charts and, exceptional, stargazing. There was an astronomer on board!
I went down to the purser’s office to talk to Solomon who had initially suggested I bring my devices and chargers down and he’d set me up with ship’s internet access. Although there are people working remotely using daily internet as a matter of course, I considered it a luxury, tantamount to an expensive massage, though I’m sure it was cheaper than that. But when he heard my birthday story, Solomon picked up the purser’s phone and dialed right through to Australia. So I stood at the purser’s desk and sang ‘Happy Birthday’ to my son Felix in the Grand Lobby.
I popped up to stargaze and found the Southern Cross absent. Slight pause while a volunteer went to ask the officers if they could turn off the bright lighting around Deck 13. The astronomer and his wife made an informative team as a small crowd in evening dress clustered around the official ship’s telescope. Venus was burning bright. Apparently, a few weeks ago we were in opposition to Mars. I’m not sure how that worked. Would Mars have been in transit across the sun? Another missed rare phenomenon.
It was very strange being up late at night surrounded by the legs of dinner suits and swirls of ball gown skirts around me. I was looking up at them. I was just wearing warm clothes and a beanie so decided to sit down and lean back on my hands to see the stars without breaking my neck. Another moment of perspective.
On this night, one hundred years ago, the first Cunard Ocean Liner, RMS Laconia, completed a World Voyage.
DAY 40 – AT SEA
Still Felix’s birthday all day. Not sure the internet was working as I attempted further communication but I’d sent physical things – hopefully he will feel I’d made connections.
The Queen Mary 2 passed the Queen Victoria today. We were just past Finisterre. The captain and crew got overexcited. As my sister said, ‘Boys toys.’ We were romping along at 23 knots while Queen Vic dragged along at 16. The ship’s company lined up to give three hearty cheers (we weren’t organised to do that) and both Queens made noises of different tones. There was a great parping of horns – they call them whistles. I was leaning on the handrail at the prow – or as close to the bow as we can get by the waterbreak – and the sound of the whistles went right into my skeleton. My chest shook with the vibrations. Even though I’d stuffed my ears with screwed up tissues it was still bloody loud.
Mind you, directly after the tooting and waving, QM2 slowed down considerably as we entered the major shipping channels leading to the UK.
Day 41 – ENGLISH CHANNEL
When I walked into the nippy weather, heading towards breakfast, I saw a swallow flipping and zipping around the stern of the ship. Out over the pool and surrounds it cavorted, then into the covered walkway by deck 7. I followed but too slowly to see where it went. Later I thought I saw it again by the pool but perhaps I imagined it.
The pools were drained. There was not much point in putting out the sun loungers. I did see one lady, wrapped up in towels like a mummy, watching the horizon from one of the big wooden chairs.
I put the final stitch into my sea tapestry – only ever sewn on board ships. And I finished my last library book to deliver to the library fifteen minutes late.
Although I had paid the automatic gratuities Cunard garnishes from their guests shipboard account, I presented super waiters Arnold and Chester with their cards (boy, would they be happy with my amateur water colour efforts – perhaps appeased by useful though small UK note attached). Richard accepted his gratefully, and later remarked the painting must have taken some time which was pleasant validation. Steward Roy also appeared to like his card. I had previously discovered the Pursers Desk provided report cards where you could commend staff for their excellence. I set about reporting my valuable helpers’ exemplary work in the hope they would get some kind of bonus. I believe it had something to do with badges but hoped it was a pay rise.
Early arrival in Southhampton expected at 10pm due to a technical issue. Apparently there was a problem on board – one assumes it might have had something to do with the light smoke in the airconditioning system that caused the Princess Grill to be evacuated – and the Captain felt it better to get to port ASAP.
The farewells were not all one way. Anne gave me the cutest little elephant. She had found some yarn in her wardrobe and, being a potter, painter and crochet artist, set about making everyone presents. It is a treasure. Her Ode to Table 680 was warmly received at the last committee meeting. She is a brilliant soul.
For the last dinner Cunard Tradition demands The Parade of the Chefs. Someone made a speech introducing the luminaries of the kitchen but the speakers were broken upstairs so only the downstairs centre of the Great Hall could hear. But we all applauded and waved our table napkins with gusto as the white uniforms marched past – we had the final revolving door so saw them all disappear back work. It seemed suitable for our 680 committee to applaud Chester and Arnold and our sommelier (I don’t drink wine so I’m not sure of his name) personally.
Stood for a good hour and a half on the observation deck watching as we came through the Solent and into port. Dressed warmly with rain poncho acting as windbreaker. Man next to me on the phone, spoke with his son on shore, who was sending photos of the approaching ship from the outside looking in. My fellow passenger was excited, after three and a half months away, to see his 4-year-old grandson. The family chattered together on the mobile and then they could see the light of each other’s torches and then they were all talking and the 4-year-old was thrilled and they would see each other first thing tomorrow! Bye bye!
Suitcases lined the hallways and sweaty workers piled them onto trolleys filling up quickly by the lift wells.
Intensely grateful to have booked a large table so I didn’t have to spend 41 nights reading a book whilst munching. There’s nothing wrong with reading a book and eating but I did that at breakfast and lunchtime and variety is the spice and so forth. Lucky escape! Thanks, table 680!
DAY 42 – DISEMBARK
Normal routine finished – obviously. Had quick brekkie and Watching the booze, fruit and veg deliveries for QM2 pile up on the dock. The ship had to be repaired and then head to NY the next morning. More and more deliveries arrived.
I took my pack and went to find my tablemates clustered in the Grand lobby. We’d been given a staggered time to leave but decided we would stagger out in our own sweet time. Following the tide of ‘guests’ I arrived in a cavernous luggage hall arranged in a colour-coded grid. This is where the extraordinary amount of matching expensive luggage simply took my breath away. People had brought a fantastic amount of suitcases. I found my little one-way roller and, together with my two packs, front and back, marched away from my QM2 home of six weeks and out into Southhampton streets. There were the ancient city walls. Here was a blue plaque stating Jane Austen used to live here. And my little modern hotel right next to the Carnival building.
I stood in the queue, expecting to store my bag until my room was ready, and listened to the woes of the people in front of me. Here were QM2 ‘guests’ who had just been notified the ship’s technical problems had proved insurmountable and their ocean cruise to NY would not proceed. The hotel staff told me they had many customers trying to extend their stay as a result. I thought of all those NY Round-the-World ‘guests’ who would have to find their own way home after four months at sea. They would miss that final dramatic flourish of sailing into NY at dawn.
I thought of the pallets of fresh fruit and veg that would not be going to NY – I suppose they would be redistributed to the rest of the fleet? I hoped the staff’s jobs would be safe. I assume Carnival have a system to protect jobs in the event of a distruption to sailing?
Further away, in the Honiton train station waiting room the next day, while waiting for my WorkAway chum, I befriended a couple who had tickets to NY on the QM2. They were enquiring about tickets to Gatwick. They were really annoyed, not necessarily because their cruise was cancelled, but because Carnival had also cancelled the accompanying flights home. Everything to do with the cruise would be reimbursed. However, the flights had been booked months in advance at a suitably economical price. Now, at the last minute, this couple were looking at three times the original price.
WHEN
Things go wrong …
What happened in August when the mountain came down over the alpine railway tracks? I caught a plane. Ridiculously, a stopover, so two planes. Metro, RER, bus, plane, plane – shame. I felt such a failure. There was a time constraint, of course. Time, money and emissions.
I can’t remember if I said I’d never fly again. Did I swear I never would?
Who said, ‘When people ask “Why do you care about the environment?” I tell them, ‘Because I live there.'” ???
All the queuing involved in cruise ship pales into insignificance when the ridiculous panic of airport border control – stripping, emptying, untying, repacking all in a thrice – only to sit for hours while people organise the plane. Miles of walking and I saw people running, awkward, pained, between far distant terminals – some with babies and desperation. Why is it so urgent? So they can make more money for the shareholders?
People in the UK say, ‘It is what it is’.
But it’s not. The air industry keeps growing. Of course we all offset, (here’s what The International Air Transport Association (IATA) says about that) but mitigation isn’t enough. We have to stop emissions. Who is willing to change? As I flew in circles over Europe, I despaired.
I made it to work on time. What does that matter in the face of the Libyan floods?
We live in a changing world. See how that works right now.
Who cares? When I bought that ticket, I felt defeated.
Half a world cruise on Queen Mary 2. Find part 1: leaving Sydney, part 2: cruising around south Oz and part 3: sea to island hopping. Caught up? Enjoy the next quarter!
Day 21 – at sea – Routine back in full power, together with satisfying work on my writing project. After dinner, tablemate Elaine and I ran to the cinema, from one end of the ship to the other. I was wearing one of my excellent wraps (gifted to me as Kate Winslet cosplay) which I held flying behind me like a cape. It was glorious and funny and, as we pounded through the plush carpet of the grand foyer, I began to hum the old tv theme from Batman between chortling gasps. Our fellow cruisers, some leaning on their walking sticks, looked on with approval. Flying within the QM2. Speaking of flying, you may be interested to learn that airlines are expecting a much greater profit this year. How are you travelling?
Arriving just in time, we watched a film set in Port Isaac where I had a WorkAway booked in a month. My tablemate, Elaine, had been there recently. Her photos, showing locations we’d just seen in the silly film, brought my future into sharp existence. There would be an end to this cruise, and I would be there, in Cornwall, in the film, with rugged coastline and cold outcrop of hard buildings nuzzling into cliff-edged harbour. The port featured one of those constructed sea wall barriers that must have been an engineering marvel in its conception, just as surely as it must have killed a percentage of its builders. What with Doc Martin and the Fishermen’s Friends, there’ll be tourists in them there hills. Reassuringly, Elaine seemed to have enjoyed her experience there. And there’d be Cornish pasties.
