Any Port in a Storm
For a couple who have spent what seems an inordinate amount of their lives messing around on the sea in sailing vessels, it has always amused me that we have never taken to cruising. There are times when, despite our reservations, it is a very obvious way to travel to see somewhere. Having completed three of these affairs, all with different companies in ships of varying sizes, I might almost regard myself as an expert in reasons for trepidation when voyaging aboard one. On the last occasion, 4 years ago now, I listed many of the pitfalls.
Give cruise companies their due though, their marketing is good and some of them do their very best to tempt you back. After all, it's not all bad, living on a floating hotel and going from port to port without breaking into a sweat lugging a suitcase.
Next year, it will be 40 years since Mister E struck out into the Atlantic in his own little boat making it to and from the Azores, he and the yacht, in one piece. There's nothing like an anniversary to bring out the nostalgia of the past and so, of late, Mister E has begun to express a desire to revisit those Portugese islands in the middle of the ocean. Of course, he hasn't wanted to replicate the trip by flying and no way am I entrusting myself to the discomfort of North Atlantic waves from within the confines of the Retirement Project.
You've probably guessed, but we reached what we considered to be a sensible compromise and booked ourselves onto a cruise. I should add that in addition to all my usual reservations, I first checked to ensure that there would not be any other passenger ships trying to share ports with us on the scheduled dates and also that the liner itself, although relatively compact (there were just short of 900 passengers onboard) was seaworthy and does sail around the world. Everyone had to be Covid tested and negative before boarding and with on-board lectures from experts on the geology, flora and fauna of the Azores this sounded like a dedicated expedition rather than a floating holiday camp.
That only left the weather itself but Mister E assured me that notwithstanding the hurricane season, the Azores' High invariably remains in place in mid October. After all, if it wasn't expecting reasonable conditions why would a cruise company with an average passenger age of 67 even offer such a voyage at that time of the year?
Good question and one I've continued to ask myself over the past fortnight.
We chose our cabin scientifically, lower mid-ships, and although our combined average age is a year higher than that quoted anticipated that our sea-legs would see us through most things. Perhaps knowing that we were sailing into the Atlantic from Cobh (formerly Queenstown), where the ill-fated Titanic left Europe from, should have been a harbinger of what might befall us.
That first night out I felt queasy at dinner but not so much that it stopped me eating and then we snuggled down overnight, sleeping like babes in a crib with the rocking motion. It was disappointing next day to discover the outside decks, gym and swimming pool were all closed and the various fitness classes I had signed up for cancelled. On reflection, the prospect of holding a Yoga pose whilst ploughing through 4-5 metre high waves might have been a tad ambitious but of course I never got to find out.
A talk on the volcanoes at our destination and the formation of the islands took place without incident but as we made our way for lunch, the Captain announced over the tannoy that worse wind awaited us, he had slowed down so much we would be at least 24 hours late in making landfall and our first harbour had already closed to passing ships because of the conditions. In the circumstances and with the storm and 7 metre waves tracking northwards, he was turning the ship and heading for the protection of the English Channel.
Disappointment doesn't really describe the emotional anti-climax we experienced and for a time it felt we had been hijacked aboard a giant floating care home when our tribe took refuge in its cabins and the lounges on the main deck were given over to occupation by those very elderly passengers who seemed happy to be on a cruise to anywhere.
So another cruising lesson was learnt the hard way: the itinerary is never a guarantee of your destination and the small print in your contract allows the company to alter it at will. You really do sign up to a cruise to anywhere.
The orca experts gave up looking for whales and dolphins at sea, reserving their binoculars for passing gulls. Also we saw no more of the resident vulcanologist which was hardly surprising as we headed for Honfleur in Normandy and then Amsterdam, where, so far as I am aware, the risk of volcanic implosion is around zero.
Honfleur is beautiful, Amsterdam less so on a Sunday morning before the street cleaners move in (I can only guess at what happens there on a Saturday night but the aftermath along some of the canals is less than pretty). Of course I've been there several times but was still amazed by the number of bicycles; I'm sure there must have been a breeding programme since my last visit. Fortunately, and despite walking 9 miles that day and several near misses, we managed to return to the ship without being knocked over by one.
The next day we tied up in Zeebrugge and made our way, in torrential rain, to Blankenberge and a train to Bruges. That too is somewhere we have stopped off at on ski trips to the Alps although walking around it in the rain was a first, not to mention along the sea front as we returned with the drops falling on the sand in ribbons. Perhaps that was lesson 2; if you don't know where you are going, make sure you bring clothes for all weathers. At least we'd had the foresight to plan for that eventuality.
Our voyage of dismay did not end there though. Two more days at sea as we headed to Belfast, another city we were already familiar with and perhaps we just weren't looking forward to another day of sightseeing in the rain. Anyway, after a night of coughing and sneezing by both of us I decided out of consideration for the elderly guests onboard to do a Covid test. I had no idea that a Lateral Flow could give a positive result instantaneously and before even the control line appeared. So it was that we handed ourselves in for Mister E to be tested and, in my case, a confirmatory test to be taken. They were positive of course and we then suffered the ignominy of being moved by crew in rescuss masks to an isolation corridor where only the coughing from adjacent cabins told us that we were not alone!
If we really are going to master the glory of cruising in retirement that so many people rave about, how many more practice runs must we have before we get it right?
As there are no longer any restrictions (only guidance) on what those testing positive for Covid can and can't do, especially if they are well enough to go about their business, that travel insurance I've previously blogged about wasn't coming up with any alternative arrangements for our journey home. Instead, we were committed to open train tickets with seat reservations from Liverpool Lime Street. We avoided all social contact by walking from the waterfront to the station. We even arrived in time for a train an hour earlier than that with our seat bookings, but with it apparently crammed, decided to do the decent thing and wait for our seats knowing that they were tucked very much at the back of the carriage and where we hoped we could just hunker down in masks and avoid everyone.
Why do our best laid plans go awry?
The first train had only just pulled out of the station when details of the one we were planning to catch appeared on the information board with an enormous "Cancelled" next to them. Alternative routes north-eastwards were similarly affected by cancellations but we finally found ourselves on a crowded platorm at Manchester Piccadilly awaiting a direct train. As it drew in there were sighs of disbelief and resignation: only 3 carriages instead of the scheduled 6; standing room only!
I am not proud, but we had no choice; we had to get onboard even though it meant standing all the way to Leeds in conditions reminiscent of the London Underground in rush hour. I can draw solace only from the fact that most travellers appeared 30 to 40 years younger than us, but how many of those now have Covid ready to pass on to somebody more vulnerable, I dread to think and I'm not sure that it's even comforting to know that we were by no means the only people coughing.
Our first trip out of the country in almost 3 years and nothing at all like we'd envisaged. I guess we just have to start praying that the Cruise Company doesn't offer us compensation in the form of a free trip to make up for our disappointment!
Comments