Meandering Around Macaronesia - A Cruise Diary

JakTar · April 7, 2016

This is a diary of a 21-night cruise aboard the MS Balmoral taking in the North Atlantic islands of the Azores, Cape Verde, the Canaries and Madeira. It may be of some assistance to those with chronic insomnia. Then again, it may not...

A letter arrives from the travel agent to advise of a change of itinerary - the call to Sao Filipe on the island of Fogo in Cape Verde has been dropped because it "… not only required a ship-to-shore tender service but necessitated a bus transfer to the main tourist area". And that wasn't known when the itinerary went to press? La Palma in the Canary Islands has been added to the itinerary. At least the ship is still calling at the Azores, which is what first attracted me to the cruise.

Saturday 21 November 2015

The 6am train from Manchester to London comes to a halt a few miles outside Crewe due to a "technical fault". After all else fails, someone has the good sense to call the Microsoft help desk. Turning everything off then turning everything back on resolves the problem - enough to get us moving again anyway. The train won't be able to literally go full-tilt (unseemly behaviour for a virgin anyway) so we'll be a few minutes late arriving into Euston. Lugging a case up and down twisting staircases is part of the 19th century London Underground experience and trying to find somewhere to park a case in the narrow overhead bins or narrow aisles of Southern trains just adds to the fun.

Gosh! If those already waiting are anything to go by, I could be the youngest on the cruise by at least a generation! I hand my case over to the baggage handlers and then join the queue for security, wondering how many 80-year-old, white, middle-class, pot-bellied terrorists using hearing aids and walking aids have been identified in the least 50 years?

Boarding doesn't start for at least a couple of hours so I head back into town to explore Southampton's medieval walls. According to a plaque on the Westgate, some of Henry V's army marched through on their way to Agincourt in 1415, and the Pilgrim Fathers embarked the Mayflower from the adjacent West Quay in 1620. The Mayflower's sister ship, the Speedwell, sailed at the same time but was abandoned after proving itself to be devoid of speed and definitely not well. A walk by the town walls, past the Arcades and the splendidly-named Catchcold Tower brings me to the West Quay Shopping Centre where the 100-strong Rock Choir is performing in aid of the Marie Curie Trust. Tracks include Queen's Don't Stop Me Now, George Ezra's Budapest, and a medley of Chesney Hawkes' greatest hit.

At three o'clock it's time to head back, step aboard and check out my inside cabin on the Bridge Deck. Proper wardrobe hangars, a kettle and tray, a double bed, a washing line in the en-suite... Things look good so far. The Daily Times newsletter of on-board activities includes a tear-off strip with a precis of the information contained in the newsletter - a clever idea.

I haven't eaten all day, and will have to wait a little longer as the imminent lifeboat drill means the buffet food is whipped away before I can get my gel-sanitized mitts on any of it. The annoying, over-use of the emphatic verb is much in evidence during the Cruise Director’s presentation with phrases such as "We do have...", "We do welcome" and "We do request” which most assuredly DO irritate! I think it's an affectation of the ignorant.

I'm allocated a table in the main restaurant, the Ballindaloch, on deck 6 aft. My four fellow diners are also solo travellers and are, respectively: my age; much older; much, much older; and much, much, much older. Ah well, a three week cruise in November isn't really going to attract the younger, still-working population, I suppose. The conversation is forced, but the food, of which I can only manage four courses, is fine.

We are introduced to the cruise staff in the Neptune Lounge. There are also four gentlemen dance hosts, an arts and crafts couple, two bridge tutors, and three lecturers. I quickly learn that on a wobbly ship it's best not to leave one's feet where passers-by in search of their sea legs can crush them.

The lead singer in tonight's show sports an alarming comb-over, but kudos to anyone who can sing whilst roller skating around and between other performers on stage in a spectacular technicolour costume on a ship ploughing through a not-insignificant swell.

An enjoyable day ends in the Morning Light Pub where Ian Jacks, described in the Daily Times as "simply great music and great fun" lives up to his billing.

At two o' clock I ask that Reception finds someone to put a stop to the incessant clattering and banging coming from the galley on deck 10 which is directly above my cabin.

Sunday 22 November 2015

Our first day at sea begins with an illustrated talk about the first two ports of call: Praia da Vitoria and Ponta Delgada. The first European visitors to the Azores may well have been sailors in the service of Prince Henry the Navigator, the son of King John I of Portugal who must have been very prescient when naming his offspring. A historical nugget about the island of Terceira includes the Battle of Salga Bay in 1581 where the Spanish Armada was defeated by a herd of cows. A slide of sunset over the UNESCO world heritage site of Angra do Heroismo is accompanied by the observation, "If you see this view yourself, you've probably missed the ship.” The main island of Sao Miguel has much to commend it, including Sete Cidades with its blue and green lakes caused by eutrophication, and the capital, Ponta Delgada, although we’re asked not to buy scrimshaw which will be openly on sale.

It's a sunny day with blue skies and fluffy clouds above calm seas - calm for the Bay of Biscay, anyway - as the Captain gives his daily noonday broadcast from the bridge:

1065 nautical miles to go at an average speed of 15.4 knots...expect to be alongside at Praia da Vitoria at 8am on Wednesday the 25th of November...sea temperature is 13 degrees Celsius...please be careful and hold on to handrails...clocks go back tonight one hour...