There was sea to cover. Tomorrow would be an early start. Up, dressed, coffee, breakfast at 05:50, meeting at Royal Court Theatre to read my book while we wait in a queue before we landed in
SOUTH AFRICA
– a place I never imagined I’d ever go.
DAY 22 – DURBAN
Woke as we began to enter the harbour around 03:00. Finished reading Donna Leon and began to prepare. From the ship the city looked big (4.3 million souls). The large office buildings looked like big black flags as we entered the harbour in the early morning darkness. They did not have their lights switched on. There was a deep red smear across the sky which warned of rain – I considered my raincape, but we were only out for the morning. Cruise passengers wouldn’t have to worry about the weather. Expected 29 degrees.
Litter lay like crocodile skin on the water.
Very grateful kitchen opened for toast and marmalade. Waited in quiet theatre with murmuring ‘guests’ in comfy seats waiting, waiting, waiting, for Border Control.
Once in our bus, we drove through the port of Durban. The streets were littered and the buildings were covered in scraps and the bus shelters were enormous and littered. People were everywhere, ignoring the litter. Our tour guide, white and elderly, had splendid memories of the old days when everything was great. He said he tried hard to avoid speaking of politics but could not help veering back into his opinions about corruption in government: from road builders right up to international policy. He would start talking about educational progress and swerve right into his strong opinions again. He was a real downer. Perhaps that is South African life.
Trevor Noah billboards grinned from the tall sides of buildings. Could his show cheer folk up?
I felt some cynicism regarding my game reserve Shore Experience, perhaps influenced by this guide. There’d be two more tours going to the same place later in the day. Would it just be a photo opportunity to see a wild animal in a farm? Well, yes. But how could I say I’d been to South Africa and not seen a beast?
We arrived and piled into ‘jeeps’. Tala Wildlife Reserve was a sort of open plains zoo where herds of zebra and wildebeest roamed together with impala and rhinos (with sawn off horns to prevent poaching).
And then there were giraffes. They came quietly, elegantly, down the hill towards us. Like goddesses or spirits, swaying forwards and backwards as they roamed.
What beautiful creatures. Beautiful.
The giraffes decided to keep going, bypassing their optimal viewing station, so our driver stopped the truck, got out to run down to the river and flush them up to us tourists. Only, he left our open-sided jeep running and the fumes (you’d think we’d be used to diesel fumes, wouldn’t you), started to annoy some of our more sensitive ‘guests’. He was gone for quite a while and soon people began to stand and worry and debate and eventually moved to turn the engine off. These ‘jeeps’ are built on the bed of a five-ton truck. We sat in silence and watched the chased giraffes run back and mingle where they ought and the other jeeps were afforded good picture opportunities as well.
Sadly, on his return, our driver knew right away he would have to push the sturdy vehicle to get it started. And, after turning on the key, being a valiant fellow, he began to heave. Only the heavy machine rolled back into a muddy puddle. A muttering became consensus and all the blokes leapt to their feet. (Some of the men got to their feet.) Some of the wives gave their fellows an elbow in the ribs. Many of the males made it outside to give an old heave ho. I will tell you I had my pack wrapped around my legs so it wouldn’t fall out of the open sided ‘jeep’. I promise you I was trying to disentangle the awkward macrame so I could get out and be useful too, struggling with my knotted legs and climb over the American bird lover beside me, when all of a sudden, the engine roared and the gents clambered back on board to get a pat on the knee from their admiring partners. I really would have helped …
As cameras clicked and jaws slackened, the driver climbed out of his cabin and made his way around the outside of the cage, leaning up against where I sat. I asked him if these were the sort of animals that might have lived in this area before white invasion? Oh, yes, absolutely. We could see the large chicken farm across the road. I meant to ask him about indigenous plants and grasses – given this had been cattle producing farmland only a few years before – but we had to move on. There were small acacias around the hippo pool. I think I saw some hippo eyes, but the sea eagle distracted me.
Our continually depressing drive through the outskirts of the city back to port took us past many low chicken farms. I saw no solar panels and no wind turbines visible from the bus windows. Our guide said much of the electricity came from diesel generators.
DAY 23 – at sea – When life stays at the same ship’s time, the gym is almost empty on opening, also a bonus for my ‘office’ (the Chart Room with no charts) and my morning routine went along as normal until I signed up for the Galley Tour with Executive Chef James Abhilash.
A few hundred ‘guests’ sat in the dining room, waiting, waiting, for the chef’s talk and then, divided into smaller groups, paraded single file through the Britannia kitchen rotating doors with cameras/phones at the ready.
On board the QM2 there’s the Queens and Princess Grills and King’s Court, the Steakhouse, Room Service and the Crew Galley as well as the Boardwalk, a little burger/hot dog joint up on the sports deck. The Britannia kitchen is huge, stainless steel and spotless. There’s hundreds of staff walking around: major cleaning happens overnight with constant clean-ups through the day, plus the more picturesque chopping, stirring, plating, serving and then more cleaning. Nothing is left to chance. The orders are supervised to the last minute to avoid waste.
Potable water is created by 3 huge salt water plate evaporators. They process around 1900 tons of water for crew and guest showers plus all the drinks. The water is treated and filtered numerous times, especially by the time they arrive in the drink machines in the restaurants.
There are 157 chefs on board of different ranks and specialities, and there’s 85 support staff such as dishwashers and cleaners under the supervision of the Galley Manager. Plus there’s 13 strong Provision Team headed by the Inventory Manager. There’s 21 refrigerated and frozen rooms for storage. About 16,000 meals are eaten every day – with attendant plates, cutlery and linen to be washed.
For us passengers, there’s only entertainment. Sadly, 680dotcom’s first attempt to try shuffleboard was cancelled due to wind. Tried afternoon Trivia but remembered nothing. Back to work. Then decided to try the plant-based option in the room service menu. Fast and delicious. Watched a movie about Val Kilmer. Persistence. Serious intense man with throat cancer – continuing to strive.
DAY 24 – PORT ELIZABETH
Woke at 05:00, pleasant routine before enjoying breakfast. Supposed to be reading in the theatre at 07:00 but accidently late – no matter – we weren’t called ‘til 07:30.
Fifteen of us piled on to a little bus and off we went with guide Siswayle – a smart urbane young man with beautiful leather shoes and cool trousers.
During our drive through grey, littered city streets, into orange farmland, I sat next to Melanie, who turned out to be a mum of a 27-year-old man (snap!), divorced, and having herself a surprise cruise romance. She was trying to remain positive despite her qualms. During our chat, I couldn’t help noticing our bus was lost – more than once. The guide and the driver had several urgent discussions, telephone calls, and changes of direction. I surmised our team had not been to our destination before. The final phone call resulted in our arrival at a walled compound. The wall had electric wire along the top.
Here was Criss-Cross Adventures and we were allowed toilet-time before entering the ‘jeeps’ – and the gates opened into our new riverside experience. I had expected safe nana-rafts, but no, the six canoes on the back of our ‘jeep’ were fully big, two-person, solid canoes. I’d be up a river with a proper paddle. Gulp.
Luckily, as a single, I was able to sit next to the driver, the manager of the business, an intelligent young woman who agreed our bus driver and tour guide had not visited Criss-Cross before. She was frustrated by the system which meant every day she had to guide the guides as well as the tourists. She’d been brought up both in South Africa and England and spoke four languages fluently. Lucky Criss-Cross.
After parking, we watched the three workers manhandle the ships towards the river. I meandered outside cruise control which allowed me to be allotted Andrea, a German tourist not on QM2, for a partner. I don’t speak German and their English wasn’t great, but I saw he and his girlfriend were wearing actual boatie canoe shoes and I understood they were both super experienced. His girlfriend was partnering her friend and there were two others in another boat. So, their party of five got a Reluctant Cruiser as a plus one.
Most of the time the current floated us gently along the khaki-coloured water with Andrea acting as engine while I coasted along gaping at the surroundings. How fantastic, to be in South Africa, on a river, in the fresh air, using muscles. Well, sort of.
Under a brilliant blue sky, we paddled down the brown, lazy river, looking up at eucalyptus hanging hot above sandy cliffs rising over the rushes and bamboo. Is everything introduced? A good example of the mixing of plants around the world. The guide shouted clear instructions and safety warnings for a couple of reasonable white-water encounters. We took turns to get through tricky bits, calling out that yes, we were safe, before the next vessel started off. Andrea told me to leave it to him, but I suspect it was my cleverly placed and strong paddle strokes that helped us get through unscathed. We got on well, especially after his girlfriend, in another craft, was stung by some wild unnamed South African beast. There were screams and fears of every wild animal, caught in hair and nibbling on soft white tourist flesh. We made our way over the water to the panicked duo, and I applied my best motherly soothing queries to the trouble. As I mentioned, my bag was in their canoe waterproof container, and I encouraged them to open the outside pocket and give me the small white spray bottle they would find therein. STINGOES! As every Australian knows, with one spray, you’re away. Within five minutes the pain and terror had subsided, my bag was reinstated into waterproof container, and I had five new German friends. Who says language is key to communication?
We saw a bee-eater and the most extraordinary Goliath heron, huge, like a brolga, with a massive knife-sharp beak. We saw a malachite kingfisher, lots of African darters, crows, and a magnificent fish eagle. There was a section of the river where weaver birds had created little lantern nests. They dangled from the bank of the river swinging from bamboo stalks as if lighting a parade. The poor male must build, weave, and knit grasses into clever designs to attract a mate. But if she’s not impressed, she nips off the endeavour and it lands on the ground, never to be any baby’s home. All or nothing for the weaver bird.
We were invited to park up and take a break at a twist in the river: juice or beer, snacks and chips, and a good dousing of mud for our shoes as we climbed in and out of the canoes. Back in the boat, with his long legs, Andrea artistically swooshed his little canoe shoes in the water to rinse them as we pottered downstream. This was not an option for my heavier boots and the fact I was cornered in the bow. Back on the land, we waited while the workers loaded up the heavy canoes. This was not a job for a weak person and presumably it would only be possible to do it for a limited time. Our guide admitted that he would be doing a National Park tour that afternoon so perhaps he was transitioning to an easier life.
We were returned to base where everyone rushed to the toilet, then connected with wifi and rang up their families. I said goodbye to my new German friends, asked to scrape off the worst of the mud from my boots, and rejoined cruise life. The next instalment of our shore experience was the Braai – a South African barbecue.
Our busload of hungry cruisers lined up at a long table by a huge fireplace while the drivers and guides prepared our food. I was offered a huge plate of salad and steamed veg while the carnists scored toasted cheese sandwiches and salad, sausages, and IMPALA.
As he gnawed on his impala chunks, fellow cruiser Mark shared information about the ship’s engines gleaned from an article: beyondships.com, Nov 2009. Inside view: “What makes QM2 go? A conversation with QM2 Chief Engineer Brian Watling”, by Richard H. Wagner.
In short, Mark told me, QM2 has four enormous engines in the depths of the ship’s hull using diesel, or heavy oil. Two turbo engines are on the top of the ship, behind the Queen Mary 2 sign, using the equivalent of expensive aviation gas. They’re designed for extra boost power through rough weather or to make up time. Most of the time the ship is running on diesel.
The four Wartsila engines can each burn 3.1 tons of heavy fuel oil per hour at 100 % load. The two General Electric turbos can each burn 6.1 tons of light oil per hour at 100% load. That’s a lot of tons of oil on board. You can read that again.
There are no drive shafts turning propellers, taking up massive space inside the ship. Instead, there are four Rolls Royce Mermaid Pods weighing 260 tons each, suspended under the ship. These tractor units – like propellers but backwards – they pull the ship through the water – are powered by electric engines. Two of these azimuthing pods (azipods), used as rudders, can rotate 360 degrees, which explains the ease of manoeuvring the ship into tight spaces. Two are fixed in position. There are also three bow thrusters that help move the ship sideways.
Electricity is generated by both the diesel and gas turbines. The biggest user of electricity are the azipods but air-co, refrigeration and heating – everything – is distributed by a main switchboard.
I thanked Mark. This information would be invaluable when I found an engineer to (interrogate) talk to – at a cocktail party – or somewhere!
Us cruisers finished our lunch, the workers thanking us even more than we thanked them, and I climbed back onto the bus to hear Melanie’s tale of woe. An experienced canoeist, she had partnered with our smart young tour-guide, Siswayle, a surprise learner. I had noted his beautiful shoes were covered in mud when we’d reconvened. Melanie was able to debrief after her near-death white-water troubles. Siswayle agreed. He had not enjoyed canoeing up the river. He prayed more than he listened to his partner. And his trousers were ruined. Melanie would also need time to recover.
Glossy green leaves of citrus trees contrasted with the orange dirt. Piles of oranges and lemons at the corners of the farms. Pickers at lunch or gone home by the time we’d finished. A warthog ran out in front of us, and the driver barely slowed down enough not to clip it. The poor thing ran in front of us for 100m or so and finally decided to swerve for the verge. No roadkill in evidence, unlike Kangaroo Island.
Many people hitchhiking, the public transport unpredictable at best and non-existent the rest of the time. Some folk didn’t bother looking both ways, taking their lives in their hands and striding across the road. As with the warthog, the driver barely slowed but we all survived.
On the way back to the port, us cruisers fell silent as we drove through the townships. Siswayle explained they normally avoid that route because there are often protests, burning piles of tyres and throwing bricks. But today everyone was calm and, in his words, minding their own business.
Dramatic contrast between rich and poor areas – Siswayle called the poorer suburb, ‘Get up and Go’ or ‘Move Up’, perhaps rephrased as start small and succeed. He used to live in these shanty towns and, as he grew up, moved to the cleaner, tidy suburbs. We passed his old school and wondered at his determination and the power of prayer. He would have to buy new shoes.
Survival as seen from the windows of a tour bus.
Then there were cars, manufactured here in South Africa and positioned to load into car transport ships.
Full moon already? Couldn’t it wait for Easter?
DAY 25 – at sea – passing Cape Aghulas, the most southerly point of the continent of Africa.
Met Jane at the bow deck. We watched a trio of white birds suspected of being gannets. When one flew sideways, she named it a Cape Gannet with the aid of her trusty bird ID app. She’d been initially undecided as they looked small, and she’d thought perhaps shearwaters or petrel.
The library has no book on seabirds – not even a poster – and it wouldn’t really matter because of the dearth of wildlife so far.
Sir Bob Geldorf is offered up as enrichment for the ‘guests’. He appeared in the Royal Court Theatre clad in a crumpled white suit, lounging louche low in his chair. His talk was livestreamed to the cinema next door and to the internal tv system. I chose to skip art class and watch the speech from the comfort of my own cabin. I was impressed by Neil, the Entertainment Director’s interview skills. He welcomed the knight, asked him ‘How did it all begin?’ and sat back to let the great man answer, only coming in at the end to admonish the speaker’s spicy language.
Sir Bob spoke with eloquence, learning and prescience. He feels the problems of the world: climate change, nuclear proliferation, economy, are global. Current UK and USA leaders are nationalistic, and, amongst his other aims, Putin is trying to destabilise the EU.
Sir Bob admitted to being a pattern-seeker, and feels we are on the brink of some great thing. He noted the build-up to WW1 began with new technology leading to a new economy and the old guard resisting. He pointed out WW2 only finished when the Berlin wall came down and the internet was invented. Now there’s a new global economy and the old guard is resisting strongly. Change is coming. What will it be? How will your grandchildren survive? Can they?
His advice to cruisers was to put the news away, talk to children and try to avoid shouting at each other. He shook his hairy grey tired head and said,
‘Just be kind.’
DAY 26 – CAPE TOWN
Today we were to visit the city: The Fort, The Company Garden and Signal Hill.
It was rainy and our guide was strict and stressed. Kaaaren loved to count. Unfortunately for her, this group of cruisers preferred to look at things like adults and didn’t like to be counted. A group of elegant ladies up the back of the bus began to giggle early on and eventually reverted to sixteen-year-olds running away from the big, bad teacher. We would have preferred Kaaaren to count us at the beginning and end of the excursion and not during. She liked to gather the group together and count whenever she could, and her strategy failed early leading her to further stress. As we approached, she thought the Fort was shut, but some of the naughty girls had run on ahead, returning to report that it was in fact open, so Kaaaren had to get marching and do some organising. She found a young guide who could recite his lessons very fast with some panache.
It was a typical military place, with grounds and pleasantly furnished buildings for officers and less comfortable spaces for soldiers, and even a torture chamber for naughty people with a cat o nine tails. Not even that threat could stop our well-dressed ladies sniggering.
Kaaren invited our busload to walk through the oldest garden in South Africa, the Company Gardens, with her in the light drizzle but also pointed out the museum and the gallery. Given the inclement conditions I chose the South African National Art Gallery and loved the mashup of old and new. I found some of the work, and some of the juxtapositions inspiring, passionate, and provocative.
Due to the rain and mist Signal Hill had limited sightseeing opportunities, like to about three metres. Kaaren would have liked us to stay on the bus and get counted, but the gang piled out and milled around regardless. She only began to relax when she realised she’d not lost anyone and it was time to go home.
Two of our 680dotcom team, Andrew and Ray, endured their own thwarted bus tour due to the mist. They drove all the way up Table Mountain and could see nothing. Apparently the cloud is common and known as The Table Cloth. On their return to the bus, their guided counted, recounted and and recounted in vain. Someone was AWOL. Due to the clash of the numbers, they waited for the missing person to return. And waited. Had the person become lost? Fallen off the Table? There was no return and it took an hour of waiting before they were informed the missing person had returned to ship on another bus.
I suppose the paper ticket system has been going for years but, as all the information is on electronic record, it should be a simple matter for each guide to have an ipad with a list of their class. Why, it could even include notes about naughty children!
On our return to ship, I jumped straight on the shuttle bus to a big waterside shopping centre near the port. It was a mall offering all sorts of restaurants, supermarkets, and specialty shops but no postoffice. Given it was Easter holidays it was packed. Found lots of snacks.
In food notes: speaking with Richard, our Head Waiter, I mentioned my minor disappointment I would miss a hotcross bun as they contained cow and egg wash. He said he would place a special order for me. When would I like it? I didn’t like to be a trouble. He said, nonsense. Would I like it tomorrow? On consideration, given I was only having the one, I felt I should abide by tradition and said the Sunday breakfast would be ideal. He was only too happy to organise it for Ms Osborne, the only vegan in the village. (He didn’t say that.)
DAY 27 – CAPE TOWN
Major excursion day to Cape Point. And the Cape of Good Hope. And MORE!
Warning. The Cape of Good Hope does not have a lighthouse or tourist facilities. It’s just a car park and a rocky outcrop.
All in all, it was a pleasant, traditional bus tour with entertaining guide PLUS a fantastic meal overlooking the water. Tofu ‘fish’ slabs with chips and salad. A berry fruit salad that made all the bored ice-cream eating carnists sit up and pay attention. They began to look around and cry out that indeed, they were vegan too! Too late, flesh munchers!
At the Royal Court Theatre that night saw a 23-year-old ventriloquist called Max Fullham with good puppetry skills and lots of cute in-jokes. But, notes, Max: not enough delineation between the characters. Need to be strict about what each character knows. If your main gag is that puppet ears can hear and puppet eyes can see, then a bare puppet head won’t have those abilities until their ears and eyes are available. But a youngster holding the attention of people older than his grandparents, that’s an achievement.
DAY 28 – at sea – left SA very late. I was awake to watch the delicate manoeuvres, reversing and exiting a slim margin into potentially dangerous winds. Because the side of the ship is so wide it can catch the wind and cause all sorts of trouble. We were five hours late and all safe.