Plaques commemorating inaugural visits by the Balmoral are clustered around a stairwell on deck 6. The presentations from the ports of Kagoshima and Yokohama dated 2009 bring back happy memories of that sector of her world cruise on which I sailed, a sector which also included stops in Vietnam, China and Korea. In the centre of the lobby on the same deck is the beautiful globe sculpture, Sfera Con Sfera, by the Italian artist Arnaldo Pomodoro. I chat a little with a fellow passenger who's equally captivated by it.

I join one of the dance hosts having a hot drink in the Palms Cafe. He first started dancing when he was 17 and took it up again when he became a widower. His first hosting cruise was two weeks on the Queen Mary to the Canaries. So far he's always got on with his fellow hosts - essential when you share a cabin.

There's at least one comedian on board - he's posted a note on the door of his cabin on Deck 9 which reads, “My wife dresses to kill. She cooks the same way.”

It's the Captain's Formal Cocktail Party tonight and the Daily Times informs us that although the captain will be pleased to greet all of us, “he and the other staff receiving you shall refrain from shaking hands. This is in order to provide the most effective sanitary measures.” Quite right! Who knows where “he and the other staff” might have been?

I watch a couple of the afternoon activities, the Social Foxtrot dance lesson and Singing For Fun, but bumping along Biscay Boulevard means I have to go for a lie down, waking up just in time to miss afternoon tea.

Even though I'm in my tux, the ship's too wobbly and I don't feel up to forced conversation so, after the cocktail party, I decide to eat in the Palms Cafe where the waiters confirm that cutlery apart indicates that the plate should be left whereas cutlery together indicates that the plate can be taken away.

Tonight's Evening Showtime stars BBC2 Radio 2 Recording Artist Geoff Taylor. He's not known to the audience which wounds him a little, but he has a fine voice and he's certainly playing to an appreciative crowd.

The midnight clattering and banging resumes in the galley above my cabin so I try out the alternative cabin on Deck 6 forward offered to me earlier in the day. There's the sound of a loud motor that kicks in every few minutes, the source of which I can't trace, so I give up at two o'clock, hand the key in to Reception and go back to my original cabin - then ring down to complain about the noise.

Monday 23 November 2015

There's a new note on Joe King's cabin door: “We've had 10 happy years together. We've been married for 40.”

This morning’s port talk is about the Creole-speaking islands of Cape Verde which was once a clearing house for slaves offering a value-added service - having been held captive for months, the weaker ones would have already died. Our first call will be at Mindelo, the cultural centre and beating heart of Cape Verde, and after its discovery, populated for 300 years by goats. The second call will be to the capital, Praia, where the first biped settlement was established. One of the main streets is Charles Darwin Avenue because the celebrated grandson of Josiah Wedgwood made landfall here on his famous voyage.

Out of the lecture and onto the deck where we're out of the Bay of Biscay and into the relative millpond that is the Atlantic where it's sunny and breezy, 260 nautical miles from Cape Finisterre, with a wind blowing at Force 3.

This afternoon sees the first of several classical recitals with pianist Nicholas Durcan and violinist Miriam Kramar, followed by afternoon tea in the Palms Café. I eavesdrop on a couple on the next table making arrangements for tonight's 10.30 show in the Neptune Lounge:

“If you're there before me, will you look out for me?” she asks.

“You'll easily spot me,” says he.

“Of course not,” replies his wannabe squeeze, “you're all grey-haired old men!”

Tuesday 24 November 2015

Today's pearl of wisdom from Mr. King is, “If you think money can't buy happiness you obviously don't know where to shop.”

The first part of today's port talk deals with a short history of the Canary Islands, including Tenerife, from where Franco made those on the mainland regret not heeding the maxim, “Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer still”. A common souvenir is the idol of Tara, the god of fertility - buy a reproduction to assist your, er, reproduction, is the advice. On this ship that'll be a medical miracle.

Morning coffee is served between 10.30 and 11.30 and, having missed breakfast, I have a coffee and an apple Danish out on deck outside the Palms Cafe. It seems that everybody who isn't having a coffee is taking a brisk walk around the fine promenade deck, except the (fool?) hardy couple in the pool.

Copies of the Daily Mail news digest are available in the library from noon. Today it includes a report of the merger between the makers of ****** and the makers of Botox (insert innumerable jokes here).

Now, what should I have for lunch? Well, the soups are particularly delicious with a selection of the tasty freshly-baked breads although with the ladle being the same size as the bowl, it's always a challenge to actually pour the soup into the bowl rather than all over the tablecloth.

“There's No Business Like Show Business” is an unsuccessful second song for those taking part in Singing For Fun. There's a great deal of female falsetto warbling - everything about it is unappealing...

After a lecture on Protecting Valuables and Avoiding Tourist Scams, punctuated with amusing videos illustrating the utter gall of some thieves, I discover that the worst thing about being aboard a floating old age home is going for a brisk walk around the excellent promenade deck and having to repeatedly give way to much older passengers breezing effortlessly past. 4 laps = 1 mile and after two laps I retire to the Lido Lounge to catch my breath.

“I'm wondering who'll sit there, and how big they are,” says a passenger to his wife, concerned about who'll sit in front of them in the Neptune Lounge. Like me they've come early and are watching the social dancing. Tonight's showtime features BBC Big Band and Ronnie Scott's Vocalist and Trumpet Player (both at the same time?), Georgina Jackson. It's entertaining, as is the fun quiz in the Lido Lounge afterwards, hosted by the Deputy Cruise Director who quips, “We arrive as passengers, and leave as cargo.”