Very strange to leave the cinema where I’d been immersed Benin’s landscape with Viola Davis in The Woman King – absorbed – beautiful moments – full on violence. I feel a sequel coming on. As I stood up to go, an elderly lady wearing a necklace of glittering stones behind me, the only other in the room, asked what the film had been as she’d been late. I told her and made admiring comments about the performances and story matter. She said it sounded interesting and thought she might like to stay for the second sitting. Did I think she’d like it? I asked if she liked violence? She said, ‘Oh no, not at all.’ I told her I didn’t think The Woman King was for her.
I listened to more of my talking book, Les Mis. So much information about Cosette’s nunnery. He bangs on, does our Victor. An info dump is still an info dump even if your book is a classic. At least I got through the battle of Waterloo – almost my Waterloo really. But the story of Cosette’s rescue is riveting. The greedy innkeeper vile, stubborn and persistent.
Richard saw me coming and sped off to fetch the hotcross bun. After some time, lucky Ann was there to chat with, he rushed up with two buns! I can’t really comment on the quality. The thought counted.
On the way to Namibia. It is surreal.
DAY 29 – NAMIBIA – WALVIS BAY – Africaan for Whale Bay
The port is the centrepiece of heavy industry. Surrounding that are new suburban estates and further out are sandy buildings and then there’s sand dunes and the desert.
Very nice to begin our tour with striding flamingos in a lagoon. From tidal flats we were then taken to a dry dune. The specific tourist dune was closed for some anti-tourist reason so this one was given as our option, a popular destination for dune buggies, dune bikes and short walks. Our guide was more about the fun than the facts. She said it was her birthday. Was that fun enough for you? We dutifully clambered up the dune.
I wondered about some little marks I’d seen on the sand – away from the tracks and foot prints. The guide thought it could have been side winder snakes, black widow spiders or scorpions? If creatures live in the dunes should people be riding rough shod quad bikes over them? I guess where we walked in our little bare feet the scorpions would have been long squashed.
Then we were driven to a suburb organised by German settlers. Of course, as part of history they’re no longer allowed to alter colour or shape but Germans still pay a large part in education and development of Walvis Bay. We parked opposite an open air market where trinkets and fabrics could be bought from apparently authentically dressed tribal people. But if you went anywhere near, to pass to the museum, for instance, you were swamped by blokes crowding and pushing stuff at you and making continual suggestions about the provenance and quality of their wares, and, as a single female, I found it overwhelming enough to bypass entirely.
The museum was mildly interesting.
Ended up in a quiet, clean, touristy Made in Namibia shop. Paid top dollar for some hand printed cushion covers as a gift for son in Australia. Had delightful chat with woman behind till with long fingernails. She’d also enjoyed watching The Woman King and would love to work in the movies. I encouraged her to find out where the sure to be sequel would be made and, keen as, she put her long-nailed hand up. She would do it! She would even learn karate!
I have no idea why I chose that shore experience. I even forgot to mention the crystal museum – essentially a rock/gem shop – very boring but nice rocks. Avoid.
Elaine, one of our 680dotcom team, had chosen to visit a community where everyone lived in tiny tin and cardboard shacks. Andrew had been taken to a desert where a strange looking plant with only two leaves lived for hundreds of years. I went to a shopping centre and a museum with a fun guide. She did drop us off at the beach and encouraged us to photograph the sand. Then when we returned to the beach we enlarged the image to reveal hundreds of different minerals and coloured stones in the sand. She also pointed out the massive offshore ship repair unit. It looked like an oil rig from the distance, but apparently Namibia is known for the ability to run repairs on fishing vessels without them having to go into drydock.
Namibia is also known for working with Sea Shepherd. Recently Walvis Bay was the scene of a dramatic search and seizure of shark fins.
The container cranes near our ship were lit with bright green. They look like Christmas dinosaurs with red eyes.
The Captain’s report on departure mentioned an almost 360 degree turn. It was certainly a remarkable thing to witness. I went up to the Observatory to stand directly over the bow as we proceeded out of the long, thin (130 metres across) shipping lane to get out of the bay. Taken slow and quiet on smooth waters, the journey was hypnotic and some of the buoys went by very close.
The next eight days would be all at sea.
(New to QM2 adventure? Find Part 1 and Part 2)
You may be wondering about my choices. You’re not alone.
Now known as “Most Unlikely Cruiser”, I still ask myself every day: is cruising on the QM2 really more sustainable than flying? When I looked up at the Cunard red funnel, I saw smoke. Sometimes it was white-ish (mainly in port) while most of the time (at sea) there was a tinge of brown or orange. The funnel was designed to shoot emissions up and over to one side, avoiding sunbaking walruses on the pool decks. However, that depends on the wind. Sooner or later emissions creep around and smell like big old diesel trucks driving by. A sign on my cabin sliding door requested the door be kept closed to protect the interior atmosphere. Remember, we were in a floating grand hotel. Of course there’s airco. Remember, that’s generated by diesel, or as we call it at sea, heavy oil. All the power on board is generated by fossil fuel. From air, light, water, to exercise bikes and mobile phones.
My previous trips on container ships are not a fair comparison. Obviously, a container ship is going that way anyway and one passenger makes little difference to the trip. If you read those posts, you’ll find that I tend to cast aspersions on waste problems in the cruise industry. Now, I am one of two-and a-half-thousand passengers on a ship built entirely for comfort and entertainment, together with fifteen hundred staff consuming food, opening stuff wrapped in plastic and glass, and using the toilet? How could I justify this?
Haven’t worked it out yet. Can you think of a mathematical formula? Let me know in the comments.
While we contemplate modern travel, check out this link to an interesting country comparison – how are your people doing on climate change?
Day 11 – at sea – woke too early. Tried to sleep more. Not possible. Made bleary way to gym. Ship’s clock said 05:20. Although time had slipped, the gym (strict opening hour 06:30) was already humming. My bike of choice offered not only solitaire, but also backgammon, to while away more time. Shower, brekkie, Italian, tapestry, art class …
Then another embarrassing attempt to find more than salad and baked potato for lunch. The noodles were worth exploring but the veg were stir-fried in the same wok as the meats, placed next to each other and served with the same spoons. The curries, marked ‘V’ for vegetarian, contained ghee.
After some faffing around, Richard, my kind Head Waiter, revealed there would be vegan pizza at dinner. Felt miserable, self-conscious, and low. He told me, again, I should really sign up for The Special Menu list. I’d previously refused because I hate to discuss what to me is normal food. We’re talking vegetables, grains, and seeds. Not ‘special’ weird food – just food!
How can I describe the swirl of humanity that hunts and gathers in the King’s Court luncheon arrangement? A central buffet of ship-baked bread (most are vegan) and biscuits (cow), cheeses (obviously cow), and assorted desserts (including plain fruit salad), is well attended. The smiling chefs wait with their tongs, ready to plonk stuff on your plate as requested. This central display is surrounded by queuing humans holding plates.
On one side of the room you find salads (individual veg/pickles and mixed – latter normally dressed with egg and/or cow), cold cuts, fishy sushi, smoked salmon and on the other side is hot food – you name it – it’s there – from roasts, stews and pies to fish and chips – all the varieties of edible animals in popular recipes, all scooped up by willing chefs and served onto your plate. Yes! Chips!
In the Chef’s Galley – my happy breakfast place – lunch devolved into hamburgers and hotdogs, pasta and pizza. All of which contained cow or pig, and attracted a drooling queue. Let’s say half of 2,500 ‘guests’ onboard might be seated in different restaurants/bars upstairs or down, while the Food Court probably feeds a thousand over the lunch hours.
Vegan update October 2023 – Carnival Cruise Lines introduce plant-based menu in all dining areas!
All types of human-powered and battery-operated conveyances putter through the aisles. Staff flit between tables taking drink orders while others dart around collecting used dishes to stack on their clattering trolleys steering dangerously close to wheelchairs and zimmer frames. Most drivers have partners, who race to ‘book’ by placing bags on a table handy to the aisle and then scarper off to gather the meals. More than once I heard a partner, indicating a handbag, ask a staff member to tell their husband this would be their table. The waiter would smile and nod, having no idea who the husband was.
The service is smooth and seems unending. Staff are supervised, and the superiors don’t wait long before leaping in to find out what is holding a servery up, perhaps chef had to refill the tomatoes, or cook more noodles, and two ‘guests’ might be waiting with their salad plates cooling. Some guests prefer to heap up their plates and take them away to their cabin. There is room service, of course, but limited choice.
After lunch I handed in paperwork for our future arrival into Mauritius. That task complete, I wandered up to the Wellness Centre (Mareel Spa and Salon) on Deck 7 – near the gym at the bow, to see if they could cheer me up. The ladies on the desk were hilarious, personable, and charming. They offered me their best idea, a special seaweed massage treatment for US $225. That did cheer me up immensely and I laughed all the way back to my cabin where I concentrated well on my writing project for the rest of the day!
Popped into the King’s Court for dinner and the promised vegan pizza. Shock reverberated around the staff. You mean, all vegan? Just vegetables? The result took ages and I suspect the dough was made from scratch with an odd assortment of veg (yes, including pineapple) scattered thereon. Yeah. Nah. That was the last time, but I did try it once, Jane! I really wished I could have cooked my own dinner.
DAY 12 – at sea – only 30 more days to go – managed to beat the bike’s backgammon game. Collected a paper cup of filtered water from the gym, water to clean teeth, and cup to dispose of used coffee grounds resulting from my sister’s generous gift of a plunger and decent coffee in my cabin, assuming the grey water system wouldn’t like the hard material.
A word here about the coffee on board. Yeah. Nah. In the course of a month I found two espresso coffee machines on board, one in Sir Samuel’s café (a tea-room environment with cute little cakes – nothing plant-based) and the other in the Carinthia Lounge (a pleasant comfortable bar featuring live music at night – a couple of plant based smoothies).
There may have been other machines out of my orbit. The coffee was okay but, unfortunately for me, the two baristas I encountered were not familiar with plant milk, so in both venues my oat lattes were one-try-only, I’m afraid. Just as well, for, of course, you must pay extra for this service. Back to basic cuppa-joe for my public appearances while my sister solved my private cabin arrangements. Rumour had it there were guests who brought their own espresso machines – remember – there’s no baggage limit on a ship, especially if you’re going back from whence you began. As well as full wardrobes, I know some people bought bikes – both pedal and motor – stored in a cabin.
Today the Captain’s noon address contained a lengthy explanation of the Great Circle Navigation System relating to measuring the distance between two points on a curve (ie the planet Earth). The system came about with steamers, as sailing ships cannot attempt a ‘straight’ line. Steamers needed the fuel conservation the shortest distance offered. Plus, we go back another hour. Good to be en guarde with the ship’s time, especially first thing in the gym.
After dinner I joined some of 680dotcom at the Symphony Show in the Royal Court Theatre, where the (great) band was backed up by a recording of a larger orchestra. There were singers. There are sightline problems with that theatre.
I went along to the Golden Lion Pub for an evening trivia – part of my Try-Everything-on-the-Activity-List-Challenge. One of Maureen and Andrew’s chums wanted me to take my facemask off and I met one of the first female deputy sheriffs ever employed in the USA. It was a pub that smelled of booze. I went back to my comfort zone. I live like a child. Early to bed, early to rise, and alcohol free. What’s wrong with that, then?
DAY 13 – at sea – Captain’s noon broadcast revealed we were now over a thousand miles from the coast of Australia. My routine, smooth and efficient. Won backgammon convincingly but, as I left my weights bench to look for a yoga mat, there was a thump, a bump, and a shout of alarm. I noticed a goodly swarm of interested folk bending over a fallen hero and, as there were many helpers, decided to leave. Not sure why everyone’s decided first thing in the morning is gym time. Sheeple? Like the Deck 7 promenaders who all go anti-clockwise – no matter what I do. I hope the woman who fell off the treadmill is okay. Six doctors are on board. I haven’t heard how many nurses. And a paramedic. She’ll be fine.
DAY 14 – at sea – 11:00 – halfway across the ocean between Oz and Africa. Flat sea and flat mood. Missed my games bike. Felt stymied and off course. Amazing how quickly a habit develops. My writing project took a hit from my mood but realised, a Gala night tomorrow might provide an excellent laundry diversion.
Best show I’ve seen so far, Big Russell Harrison, six foot seven inches tenor from NZ. Nice line of amusing patter and the audience was very ready to be amused.
DAY 15 – at sea – middle of the Indian Ocean. Much debate at 680dotcom about the different colours of the oceans. There’s a lot of vibrant indigo sea out of the window. Weather – especially cloud cover – can cause sea colours to vary, as can depth, mineral salts, algae etc. Another of our party maintains it’s the actual physical water itself in each place. Debate continues.
Rain gathered on the horizon but only a few spots landed on deck.
Tapestry coming along – I only stitch it at sea. I bought the (plant-based) ingredients from a cute craft shop in Totnes, UK in 2019. The design and first stitches on container ship CC Coral, the next took place on the NZ inter-island ferry and then the Ontario II, before QM2. Hopefully I could finish it on water.
Decided it’s better to eat dinner with 680dotcom and make a tiny effort in honour of the Gala. Thank goodness for the delightful swathes and scarf donated to the cause by good friends as leaving presents. I wore them with much gratitude and skipped the ballroom dancing. (I did pop in to watch Elaine at her glamorous best – and was extremely impressed!)
Day 16 – at sea – ocean pulsating, smooth and unctuous, as we sail into the tropics. Almost violet at the horizon and soft lilac grey where the clouds prevent the sun from striking the water. A trace of tiny dancing stars scatter like fairies as the sun sparks each peak.
Good bike day. Anne came to visit my gym domain this morning and discovered her bike could take her on magic video ride on a mountain road. It was her first time in the gym and I think she enjoyed it although later she mentioned her knees were complaining while in art class.
We were able to retrieve our passport before entry into Mauritius. How very odd it feels to think of visiting such a mythical place.
DAY 16 – only used the bike this morning – too many people in the gym. Long chat with man standing at the bow about his dog park in Perth where everyone walked anti-clockwise. I tried to remember walking with our little dog Tracey around our park in Yarraville, Melbourne. It was easier to let her decide what she wanted to do. I don’t think she had a preference. Really mixed it up today. Not. Gym, yoga, shower, brekkie, Italian, tapestry, art – crowded so did a bit before Zumba – which I really enjoyed. Body memories kicked in – blood circulated. Too many peeps for me to get on the actual dance floor. Tried it once!
Thought I’d try to join the sunbakers – tough-skinned crocodiles in the main. My end of row cabin meant I could pop into swimming costume (cozzie, swimmers, togs), flip flops (thongs, jandals, slops, plakkies), keycard in lanyard, to arrive at Deck 6 pool unnoticed. Flung open cabin door and, instead of empty hall and easy dash to door, found half a dozen serious, formal-white-dress-uniform waiters wrestling with extra-large tables for some smart event (weddings/parties can be arranged while at sea). I froze, half in and out of my room door, dripping wet from my pre-swimming rinse in my bathroom, as the waiters gradually realised I was there. They looked me up and down, taking in my fetching speedos and dripping hair, and let me go through, which I did super quick like an eel. Drama on Deck 6. Is that as terrible as it gets?
Anne told me, after the gym where she cycled along scenic roads for precisely ten minutes, she got into the lift and pressed 7 and nothing happened. She pressed 7 again and waited. Lifts on board ships are notoriously difficult as they are effectively tubes in a moving machine. Things can go wrong and very often an engineer can be seen with a big tool kit hovering nearby. However, it took Anne three goes to realise she was already on level 7. We’ve all done it. Both Anne and I normally walked the steps – her knees must have been bothering her after the biking.
I had no idea what my ‘Shore Experience’ tomorrow would be. Something about an island? I should have done some research. Not sure what happened to the informative talks – I must have gone to art class instead. According to the United Nations there are fifty-four countries in Africa – one of them is Mauritius. In contrast, there may have been four hundred different countries in Australia before white invasion.
Security lights snapped on around 03:00 for pilot. Listened to talking book until 05:00 when tugs lined up and yellow security tape barely visible on the dock.
I always remember my father telling me to watch the work involved in docking a ship. It’s a magic process as we leave sea and, with human help, become part of land. In Fremantle the ship’s crew dropped the heavy ropes into a little open boat and a wharfie drove them over to the three workers on the shore. Here in Port Louis, they threw the handline over to one guy with big biceps and he hauled up good amounts of bulky, wet rope by himself before tying it on to a shiny new ute. The driver drove the rope backwards along the dock, parked, and shouted at the security officers to move the yellow tape fences. Woefully misjudged, the length of the secure area was roughly a quarter of the length of the ship (345 meters). More shouting. Finally, the ship inched backwards, pulled by internal winches and masterful engineering and everyone was happy.
Not a newbie anymore, I always took a book to excursion meeting points and queues to sign out – robotic voice telling us ‘Good bye’, while the security staff tried to stay awake and smiling – to the gangplank walk. On the bus, Helen was our guide and Rajeesh our driver. I drew the curtains against the sun. It was only expected to be 29 degrees but at 08:00 it already felt hot. Still no idea what this excursion entailed (purchased the shore experience months ago) I had emergency food from the ship, bagel plus apple, kindly prepared by obliging chef in Galley, AND I had a few rupees at ready for postcards.
Very excited to be in Mauritius – only for a day trip but still – imagine! Epitome of man’s relationship to nature – land of the dodo – see it, pat it, kill it, and watch your pets destroy nests and the habitat. Dodo didn’t even taste nice. They were a type of pigeon. Took eighty years from sailors first discovery to extinction.
We drove to the other side of the island to a LAGOON, at Mahebourg Bay. Bleary eyed passengers clambered down the steps of the bus in wonder, looking about them, amazed at the environment – just stunning in gorgeous sunny weather.
A resort to our left overlooked a magnificent view to edge of reef and frilly surf while the small island ahead of us promised cool greenery. It was unthinkable that such a beautiful place had suffered a terrible oil spill in 2020 from a Japanese tanker. The environment was still under observation to make sure it would thrive after dramatic clean-up operations.
Our destination was the Isle de Aigrettes – Island of the egrets – a coral island populated by ten biologists, some labourers and visited by enthusiastic tour guides. Their work, to protect living species – forget the dodo and the egrets – move on, rewild, and create habitat for the non-indigenous but useful Giant Tortoise, as well as birds: a species of kestrel and the pink pigeon. There are only nine endemic bird species left in Mauritius, found only on the small islands around the edges of the island. This little coralline limestone island was vulnerable in many ways – notably feral monkeys and rats swimming over to raid new eggs. We were loaded into a little boat and puttered off in a very relaxed manner to meander around the native plants and tour around their work.
We didn’t meet a biologist but the guide was informative and passionate. She demonstrated the effects of a gentle back massage on a Giant Tortoise. I had no idea the shell was so thin, attached directly to the spine, and therefore, the entire nervous system. We’ve all seen pictures of humans sitting on the backs of these extraordinary creatures. Please avoid doing so in the future.
I think our whole bus would have been happy to hang out in this idyllic lagoon all day. All the water sports were in evidence in these turquoise dream waters, but this tour was not just a scenic visit. Oh no, and soon we were back on the bus to learn more about Mauritius. We were taken to a beautiful church full of angels hanging out over us.
Back on the bus, Helen spouted facts, historical and statistical. The first discoveries were by the Moors in the sixteenth century. The Mascarene islands (Mauritius, Reunion and Rodrigues) were apparently uninhabited, and colonised in turn by Dutch, French and English. Mauritius became independent in 1968. A fountain of facts sprayed forth, taking us on from the Isle to the Lavior – a giant, organised, open-air washing facility where women struggled to get French soldiers’ uniforms washed, neat and pressed in the 19th century. How wonderful to see women’s work upheld as something to be admired and considered in history. The ground spring water, although close to a river, has now dried.