Wednesday 25 November 2015

Our berth is 5 kilometres from the centre of the capital, Praia da Vitoria, and an all-day shuttle ticket is £5. The drop-off point is at the top of the main shopping street and buses will run until nine o'clock tonight. At half past ten I've finished faffing and am ready to go, except I can't. Water-tight doors are being tested and I don't get out in time.

Walking down the elegant Rua de Jesus with its beautiful, typically Portuguese, geometric patterns towards the harbor I stop to listen to a group of gentlemen musicians playing for passengers relaxing in the sun at a cafe opposite the customs house twice destroyed by earthquakes. I pick up the bus timetable to the UNESCO-heritage town of Angra Do Heroismo from the tourist information office nestled at the foot of the Miradouro then ascend the 283 steps to the viewpoint with its statue of the Virgin Mary looking down on the lovely town. Retracing my steps back through the town, past the blue and white tiles commemorating local poets with quotes of their work that line the main street on the Passeio dos Poetas, I make a small diversion to take a closer look at the ochre and white Church of Santa Cruz with its stark trees and supplicating branches, before catching the one o'clock bus for the one-hour ride to Angra.

On the way down to the sea along the Rua Dereita (the first street in Angra that connected the square and the Palace of the Captains General to the quay) is the fabulous shopfront of the Brasil Optical Center with its beautifully tiled street entrance, and at the end of the street opposite the quay is the blue and white Misericord, the Church of Mercy, the site of the first hospital in the Azores.

On the other side of the square is the Palace of the Captains General on the site of a former Jesuit college built in 1595 and now a presidential retreat, whose history is brought to life by the engaging guide. Next to the palace is the garden of the Duke of Terceira and its beautiful flora and decorated walkways. From there I use the town map to look at other historic buildings whilst making my way to the peninsula of Monte Brasil. The fortress (the largest built by the Spanish outside continental Europe) is still in use as a military camp and its paths give fine views of the island and the sea.

After a fine day on a beautiful island I find a gift in my cabin from the Executive Chef - a plate of chocolate-dipped strawberries with white and dark chocolate straws, nestling in a brandy snap basket. I consider using the strawberries as ear plugs.

Thursday 26 November 2015

Just outside the port are non-aggressive taxi touts offering very reasonably-priced excursions, but I want to explore Ponta Delgada first. It's a short walk to the town centre, along a wide, tree-lined, gently curving promenade which again has beautiful walkway patterns.

From the plaza close by the tourist information office with its statue of mariner and monk Goncalo Velho Cabral who helped to colonise the islands, I head past the clock tower of the main church and up the streets to explore the meandering pathways of the Borges Botanical Garden, named for the 38-year-old Jewish doctor from Ponta Delgada burnt at the stake in 1559 by the Inquisition. It's such a pleasant place to wander around with its pretty, narrow streets, and houses with small metal lattice-work balconies.

I catch the hourly bus to Ribeira Grande on the other side of Sao Miguel and the 40-minute ride offers a pleasant opportunity to see some of the island. The bus station is next to the tourist office and the very pretty girl working there marks out a walking tour of the town, in the direction of the Municipal Garden across the Ponte Do Paraiso. The bridge affords the most famous view of the town - the river running alongside the historic centre, under the viaduct that is the Bridge of Eight Arches, and out into the Atlantic. An archway by the town hall leads into the historic centre with its churches and white-washed houses and out onto streets leading down to the beach affording views of the Praia De Monte Verde and the ocean.

Across the road from the ship's berth back in Ponta Delgada is Azorean Souvenirs which sells local products including scrimshaw. Some of it looks like fine, detailed artwork but, heeding the earlier request from our port guide, I look but don't buy.

It's time to be back on board. After wanting to come here for many years it's sad that this all-too-brief visit to the Azores is over. They definitely warrant further, detailed exploration.

It's 1252 nautical miles to our next port of call, Mindelo in Cape Verde, and the required speed is 14.8 knots. As we begin our journey to Africa I settle down to write up my diary on the pool deck whilst nibbling biscuits and drinking tea as pink and orange hues streak the darkening sky and winged silhouettes fly over the calm ocean waters.

Tonight's entertainment is a vintage comedy performance - the material is significantly older than the passengers - but there were still some giggle-inducing jokes such as -

Elderly wife - “George, why don't we go upstairs and make love.”

Elderly husband - “I could manage one, but not both.”

Chatting with a fellow passenger from the dining table I abandoned I learn that it has only three diners now because Mme. Much Older tripped and broke her femur yesterday in Praia da Vitoria and had to be left behind.

Friday 27 November 2015

Taking in a 360 degree panorama of the sea and the sky, there's nothing to be seen: no ships, no planes, no birds and no marine life, just wild horses. How lovely to have nothing to do and so much time not to do it in. Actually, there is plenty to do on days at sea such as listening to our resident social historian on The Stories Behind The Stores with nuggets such as - after using the revolutionary travellator at Harrods, men were offered a nip of brandy, whilst women were offered smelling salts! Afterwards our classical duo will play...just as soon as our pianist can find his sheet music...any moment now...no, not that one...no, not that one either...nor that...nor that...and...er...maybe...yes,that's it...Hungarian Dance in D by Brahms, Air on a G String by Bach, The Blue Danube Waltz by Strauss, three pieces by Kreisler (who used to claim they were by other, usually non-existent, composers, just to confuse the critics) and other equally enjoyable pieces.