But this tour was not over yet, oh no, no, no, not by a long shot. Helen tipped us out at a museum, an elegant old building already full of tourists. We must wander in the garden and admire birds, bats, and jungle plants. Loved the strangler vines climbing up trees.
A strange collection of prints, maps and furniture was brought into focus by a miniature Mauritian flag that was delivered back to the people by Nixon after it had been taken to the moon.
We were also treated to an exhibition of up and coming young artists.
And still there was more to see. Another stop, more ruins and another small explanatory museum. This time we listened to an enthusiastic archaeologist who hadn’t been informed that Helen had already stuffed us full of Mauritian history, so the unsuspecting expert began to feed us details from way back in time to give us the full story. Our group was SO over it and her audience began to drift away, in twos and threes and tens … Everyone was so weary and hungry they could barely speak. Cruise people must eat every two hours, or they go into a torpor and fall over.
Before defib was required we were taken to a gorgeous restaurant overlooking water and hills, and they knew there was a vegan coming and I was fed food! My fellow diner said, there’s something crunchy in it, what is it? I kept telling her it was the passionfruit. It’s very nice, but it’s crunchy. What could that be? It’s the passionfruit. I don’t know what makes it crunchy. It’s the passionfruit. The seeds, you know, passionfruit? She just shook her head, mystified. Maybe American passionfruit don’t have seeds?
I thought I’d ‘done’ Mauritius but, on returning to 680dotcom, we discovered that our team had enjoyed completely different experiences. Elaine and David had had their feet nibbled by podiatry piscis and seen many Gods at a sea-side temple. Anne and Ray had done another tour, on separate buses, seeing mountains and a botanical garden, but in opposite directions. Wandering free, Andrew bought postcards.
In the Royal Court Theatre we watched clarinet player Kenny Martyn fire up the resident band. He looked like Dudley Moore, with a show-biz jacket a couple of sizes too big. He recently got the rights to the Benny Goodman original charts. He told us about the thrill of unpacking them to find not ‘Trumpet One’ or ‘Guitar’ written at the top, but the original players’ names, Count Basie, Lester Young … His little history lesson found some real afficionados in the audience. When he drifted into Acker Bilk’s classic, I remembered seeing Mr Bilk in the Regent, Dunedin, NZ. My chum Michael wandered down the aisle to sit on the floor right in front of the stage and, looking down at him, an amused Bilk introduced his big hit as, ‘Stranger on the Floor’.
Overnight distance from Port Louis to Le Port, near Saint-Denis, 228 km. Apart from the hovering tugs there appeared to be a port supervisor guarding the proceedings from a sharp blue and white boat as the huge ship manoeuvred back and forward and positioned without external assistance.
Our parking spot really didn’t look possible but the pilot, the captain, and the four engines under the ship, together with two thrusters managed perfectly.
I noticed smoke pouring out of one of the smaller chimneys where I’d not seen any emissions before. I was beginning to feel a sense of urgency around my need to chat to an engineer. I’d thought I’d accidentally bump into one – after my time on the container ships where I was free to ask any old question whenever – the separation between officer and ‘guest’ was clear. I asked at the purser’s desk, and they told me my best chance would be at a cocktail party. Groan. All I had to do was wait for my invitation. But I don’t like cocktails.
Today’s Reunion bus guide was Matteu, trainee guide Pauline, driver Christian and we had a ship’s representative, Monica. Mercifully our bus ride (fact fountain) was only half an hour to St Leu. This island was uninhabited when it was taken by the French and is still under French control. Euros here. St Leu was a quaint coastal town (I suppose anywhere is coastal!) The town hall and exhibition building were directly from French Town style. A statue reminded of a famous and tragic slave revolt.
We were shown a church where an enthusiastic local woman shouted surprising comments at us in French. Pauline took her aside to engage her in soothing conversation so that Matteu could fulfil his obligations in facts, stories and entertainment. In this very church the priest, from France, saved his congregation from a cholera pandemic by building a small chapel further up the hill. With a great sense of drama, Matteu listed several miracles which recently led a family to pay for a fenced pathway to the chapel.
We were taken to a craft market where I bought some pretty postcards and found a healthy salad bar where I bought some ‘detox’ water with fresh ginger, mint and lemon in it. The staff were able to chat in English and were fascinated by the cruise ship. Yes, she was big. Other ‘guests’ found baguettes, macaroons and French chocolates. Ooooh la la!
Finally earlier tourists left our main event, and it was our turn to troop into Kelonia, the Turtle Sanctuary. Originally a farm, as it’s now illegal to sell turtle meat, like Madonna, Kelonia reinvented itself.
Now, the turtles swimming in the big tanks are rescues that could not survive in the wild, and the smaller tanks hold convalescent injured under repair with a view to release. There is also a system of egg collection that allows biologists to monitor endangered hatchlings back into the ocean with minimal disruption and maximum survival. Much of the displays are about the hazard of plastics in the ocean. Many of the dead turtles autopsied have stomachs full of plastic pieces. Heed the call to avoid plastic! Make the change today!
DAY 19 – back at sea – you know the routine by now.
More food commentary. Last night I enjoyed an excellent coconut panacotta with baby lychees. These little sweet bubbles pop in the mouth like miniature water balloons. I’ve never seen anything like them – like teeny tiny grapes but much nicer. They’re not miniature grapes – they came later.
Since Carol left us in Fremantle we’re down one in 680dotcom and Maureen leads a social lifestyle and her presence is irregular. It’s much easier for me to eat at the high table because I no longer explain to Chester and Arnold my food foibles. These two excellent professionals are solicitous to a fault. They have escalators hidden behind the stainless steel revolving doors and they have to march the meals up from the depths of the kitchen to our mezzanine floor. The plates are covered with plastic belljars, stacked one on top of the other like a juggling act.
Generally, the vegan menu items are decorative and slight. An entree/appetiser might be a watermelon salad (perhaps with feta removed), a slim rectangle of watermelon decorated with two chopped cherry tomatoes and a light vinegrette. Or there might be cubes of melon with some attractive cucumber chunks. For main I might get some pieces of roast capsicum on a bed of wild rice and a dab of coloured sauce – was it pumpkin? If the dish is hot, it arrives on a hot plate, and any salad weeps its life away stuck to china.
My alternative is Kings Court (unless I want to pay more money and explain to a new set of staff) where I repeat lunch with salad and bread/rice/spud. I do have survival snacks in my cabin – rice cakes, dried fruit and nuts, and biscuits – and the waiters have found a chef who creates vegan chocolate blobs for me. I’ve got a store of those because Arnold makes me take extra!
Tonight the menu had no vegan main option so Chester improvised with steamed veg and soup. Try to understand what head waiter Richard has been trying to sell me for weeks. Surely life on a luxury liner must be better than this. Tick the list of ‘Special Vegan’ offerings – my homework – properly designed nutrious meals. I will be able to get a curry with pappadums the next day. 16 day repeat menu.
More discussion about gratuities – wanted to ask the staff but felt that would put them in a difficult situation. One of our number pays his steward Aus $20 a fortnight. That’s only $60 in total and a fraction of the automatic deduction from our credit card. Hmmm.
Watched a strange arty film, The Burnt Orange Heresy on the telly in my cabin with Jagger playing a right greedy bastard art dealer getting an old artist to spit out one last painting for the fortune. Donald Sutherland spooky as normal. Jagger’s last line is worth the whole film.
Making plans for Cape Town. Post office?
DAY 20 – busy at sea between Madagascar and South Africa – HALFWAY POINT of cruise.
Woke too early and read Donna Leon detective novel (Italian research) before gym and routine took over. Have slippy towel to do morning yoga in private. Wrote postcards with aim of posting in Capetown.
Have found no other climate activists on board.
It will be Easter. All the post offices will be shut.
I can’t party
I’m just a nomad writer. I don’t pretend to be an expert. I observe events through the social media lens same as everyone else. But I have been around. And I’ve seen stuff that makes me question the world. Here are some of my questions: What do you rate as valuable in our society? Is it human life? Community? Progress? Profit?
Or arms deals?
Anthropologist Margaret Mead was asked by a student what she considered to be the first sign of civilization in a culture.
Mead said that the first sign of civilization in an ancient culture was a femur (thighbone) that had been broken and then healed. Mead explained that in the animal kingdom, if you break your leg, you die. You cannot run from danger, get to the river for a drink or hunt for food. You are meat for prowling beasts. No animal survives a broken leg long enough for the bone to heal. A broken femur that has healed is evidence that someone has taken time to stay with the one who fell, has bound up the wound, has carried the person to safety and has tended the person through recovery. Helping someone else through difficulty is where civilization starts. We are at our best when we serve others. Be civilized.
— Ira Byock, The Best Care Possible: A Physician’s Quest to Transform Care Through the End of Life (Avery, 2012)
quoted in; https://medium.com/@ismailalimanik/the-first-sign-of-civilization-95bc3f44f956
When I was in Canterbury for Christmas in 2017, I passed people wrapped in rubbish bags as I went to the Cathedral for the carol service. This was the heart of the Church of England in winter and homeless people watched the worshippers off to worship, and on the other side of the town, queues forming for the crazy-fun panto just around the corner. How is this civilised?
When I was in Hamburg in 2018, the tour guide told us this was the richest city in Europe, the place with the most billionaires, a city based on trade and bristling with container cranes. And I saw homeless people, even one poor women in a wheelchair, hunkered down in a doorway against the autumn chill. Why wouldn’t the richest city in Europe be able to house everyone?
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In the middle of the city, I passed a dishevelled man. He crouched by the wall of a big, inner-city shop, holding out his cap. He called out, ‘Change?’ He had no expression on his face. He did not look at anyone. His gaze was straight ahead. ‘Change?’ He did not sound hopeful.
Lord, grant me the strength to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.
Reinhold Niebuhr
https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/236614-lord-grant-me-the-strength-to-accept-the-things-i
It is the time of Covid-19. The virus spreads quickly. Different measures in different places attempt to contain it. Medical staff are under extreme pressure in every hospital.
In which you shall learn a life lesson, like I did. What did I learn?
First overnight train! This is the Warsaw to Moscow Polonez as mentioned by the Man in Seat 61.
If you’re new to my sustainable (?!) journey across the world, here’s a menu to help you find your way: https://ourrelationshipwithnature.com/overview-overland-uk-2-nz-without-flying-eleven-stages-in-fifty-days/
For fellow travellers who might notice errors and omissions, please add your comments. In fact, all comments welcome!
When I showed her my ticket as we boarded the train, the white-blonde compartment manager wearing a smart red beret held up one finger. She said, firmly and clearly, directly into my face, ‘One’. Gottcha. I clambered onboard with everyone else and wandered up to the end of the compartment to realise there was no number one. I went back to find the first compartment held three worried looking faces staring at me. I had place number 11. I guess she meant the first compartment.
I was very lucky to share a compartment with Tatiana, her daughter Maria, and colleague Ella. Tatiana and Ella are teachers at a select Secondary College and extremely clever people. Tatiana speaks excellent English as she spent her teens living in London with her parents. They gave me an introduction into life onboard a long distance train. First get into your comfy clothes because it’s warm inside. Then crack open the snacks and keep going. And keep hold of your keycard.
We had basic Russian lessons, compared teaching lives and enjoyed some simple jokes. Like the one about me going to spend 6 days, one hour and four minutes on the TransSiberian. They couldn’t stop giggling. ‘You’re going to live like this for a week?’
But, what was more hilarious, Tatiana and I both knew all the words to Donny and Marie’s sign out song! With gusto, everyone!
We were in a Russian train. It seemed new. It was certainly a solid heavy piece of equipment. There was no riketty racketty clicketty clackity here. This ironmongered beast was a smooth driving force.
Soon enough the Belarus police came to check our passports. The Russians got a stamp. I had to fill out a duplicate form. It took a good time for the officials to get through the train. Then a short trip to get our wheels changed. The rail gauge changed over the border. This also took considerable time. As we pulled in the men-power were getting into formation. There seemed to be about twenty blokes involved. They set about rolling a huge gantry thing overhead, connecting each carriage somehow to the side yellow pillars which must be a jack system. When the other train pulled in opposite I could see what must have just happened under our train. I didn’t feel any perceptible lifting of our carriage but it’s clear how high they have to go. I could see the folk in the carriage opposite going about their snacking and chatting. The others in my compartment had gone to sleep by now. We were not allowed out to watch. They have to physically move the wheels under each carriage. Three frail men sliding under the trains, heaving and pushing these enormous machines into place under the carcass of the carriage. There seemed to be mortal danger everywhere I looked. There was a far bit of smoko and wait and check the phone but the job got done.
How they manage without loosing a plate or a bolt or a wire in such dim lighting is astonishing. How much would a continual line of equal gauge cost between the two countries? Or is it better to keep decent men employed in an important and responsible position?
After a short trip along to the station, customs officials came to call. They brought a cute dog that everyone along the corridor cooed at in turn. We had to get out of the carriage so they could take a good look. We were very serious and obedient.
Around two in the morning my bladder called, we argued, I lost. I slipped out of the compartment to go to the toilet. As the door clicked firmly shut I remembered Tatiana’s advice. ‘Keep your keycard with you.’
Uh oh.
After making use of the facilities I made my way slowly back down the corridor. A corridor lined with locked and shut doors. My locked and silent gate. I looked longingly at the empty manager’s chair as I passed but I could not invade that sacred space.
I went out to the doorway and sat in the stairwell. I had passed the sleeping manager but I did not think her temper would be improved by me waking her around 2:30 am. I came back and stared at my door. I figured my best place would be where either the manager or one of my ladies might go so I sat down and practiced my meditation skills just outside like a loyal canine companion.
A shiver of hope came when the manager’s little alarm went off. Something was about to happen. Soon enough the train slowed and came to a station. She moved around quickly, putting on her uniform and attending to things in her office. Then she noticed me and without a hint of surprise indicated the door. Oh, yes, spasibo! And I was back in my comfy welcoming bed just after 3 am. I was so pleased to straighten out!
It was after 8:30 when I became aware that our breakfasts had been delivered and our door was clicked open. New day!
Bread bun thing I will not name with a French word beginning with C, biscuits, tea/coffee/sugar, napkin, salt and pepper and a refreshing towel. What more could a train traveller want?
Taking careful turns with the available space, we managed to get the packing done we managed to get going with the day.
We had a twenty minute stop to change the engine – one of those thunderously big machines. It reminded me of the old iron lawnmower we’d inherited on moving in to one of our houses. Incredibly heavy and incredibly effective. The wooden roller tamed the grass and, once sharpened, the heavy blades made short work of the greenery. The train was built to last. Possibly your grandmother’s sewing machine would also share that permanence and purpose?
There will be more about the Metro in Stage Six – Moscow – but for now, I’m getting ready to start that hilarious six day TransSiberian jaunt. Not sure when I’ll get email again.
But trust me, I’ll soon be back and let you know more of my tågskryt journey!
And guess what lesson I will endeavour to remember just as hard as I can?
For the next exciting installment head to Stage Six – Moscow
If you’re new to my sustainable (?!) journey across the world, here’s a menu to help you find your way: https://ourrelationshipwithnature.com/overview-overland-uk-2-nz-without-flying-eleven-stages-in-fifty-days/
For fellow travellers who might notice errors and omissions, please add your comments. In fact, all comments welcome!
On the train (Tågskryt!) from Berlin into Warsaw I sat next to Simon. He lived in Berlin and was not a DJ. Proof that not everyone in Berlin is a DJ. (See previous post or if you’re brand new and want to read about planning this trip, here’s Part I ) He was editing music on his laptop, working on songs to play with his new band, the Soft Boyz, chill electro-jazz, so watch out for them in the future. Simon comes from Warsaw and loves to spend time with his family – he speaks to his mother EVERY DAY. He is saving up to travel through South America next year. He told me the best things to do in Warsaw are to visit the Polin Museum and to take a walk through Praga (no, not the city, silly) the artist’s side of Warsaw.
Kind Simon actually walked me out of the underground maze and pointed me in the right direction. It doesn’t take long to get familiar with a place but those initial first few minutes … Do you remember those 3D hidden picture puzzles? That’s how I feel when I stare at a map of a new city until it comes into focus. Takes a day, normally. I was very grateful to the first citizen of Warsaw, Simon. I hope his travels in South America find him many kind and helpful people in return.
When I asked my Airbnb host, Alicja, she said, ‘Oh, no, don’t go to Praga, it’s dirty and violent.’ So I didn’t. (Actually I ran out of time!)
But, Alicja could name three vegan restaurants within five minutes walking. Cake for dinner!
Continue readingYeah, nah (as we say in Melbourne) yeah, nah, not flying, but it was a flying visit! My tourism style is definitely skittering over the top – I’ve got a train to catch.
If you’re new to my sustainable (?!) journey across the world, here’s a menu to help you find your way: https://ourrelationshipwithnature.com/overview-overland-uk-2-nz-without-flying-eleven-stages-in-fifty-days/
For fellow travellers who might notice errors and omissions, please add your comments. In fact, all comments welcome!
On the rails again, I was encouraged to see so many windturbines, not only through the Netherlands but also in Germany, as the train trundled over the border. We also passed workers building an enormous solar array in the middle of lush green pastures.
On passing through Gouda, I reflected on the illustrious history of that cheese and the many times I had enjoyed a sumptuous slice on a cracker. Which lead me to contemplate the current lack of (cows milk) cheese in my life. No bad thing. Imagine if, when breastfeeding Felix, someone had snatched him away to make me ‘donate’ my milk to other beings? I suppose, when our cows were Daisy and Buttercup out in the back paddock and we were all friends together it might have been different but now there are billions of us drinking billions of café lattes and billions of little calves snatched away from their billions of bellowing mothers. What happens to the baby cows? The things you think on a train …
The verdant green paddocks flashing by my window were divided by slim, flat channels of shining water. Wooden fences, trees and fat ponies were interspersed with modern buildings and power lines. The old and the new sat back to back in the Netherlands, like the woman in the Rotterdam memorial to the fallen facing sadly down to the past and the man with the spade looking up for a new vision.
Netherlands is trying to shake the Holland image – Holland being only one part of the country. I’m shaking off the Netherlands! Onward! Forward, forward went the rattling train, into the next county, the next region, the next country. Human muttering, snuffles and snores surrounded me all the way to Amersfort.
Amazed how stressed I became when I couldn’t find a notice board giving me the onward time and place for my connection. I had to go outside the station and find a tiny little screen well-above head-height to spot it. It did not show on the platform screens for another twenty minutes. It’s difficult turning up bright and early, prepared and ready, when the systems are not ready for you.
A pretty young blonde sitting in my seat, innocent as you please, said, looking around at her fellow gang, ‘Oh, most of us don’t have reservations’, as she snuggled in (to my seat) and looked smug. The rest of the passengers seemed to nod but I may have imagined that. They might have just looked down to avoid my eye or read their book or check a piece of fluff on their shirt. I passed on to lean on a patch of wall with the other too-lates-for-a-spot. I remembered the summer of 2016 when I had travelled on a Eurail pass, two of my German trains had neglected to add my carriage. Clambering into any available wagon, many of my fellow passengers squeezed into corridors, sat on the floor or leaned on their luggage to while away the hours. Perhaps this was normal in Germany. When the ticket inspector came along he made no comment to those hogging the reserved seats, looking carefully at each ticket and then grudgingly approving them. When he gave my ticket the required grunt, I asked about my seat number. He said, ‘Well, you should go and sit there.’ I explained that I could not. ‘But you reserved it.’ Shrug. And he said, ‘Well, she should move.’ And I said, ‘I don’t think she wants to.’ And he said, ‘She has to.’ And I said, ‘I can’t make her.’ And you could see the exasperation in his eyes. ‘She has to.’ And my silent shrug made him decide who was in charge. He marched toward the pretty blonde but pretended he didn’t realise it was her, looking around at all the seat numbers innocently, creeping closer to his prey. She didn’t like it but he persisted and soon enough she was packing up and the seat was mine. The woman next to me said, ‘Awkward’ in that funny American sitcom kind of way. I said, ‘She’s young. She can cope.’ And the woman leaning next to me smiled and said, ‘That’s the rules. Unfortunate.’ BUT NOT FOR ME!!