Tea with scones, strawberry jam and cream out on the deck of a gently pitching ship under warm, late afternoon skies... What could be finer? Well, the scones don't seem to have quite the right texture, the jam is Austrian and the cream isn't clotted, but never mind.

Tonight's featured entertainment is the Balmoral Crew Cabaret, where the biggest cheer of the night deservedly goes to, “Ray, your sanitation officer, singing - There Goes My Everything.”

Saturday 28 November 2015

“I'll see you later,” says the husband with a sizeable paunch, leaving his wife at the Secrets To A Flatter Stomach seminar - in the Ballindaloch restaurant.

“The Fitness Center and Aerobic Room is an adult only facility. Children between the ages of 13 and 16 are only permitted to utilize the fitness equipment, if accompanied by an adult.” Even more astounding that the crushingly bad grammar is the concept of children on a Fred. Olsen ship. It does however occupy a terrific location, right at the front of deck 10, with better forward views than the Observatory Lounge.

I'm seated in the Ballindaloch for lunch with a charming retired couple from Portland who are upset at not winning as many of the quizzes as they ought because they keep allowing themselves to be overruled by more serious but less knowledgeable quizzers. I mean, how can you not know that the Dee is the river that runs through the Balmoral estate? The pizza station is a lacklustre affair and I don't know why they bother. If it's going to be put anywhere it should be out on deck as the centrepiece of a pool party.

This afternoon's social history lecture is - By Royal Appointment. Apart, em, from the, em, distraction of, em, a great many 'ems', it's, em, very interesting to learn about merchants on whom royal favour has been bestowed, such as Floris (for perfumes) and Henry Poole (for tailoring).

I take a crustless smoked salmon sandwich (what do they do with all the crusts?) and a slice of strawberry loaf cake into the Neptune Lounge to watch the Argentine Tango dance class. Not surprisingly, it isn’t a success and, not surprisingly, even the dance hosts need help.

After dinner I listen to the Rosario Trio play in the Bookmark Cafe. In the adjacent library is a small but wide selection of books and also an internet cafe for those who don't mind their message packets delivered by carrier pigeon.

Why do the show company and cruise hosts line up outside the lounge to say, “Thank you for coming” after the show?

Sunday 29 November 2015

I don't bother with breakfast but take a coffee into the Neptune Lounge to listen to this morning's port talk on Madeira. Columbus first visited the island in his role as a sugar merchant - he married the daughter of the governor of Porto Santo, the second largest island in the archipelago.

The talk is followed by Fruit and Vegetable Carving in the Lido Lounge, something I always enjoy watching, but not this time - I forgot about it! I was too busy relaxing over morning coffee with an apple danish and a doughnut, wondering why I'm putting on weight.

I try and catch the shimmering light on the blue Atlantic waters from the angled windows of the Fitness Centre, but the photos don't do it justice at all. The gregarious and affable comedian, Simon Sands, is warming down after his daily exercise. He has one more show to do and then flies back from the Canaries. His style has always been silly, cheeky jokes, but never filthy. Clichéd though it sounds, he swears it's little old ladies who tell him the filthiest jokes on his travels.

It's very warm out on the pool deck which means there's an over-abundance of saggy, wrinkly, portly flesh on display - and the men aren't much better. In weather like this the best places to sit are the little alcoves, one deckchair wide, that are dotted along the port and starboard sides of the Promenade Deck. Putting your feet up on the railings and looking out at the calm waters for (so far, elusive) marine life is soul-soothing. Above the empty sea is an empty sky, save for a few specks of cloud.

Our musical duo plays in the Observatory Lounge for those who have shelled out £6.95 for “...an indulgent White Glove Service” classical afternoon tea. The music ranges from a Strauss waltz to Cheek To Cheek, which is probably how the Viennese vhirlers vould have preferred to dance.

I wonder if there's an outbreak of norovirus. I was refused the usually complimentary nuts and Twiglets with my drink out on the pool deck. The salty snacks are usually served in narrow-necked glasses so you can't dip into them anyway but have to pour them out onto a palm or plate. Even so, I'm told the instructions are not to hand them out anymore, as a health precaution. This continues at dinner where the colourful Indonesian self-service buffet isn't - we have to ask the waiters to serve us.

Monday 30 November 2015

It's a pleasant walk into town from our dock in Mindelo, with its colourfully painted concrete blocks commemorating previous maritime visitors, and there isn't much hassle from touts at the port gate offering tourist services. On the pleasant promenade is a simple monument commemorating the signing of the Treaty of Tordesilhas in 1494 where a line drawn between Cape Verde and the New World tried to settle the competing territorial claims of Spain and Portugal.

Walking past pastel-coloured buildings, on to the busy, colourful Municipal Market, out again along relatively traffic-free cobbled streets and back to the waterfront to the fishing boats laid up on the beach where locals scale today's catch under a mildly oppressive sun... It's a fine day to take in African island life.

The beach-side Belem Tower, modelled on the tower in Lisbon, contains an interesting marine museum with much in English, and a mildly challenging ladder climb up to the roof offers fine views across the town and the bay. Next door is the fish market and a couple of minutes away, in the Praca Estrela, is the Senegalese Market, scattered around the outside of which are beautiful blue-tiled murals of town life. More meandering brings me to the Kings English School which is closed. Perhaps it's been shut down by the authorities until the missing apostrophe is located.