I had desires to buy a coffee and eat my sandwich but her blonde companion sat beside me like a disapproving thunder cloud, crossing her long legs uncomfortably against the seat in front of her like a thin-legged crab trying to get into a shell. Her judgement lay across me like a forbidding arm.
The train stopped to change staff and take a break. The voice said you could go outside for a smoke so I went to look out of the door. Ah. This is the sort of thing I could expect on the TransSiberian. Pausing. But I did not want to risk losing the train so I did not set foot on the platform plus, you know, tobacco smoke. It was only for a few minutes and I’d left my run a bit late. Still. Got to practice the idea.
My Hamburg walking tour – sadly forgotten guide’s name – mainly because she lost ME – began by the water (river Alster) next to a Venetian looking shopping mall, Alsterarkaden. She was an excellent speaker. She told us that one in forty citizens of Hamburg was a millionaire. And there are more billionaires registered in Hamburg than anywhere else in Europe, maybe the world. The rivers were full of ships and boats of all sizes and shapes, tangible evidence of supremely successful trade. I was also reassured of wealth and comfort by the chateaus grandstanding in the leafy suburb near my cosy Airbnb apartment.
Not sure what the people sleeping in the street imply, tucked up, silent and hunched, in their sleeping bags in shop doorways and alleys. One was even curled over into a wheelchair. What sort of life is that? Hamburg was cold.
The guide told us the city has been built and destroyed over and over again in its long history. It was originally a fort surrounded by three rivers, Alster, Elb and Bille. Water is more than life-blood. It is food, drink and communication channel. It is wealth.
A couple of young lads rolled up on their little scooters and peered over shoulders. When the guide asked them if they were joining us they said, ‘Yeah, nah,’ and I knew we were in the presence of Melbournians. ‘Yeah, nah, we’ll just park the scooters.’ We walked up from the river, part of the lake now, up to the Hamburg Rathaus (town hall).
The Rathaus is canvas writ large with historical figures and symbols.
At the rear of the Rathaus to look at the Goddess of Hygiene in her fountain, chosen because of the cholera epidemic as a result of the Great Fire of Hamburg. The fountain is cleverly used as part of an intricate cooling system throughout the building. When the water trickles, it must be summer. In the winter it’s turned off or else the pipes will freeze and cause all sorts of trouble for the Rathaus.
We walked to the Patriotic Society – a kind of NGO for growing community – and found a group of several small brass squares embedded into the footpath outside. These little squares, called Stolpersteine (stumbling stones) by Gunter Demnig, are now all over Europe (apart from some places where they do not think walking on memorials is a respectful act). I’d seen them before in Lubeck. She explained they were memorials for those persecuted by the Nazis, regardless of religion. They give names and dates but cannot tell much more of the story apart from their placing. These particular people must have been members of the Society. Our guide explained that when locals go about their business they often keep their eyes down and they will see those names, and perhaps be jolted. That those who notice will have to look down to read the names and therefore will be bowing.
She told of meeting an elderly man on his knees in front of the plaques when she was delivering her tour. He was polishing the brass. When asked, he explained that his father was a member of the SS and this small task, polishing these little squares of metal, were a way for him to atone his inherited feelings of guilt.
We moved to Saint Nicholas, a blackened wreck of a church, which has been left as a site for memorials. It makes for sombre visiting. Most of Hamburg was bombed by the allies. It is now thought to have been the most bombed city in WWII. The allies decided to force the citizens to decide to give up – they rained down white fire on Hamburg for ten days and nights. The white fire was so powerful it drained oxygen from the air, sucked life from deep inside bomb shelters and killed old, young and creatures alike. When offered the choice, Hamburg quickly surrendered.
My father was a navigator in the Royal Australian Air Force. I do remember him talking about Dresden. He thought the destruction of Dresden was one of the greatest crimes of his war. He talked sadly about the beauty of that small city before the allies had smashed it. I don’t think the Australians were involved in bombing Hamburg. He did not talk much about his war, apart from jovial remarks about his only injury coming when he’d drunkenly fallen off a gate. I knew he’d been shot down in the Mediterranean because his brother, Syd, told me so. His crew had been rescued by a British submarine that surfaced metres away, saying clearly and commandingly to ‘Douse that light, you … ’
I did not inherit any guilt about these bombings. As far as my education and assumptions about WWI and WWII went, we were on the right side, we won and we did the right thing. My grandfather and my father told me so. I could not help but think of those who are suffering in wars at this time. Have humans learned nothing but arms deals?
My walking tour took a break in Starbucks. I could not remember ever having taken food or drink in one of those before. I really enjoyed my almond-milk hot chocolate but the three other Aussies (from Melbourne) despaired at the quality of their coffees. ‘Yeah, nah.’ Making faces they said things like, ‘Disgusting.’ ‘Medicinal.’ ‘Don’t do it.’ Think of all those poor little calves and their milking mummies.
Then we visited the surviving 16th century buildings near the beginning of the Great Fire, some of the few old buildings in this city. They not only survived that fire but also both world wars. These are strong buildings. See the tidal marks on the foundations?
We progressed towards the harbour proper, still river water. When I started chatting with Debbie, a ceramicist from Florida, we lost sight of the group. More and more tourists and locals out for a weekend stroll swirled around us. I thought I saw the other American on the tour wave at us but perhaps I was mistaken as our dash to catch up was fruitless. So I never did get to hear the end of the guide’s story. But Debbie and I talked about Extinction Rebellion and the gritty reality of American politics until I had to meet my friend in St Pauli, the edgy side of town.
I met Tanja at StrandPauli, a funky beach themed café. Wish I’d taken some photos but we were too busy gossiping. I met Tanja at a Christmas yoga retreat near Seville nearly ten months ago. Later we walked down to the Elbphilharmonie (or concert hall on the Elbe). She told me the glass for the windows was difficult and expensive and when you see the melty bends and flexes in the surface of the glass it is easy to understand why. Apart from the fact it’s very high up and really, will people notice that, or the tailor-made light bulbs that also had to be made internationally?
The next day was sunny and delightful. I wandered from my little apartment to the old fishing village area, Treppenviertel, now a gentrified suburb for some of those millionaires!
I wandered and waited to catch a ferry from Blankenese (white nose). Had no idea where the ferry was going so I wasn’t surprised when it seemed to be driving towards shallow water, a surly bridge and an opening gate.
There was an aborted landing attempt, presumably because the open gate was releasing a force of muddy water (were they dredging in there?) twisting the ship around at unpredictable angles. Our ferry had to push away from the dock and regain composure mid-stream.
I did wonder if we were to go through the gate but finally, with much bumping and clanging of those big metal pillars, we tied up, folk disembarked and new passengers ran to get onboard. Then we sat again. Cigarettes were smoked. Babies’s chins were chucked. The sun was brilliant. Glorious day. Expectation remained high amongst the other passengers. We would surely be leaving soon. Wouldn’t we?
Went down to ask about buying a ticket (and our destination) in this luxurious autumnal cruise and found my daily train tick was ample and I would change ferry at the next landing. Eventually we got underway.
Back we went to Blankenese, carefully avoiding the mudflats pimpled with small birds.
No hesitation here. Off we went into deeper shipping channels and new industrial vistas. It is a huge port.
Change of ferry and closer to urban life …
On we went, up to the Elbphilharmonie. Love the waves on the roof.
The main reason I came to Hamburg was to check on the assertions given to me by young peregrinos on the Camino. They all attested to the great beauty of Hamburg. No, really. It was far more beautiful than Sydney harbour. Much. Well. Yeah. Nah. I don’t think so. Sorry.
Yeah. NAH.
See Stage Three here.
If you’re new to my sustainable (?!) journey across the world, here’s a menu to help you find your way: https://ourrelationshipwithnature.com/overview-overland-uk-2-nz-without-flying-eleven-stages-in-fifty-days/
For fellow travellers who might notice errors and omissions, please add your comments. In fact, all comments welcome!
Quick update: I have been granted an electronic NZ Endorsement, which I don’t need to print out. I trust the server will keep those records safe. Thanks, NZ Immigration!
Finishing up my summer teaching with Kings Education Brighton (I don’t know how I could have attempted this journey without Stephen’s support, thanks Boss DOS!) I moved to London for a couple of days to gather myself together.
A few chores and little shopping things: I wanted to get some currency, euros, roubles etc, just small change, so that if I needed a taxi or something on arrival in a country I wouldn’t have to panic looking for a bank. I found a cache of Money Changers nested close together around the Leicester Square Tube, near Covent Garden. It was raining. I went from window to window to compare rates and was informed that, yes, it was a good idea but I should have organised it three or four days earlier. They have to order in the different currencies. I could call back in the afternoon when they would have enough euros and possibly some yuan but unlikely roubles or zlotys. Every morning they start afresh.
Here is the lesson. If you want to go overland start thinking ahead. Minimum three months to get the ship and the visas and now, three days for the currencies!
Time for a quiet walk in a London park …
and an orange fog
and Hampstead Heath
to see a seminar in the How the Light Gets in Festival called Modern Crises and Ancient Gods. The speakers were Baroness Natalie Bennett and Roger Hallam (absent due to arrest), Sir David King and Sister Jayanti with moderator, David Malone.
Continue reading