Whilst queuing at the coffee station a fellow passenger tells me she's just been let out of her cabin after being incarcerated there for three days. So it's her fault that we can't serve ourselves. I get the lowdown on her low down, in far too much detail - a certain 'slackness' has to be attained before you can be tested and considered for parole. Having not eaten all day I was quite looking forward to a coffee and a chocolate biscuit.

It's St Andrew's Day, and to celebrate there's a ceilidh in the Neptune Lounge before the evening show which is a great success. Afterwards I can't get a seat in the packed-out pub where Ian Jacks is going down a storm as usual and even the bar staff are having a head-bangingly great time, so I head for the funereal Lido Lounge, at the back of which are two gaming tables which never seem busy.

Tuesday 01 December 2015

By half past nine we're approaching Praia, the capital of Cape Verde on the island of Santiago. I watch the crew from the windows of the Fitness Centre as they go through their harbour-approach routine, working the winches and ropes. Whilst waiting for the announcement that we can go ashore I sit out on Deck 8 aft where the executive chef and his deputy are chatting. They've been with the company for four years and ten years respectively. They prefer to go ashore at a port like Tenerife where you can easily walk into town rather than here where you can't. I thank them for the superb food.

It's a 15-minute ride up to the centre of the city where the free shuttle bus (due to extensive construction work at the port) brings us to the cobbled plaza on Rua Abreu in front of the peach-coloured Supremo Tribunal de Justicia, adjacent to the city ramparts with cannons ranged along them pointing directly at the ship.

At the top of the street is the celebrated church where Columbus is reputed to have prayed on his way to the Americas, although La Igreja de Nossa Senhora de Gracia looks so pristine I can't believe it's that old. Across the road is Praca Alexandre Albuquerque with its abundant trees and flowers, and benches occupied by shade-seeking passengers of the good ship Balmoral.

There's a local boy chatting with the woman running the tourist information booth and, hearing me ask about buses to the Cidade Velha, he offers to be my guide to the UNESCO heritage site that is the old city. Denilson says he can't afford to go to school and, agreeing upon a price in Euros, leads me to the bus station by the main market where colectivos also wait. Conveniently, a return journey for both of us will cost exactly the 400 escudos I have left. It's a ten-minute wait before there are enough passengers and a bit stop-and-start whilst in the city, then a scenic drive to the sleepy old town by the water.

A plaque on the town's most famous street tells me that, “Rua Banana is the oldest street urbanized by Europeans in Sub-Saharan Africa and the tropics.” Denilson continues to be the perfect guide leading me along the streets of Ribeira Grande (the modern name for Cidade Velha) with their wandering hens and pigs, and into its famous church, Nossa Senhora do Rosario, which has seen visits by Vasco da Gama, Christopher Columbus and Sebastian del Cano. It's a beautiful, sunny, lazy afternoon as we continue past banana trees, stone ruins, shacks and stone dwellings making our way back to find the same colectivo that brought us here waiting for us.

Back in the centre of Praia, there's enough time for me to explore Rua 5 de Julio, a smart pedestrianised street with shops and restaurants, and at no. 45, the small Museu Etnografico with interesting historical exhibits of everyday island life, before heading back to the pick-up point by the ramparts and cannons where a shuttle van is waiting.

Afternoon tea by the pool is a mozzarella and tomato open sandwich (held together by a plastic spear that I almost swallow), a square of lemon cake, a slice of apple cinnamon cake, a scoop of chocolate ice cream, and four cups of weak coffee and four cups of hot lemon water served by the busboy manning the hot drinks station because we're still not allowed to serve ourselves.

We cast off at six o'clock, the pilot boat Damao leaves us half an hour later and we head off on our way out of Africa. Back in the atrium the band is playing Xmas carols, others are wearing traditional red hats and singing, and despite it being a bit previous, it's all rather pleasant.

We're not even halfway through the cruise yet!

Wednesday 02 December 2015

After watching the cooking demonstration in the Lido Lounge it's only appropriate I go to the weight loss seminar in the Ballindalloch restaurant. The Fitness Instructor knows his stuff, but his broken English means he can only give a stuttering presentation. I think I'll take up his offer of a free 15-minute consultation, though.

Over coffee I have an enjoyable chat with Ian Jacks, the extremely popular pub musician. It's his first cruise season which he's trying because it's very quiet back home on the Costa del Sol, where he's lived and worked for thirty years. This time of year is the 'debaja', the low season when many places shut down and this is a chance to try something new that a friend has been suggesting for years.

The title of our social historian's lecture after lunch (where I somehow manage to restrict myself to just salads and bread) is "Ladies' and Gentlemen's St. James's" which is also a good demonstration of how apostrophes work. Famous residents included Nell Gwynne (for whom Charles II was her Charles III) and Ada Lovelace, the mother of computing.

A classical recital, including Oblivion Tango by Oscar Piazzola and Zigeunerweise by Sarasate, shows off our talented violinist's skills in maintaining poise, balance and musicality on a rather wobbly ship.

The day ends in the Morning Light Pub which is heaving with some serious head-banging and coronary-inducing (gran)dad dancing.

There's still late-night noise from the galley above (I don't know when it stops but I usually manage to drift off at about 2am) but at least the a/c has been fixed - for the fourth time so far (the cabin has been too cold).

Thursday 03 December 2015

At breakfast I catch the tail end of a despairing litany of ailments, misfortunes and general decrepitude from the next table which concludes with, “...but I keep smiling.” Don't people understand that the sympathetic nod masks a desperate longing for the monologue to end? I think of asking the talented waiters at the morning's Napkin Folding demonstration, if, in addition to the swans, orchids and sailboats, they can also show me how to make a noose.

Dear Captain,

Please note that:

a) The plural of 'advice' is 'advice', not 'advices'. It's an uncountable noun (not that any of your crew would know what that is); and,

b) The plural of 'information' is 'information', not 'informations'.

In addition to that, 'in addition of that' is incorrect.

Lunch is delicious bread, soup and salad. I somehow manage not to succumb to the lemon tart, but only because I know I'll be indulging in some irresistible delights at this afternoon's Grand Tea Dance. Over tea and finger sandwiches (served at the table), and a fruit tartlet and (of course) a scone with jam and cream (served at the lounge bar along with eclairs, cakes, biscuits, gateaux, and a chocolate fountain to coat a cornucopia of fruit) I chat with a fellow passenger who tells me of his working life in an agricultural college. He retired 37 years ago at the age of 49, which makes him one of the youngest passengers on board.

Friday 04 December 2015

18 Euros buys an excellent-value all-day ticket on the Las Palmas tourist bus and includes a 1-hour lunchtime walking tour of the historic and beautifully preserved Vegueta quarter. Afterwards I catch bus 216 for the 1-hour scenic ride (once you're out of the extensive Las Palmas conurbation) to the beautiful town of Teror, the center of which is only a 10-minute walk from the bus station. Everything about it, from its wooden balconies, cobbled streets and colonial architecture says 'picture postcard' and just off the Plaza Teresa de Bolivar (named for the wife of the South American liberator and great-granddaughter of a local dignitary), a period drama is being shot.

The five o'clock guagua (local bus, pronounced 'wah-wah') takes me back across the 75m high, aptly-named, Teror Viaduct and into Las Palmas where, in a park by the bus station, a school choir is finishing a concert of Xmas carols.

Back on board I ask one of the restaurant managers how long this nonsense of not being allowed to serve ourselves will continue. No information has been forthcoming about how many have been affected, nor how long it will be before things get back to normal. The poor waiters seem to be working 30 hours a day instead of their usual 25. I don't get any reply, just an attempt at a disarming smile.

Geoff Taylor gives an enjoyable Neil Diamond tribute show in the Lido Lounge and up on Deck 11 the Rosario String Trio plays under the stars as we gently glide away and head off towards our next island. Another fine day ends, as it must, in the Supper Club with an unnecessary light snack of tuna sandwich and chips, and a small piece of lemon meringue pie.

Saturday 05 December 2016

During breakfast aft on Deck 10 I notice a black fleck in my plain yoghurt, then another, and another, then suddenly the whole table is flecked. It must be from the bunkering operation - the ship is taking on fuel at the moment.

I turn right and head along the promenade in the warm Tenerife sunshine towards the Almeyda. The magnificent military museum is housed in a 19th century fort at whose entrance stands replicas of the cannons that helped defeat Nelson during his failed raid on Santa Cruz on July 25th, 1797. The Spanish victory is given much prominence upstairs where plaques outside the main hall celebrate two previous Spanish victories at Santa Cruz over the English, in 1657 and 1706 over Admirals Blake and Jennings. Exhibits include facsimiles of letters published in the London Gazette reporting the defeat, flags taken from the British fleet, and Nelson's letter to the Spanish commandant, Admiral Antonio Gutierrez, thanking the Spanish for their care of, and chivalry towards, the wounded.

I'm just in time to catch the 3.30 titsa guagua up to the town of La Laguna 25 minutes away. It's a few minutes’ walk from the down-at-heel modern town to Plaza Del Andelantado and the old town. The tourist office is housed in a beautiful colonial house and the town's plazas, churches, convents, historic houses with covered wooden balconies, and gardens with palm trees and lemon trees are as picture-postcard as Teror.

Trams from outside the bus station run frequently and at half past six I'm settled in my seat thinking about the impressive engineering that enables them to get up and down such steep inclines.

Santa Cruz comes alive at night and the Plaza de la Candelaria, like everywhere around, is brightly lit with Xmas lights and the whole area is a joy to walk around.

Our new comedian, Phil Melbourne, is mightily impressed when a couple at the front tell him they've been married for 51 years.

“Can anybody beat that?”

Half the hands in the audience go up. He runs to a raised hand at the back of the show lounge.

“How long have you been married?”

“56 years,” he replies to appreciative applause.

“And where's your wife?”

“She passed away three years ago.”

“I think,” says our entertainer shaking his head, “that at some point, you have to stop counting.”

Sunday 06 December 2016

Another day, another Santa Cruz. This time is Santa Cruz de la Palma and we're berthed very close to the port entrance, next to which is a local market, on a cloudy, warm day. The main street of O'Daly is adorned with seasonal decorations and it's perfect weather for wandering along the pedestianised street with its historic whitewashed buildings, plazas, flea-market stalls and quirky statues. Parallel to O'Daly is the Avenida Maritima with its elegant houses in hues of red, blue, green and brown, fronted with flower-bedecked single- and double-storey wooden balconies.

The hourly bus in the direction of El Paso (which because we're only here till 5 o'clock today I won't have time to visit, but would have if I'd got off the ship an hour earlier) takes me up into the mountains and to the Visitor Centre from where it's a 10-minute taxi ride (8 euros each way - prices are posted up by the taxi rank) to the rim of La Caldera de Taburiente where I'm left for a while to explore the tree-covered slopes of the immense crater.

We cast off as the sailaway party is in full swing aft with passengers across four decks enjoying the atmosphere, the music and the island views. I write up my diary in the library whilst listening to the Rosario Trio, occasionally looking out of the large picture windows, in vain, for a glimpse of marine life, although there was a whale spotted in the swimming pool after the party.

The captain tells us we'll be changing berths tomorrow once the QM2 leaves Madeira so we shouldn't be alarmed if we see the ship on the move whilst we're ashore.

What could be more authentic than a good old British Night singalong hosted by a Union Jack-waving Slovenian hostess aboard a Norwegian-owned vessel? I do have to say though, how much I do regret that she’s picked up an emphatically bad affliction.

Monday 07 December 2015

“Code Alpha! Code Alpha!!” booms over the PA system. They might as well just announce there's a medical emergency.

The sea is a little choppy and some of the mountains around Funchal are lost in the clouds. Ahead of us, already berthed, is the Queen Mary. Our scheduled arrival time is 11 o'clock and every arrival thus far has been right on time, but this one won’t be if we keep laboring towards the harbour. I'd hoped to profit from an overnight stay by visiting the village of Santana with its famous A-framed houses, but the captain soon puts the kybosh on that. The swell is too much for us to dock so we'll have to wait for Cunard's flagship to vacate the premises at half past five. It also isn't safe to tender passengers ashore so we'll enjoy some scenic cruising until 4 o'clock instead. This is very puzzling - we can all see that inside the harbour walls the water is calm. The disappointment and confusion is palpable. I think the reality is there's been a message from the Commodore of the Queen Mary saying, “You ain't parking that old tug anywhere near us! We know about your slack-bottomed passengers!”

The signs in the toilets state, “Please wash hand after use”. I'll have to check with the medical officer which hand that should be.

My agricultural interlocutor chases me down to apologise for pouring his heart out to me the other day. We have an enjoyable chat over coffee, enjoyable, that is until the subject gravitates downwards and he tells me he's got colitis so, when he's gotta go, he's really gotta go. Perhaps that's a sign of old age - when you feel compelled to pour forth (but hopefully, not literally) with problems of the posterior. He's also gotta go and find yet another dining table - his eccentric paramour keeps finding him and moving to his new table.

It's a pleasant scenic cruise east as far as the lighthouse island of Sao Laurent, then back west past Funchal and beyond to Cabo Girao where I can just make out the viewpoint atop Europe's highest sea cliff with my binoculars. As the forecast back to Southampton is good, we’re told we'll have an extra hour in Funchal tomorrow, leaving at 3.30 instead of 2.30.

“How are you today?” I ask one of the waiters.

“A little unhappy, sir.” It's disarming but refreshing to hear such honesty.

“Why?”

“Because we cannot go ashore - we have to come back for the evening.”

“Can't you go off the ship tomorrow?”

“No, sir. We only have time after lunch.”

These guys work hard enough as it is, and the unresolved health problems, about which there’s still no information, means an even heavier workload.

Dolphins at one o'clock!! (Twenty past one, actually.) Every cloud....

I unwillingly share my lunch table with a heavy breather for whom the act of buttering bread utterly exhausts her. I fear if she tries a second slice there’ll be another Code Alpha.

Leaning on the aft, port-side railings on the Promenade Deck I chat with the tours speaker. He gets his work through an agency and his future bookings include a Fred. Olsen trip to the West Indies and a Saga trip to Venezuela next year. He tends to use the Baedecker and Bradt guides and local blogs for research on places he's not previously visited. I tell him my preference is for Footprint guides but he hasn't heard of them.

The Queen Mary moves away at five o'clock, we're docked an hour later and by half past seven the shuttle bus (a ticket for today and tomorrow costs £5) has brought me into town. I walk along the pleasant sea front to the cable car station and the nearby bus station, just beyond the Praca da Autonomia. At one of the stops the schedule for Santana is posted up and even if I caught the early bus, I wouldn't make it back to Funchal in time - tomorrow is a public holiday and consequently the service is reduced. I continue on weaving up and down and up and down the old town, resisting the entreaties of restaurant staff to try out their cuisine, before heading back along narrow streets busy with diners to the shuttle stop at the Marina Mall.

Chatting with one of the officials at the port, he advises me to spend tomorrow visiting Monte...

Tuesday 08 December 2015

...which is how I decide to spend our last day in Macaronesia. Fittingly, it's warm and sunny again and after a light breakfast (finally, we were allowed to serve ourselves) I retrace my steps from last night to catch the bus to Monte - a 20-minute, scenic ride up twisting roads to the famous hill station.

Passing men in straw boaters waiting outside the Grande Hotel Belmonte to take passengers down the mountain in wicker basket sleds I find a second cable car station below which is a mountain track. According to my map, it leads down to a levada which would bring me back to Funchal. If only I had the time. Still, a short walk through the cool mountainside forest is most enjoyable.

Back at the hotel there is a long queue of people for the wicker sleds. I watch the action and take photos at the first corner as the sleds slide by. It looks fun but I don't see the point of shelling out for an armchair ride that only takes you to Livramonte halfway down.

Up a flight of steps is the church of Our Lady of Monte, the last resting place of the last of the Hapsburg rulers, Charles I of Austria-Hungary who was exiled to the island, whilst all around are steep, twisting streets and alleyways, and barking dogs. After a walk through the small municipal park, I catch the bus back to Funchal. The driver hurtles alarmingly down twisting roads offering fine views down to the sea, and back on the coast it's several degrees warmer - perfect for another walk through the old town where poetry adorns the walls and quirky street art adorns the doors.

Sadly it's time to board, but as we sail away from our final port of call in bright sunshine and to the sounds of the sailaway party aft, we're escorted by dozens of acrobatic dolphins. Ah, wonderful!

One of the senior waiters sneezes into his shirt sleeve as he lays out the buffet, then carries on laying out the food. That's not on. If strict hygiene is demanded of the passengers I expect the staff, particularly senior staff to be vigilant also.

Wednesday 09 December 2015

You can tell we're heading back to England - today is cold, cloudy and windy, and those outside are well wrapped up.

At eleven o'clock there's a glimpse behind the curtains as the Cruise Director interviews the Show Company. “Is there any tricks to coping with a lurching ship?” “Is there any secrets to quick changes?”

“Is there any way you can speak English?” I long to ask.

Nevertheless, it’s interesting learning about the charming performers from Aberdeen to Essex, and the paths that brought them together. There's a land-based choreographer but the Dance Captain is ultimately responsible for the routines. If some performances have seemed to be of variable quality, it's probably due to “re-blocking” where roles have to re-assigned, for instance, when the Dance Captain injured her foot earlier in the cruise.

Lectures, music recitals, dance classes, inexhaustible food.... It's just another relaxing day at sea.

Our new comedian for the Late Night Comedy Club has finally arrived after being delayed by a couple of days. After his performance most of us wish he had been delayed by a couple more days.

Thursday 10 December 2015

Today it's calm and sunny, but that won't last long as the Captain informs us in his noonday broadcast that we're 37 miles west of Cabo Finisterre in Spain and in an hour and a half we will enter the Bay of Biscay. This is followed soon after by a broadcast from the Cruise Director.

“Apologies for interrupting your afternoon. This is a PA test on accordance with our, er, class which we, er, are actually in at the moment.”

She follows this up a couple of minutes later with a nursery rhyme about a turkey called Chummy followed by a charming tale of a flea and a fly in a flue. Code Alpha! Code Alpha!!

A strange compulsion draws me to the Guest Talent Show at 3.15 in the creaking Neptune Lounge. (Somebody needs to screw down the ceiling panels.) Our first performer warbles her way through “Who's Sorry Now” and I'm sure she was looking directly at me. Fortunately, the final act saves the day - a joke-telling washboard player (who the hell brings a washboard on a cruise?) whose naughty jokes (e.g. the website for incontinence sufferers - http://www.slash-slash-slash...) have the audience in stitches and the terrific piano accompanist almost falling off his stool.

After a third and final laundry of the cruise (having on-board launderettes is a big plus) before dinner, it's off to this evening's entertainment - the Balmoral Crew Show. Like previous shows I've seen on Fred. Olsen cruises, it's one part terrible to three parts excellent. In the mix are Filipino, Thai and Punjabi dance routines, classic songs and the (truly) Crazy Engine Boys in orange boiler suits and bin liners with the wackiest disco dance routine any of us has ever seen.

The wacky theme continues at the spectacular if superfluous Grand Gala Buffet in the Ballindaloch restaurant where a fellow passenger tells me about Knaresborough's annual Great Bed Race and shows me pictures on his phone of his team competing in this year’s event dressed in Thunderbirds outfits.

The final edition of the Daily Times includes the Cruise Log. We will have travelled a distance of 5606 nautical miles on our 2008-refitted ship and, courtesy of the magnificent galley team of 93, will have consumed 4486 kilograms of poultry, 5118 kilograms of fish, 14.1 tonnes of vegetables and 44,360 portions of butter. Why are there are no stats for sugar?

Friday 11 December 2015

Oh, what I'd give to be able to walk just ten feet in a straight line. I wonder why such a large expanse as the Bay of Biscay seems always to be anything but smooth. This morning is, er, um the last, er, um, social history talk from our er, um, engaging if breathless, er, um, social historian whose subject matter today is , er, um, Picture Palaces which I can vaguely remember before the onset of the multi-plex.

The captain's noonday announcement tells us we'll be entering the English Channel in half an hour so ocean motion should slowly reduce (the ship has been all over the place this morning).

I've almost packed everything and, having managed to shrink a pair of linen trousers in the wash and read through half the complementary magazines I took prior to boarding, I might be lugging back a little less weight in my case, if not about my midriff.

Agricultural Man comes to sit next to me in the lounge before the evening show to tell me that his final dinner table move proved successful - he's happy with his dining companions and finally escaped his paramour. The Grand Variety Spectacular isn't but the last night ends with raucous head-banging pensioners (including one guy gingerly out of his wheelchair) singing and dancing in the pub.

Friday 11 December 2015

Ah, England! Cold. Grey. Wet. Miserable.

Other diaries:

http://cruiseforums.cruisecritic.com/showthread.php?t=2025230

http://cruiseforums.cruisecritic.com/showthread.php?t=1900867

http://boards.cruisecritic.com/showthread.php?t=1858505

http://cruiseforums.cruisecritic.com/showthread.php?t=1770405

http://cruiseforums.cruisecritic.com/showthread.php?t=1792071

http://cruiseforums.cruisecritic.com/showthread.php?t=1669814

http://cruiseforums.cruisecritic.com/showthread.php?t=1584868