I was delighted with my decision to cruise to America. I don’t mind flying but I’ve come to loathe all the waiting around, the security checks, the push and shove of the whole affair. I have rarely seen anyone looking truly happy while at an airport.
The cruise ship, however, was a different kettle of fish, to use a nautical term.
Getting on board, despite the fact that there were 3,000 passengers was easy and calm. My cabin or stateroom as they ostentatiously call it, was on the second deck. It was spacious and John, the stateroom steward, made certain that I knew he was on hand. The cabin had everything neatly arranged, and a porthole to watch the world go by.
I went up on deck to watch the ship leave but it was delayed so, after an hour of waiting, I went down to see if my bags had arrived at the cabin. I had just begun to unpack when I felt a gentle rocking of the boat. The captain must have waited for me to leave in order to spite me by missing the departure.
I mooched around the ship and came upon an elderly couple arguing ferociously about which deck they were on. They were swaying a lot more than anyone else. At first I thought it was the waves, then I realised it was because they were drunk.
I left them before they engaged in fisticuffs and went to my allocated dining room for the 8.00 pm sitting. It was a table for eight but there were only four of us, a retired lawyer from Scotland and two pleasant young men from Belarus. One said, ‘Let me guess, Martin, I think you’re a writer or a journalist.’ He was thrilled when I said I was an author but could not explain why he thought it.
The only problem with this sitting was that we didn’t finish the meal until 10.00 When I was younger, I would gently mock my parents when they said they couldn’t eat later than 7.00 in the evening. I suddenly realised that my stomach agreed with my parents. Eating late is not good for my digestion and I tossed and turned for hours.
We made our first port of call at Cartegena in Spain. I didn’t leave the minute we landed as I know that the Spanish are not early risers. I went out at 10.00 and decided to go on a tourist train which was fun. I was correct - Cartagena was still snoring, with nothing much open. I came back and took part in a couple of quizzes. I decided to go to the Windjammer restaurant for an early buffet. It was Mexican which was fun and I had eaten by 8.00 which my stomach applauded. I went to bed at 10.15 and, as we put the clocks back, the first of many occasions in the crossing, my clock now said 9.15. I can’t recall being in bed that early since childhood.
But it was a good thing as I wanted to be up early to see us pass Gibraltar. I was on deck by 3.30 in the morning and was not the only one there, dozens of people were gazing into the night, some in nightwear. Because it was still dark there was little to see of the Rock other than a – well to be honest – a huge rock brooding above the sea. And we certainly couldn’t see the monkeys.
As I watched I was joined by a Californian by the name of Ryan, and once we’d passed Gibraltar, we went for a cuppa. We hit it off and he said there were spaces on his table so why didn’t I try to do a swap. When I booked the cruise, I had sniffed at the idea of having a meal at 5.30 but my stomach insisted this was a good idea so I made the change.
The next day I explored more of the ship, there was something new around every corner. I had dinner on my new table with some very nice Americans, Lily and Stan, Bill and his wife, there was too much noise to catch her name, and Ryan and his wife Jennifer. It was a jollier table than my first one and after I was in time to see a dance performance. I had met one of the dancers in the queue for the shuttle bus and she was the best of a very good bunch of hoofers.
We arrived at Lanzarote the next morning and I climbed up the crow’s nest to take a peek.
It reminded me of the song about a town made of little boxes, an endless stretch of them, and I decided I could live without seeing it. I was glad of my decision as Bill said it was like Chicago but without the charm of Al Capone and his pals.
Once the ship started, there was an announcement that people with a non-European passport had to surrender it so that it could be stamped when we left EU waters. Here was another Brexit problem. If I had it stamped I might fall foul of the new rules that meant I could only stay in France for 90 days. I asked five of the crew whether I should give it in or not. The first said yes and made a grab for it, but the others, including the chief officer and the cruise director said that as I lived in the EU I didn’t need to hand my passport in. Fingers crossed it was the right advice.
The next day we arrived at Gran Canaria and I caught a hop-on, hop-off bus. I had missed booking all the trips arranged by the ship but this seemed just as good and was considerably cheaper. The old town of Las Palmas was spectacular
The ship was due to leave at 5.30 and I arrived back in before then and had a short doze in my cabin. I was woken by the movement of the ship and rushed on deck to see the behemoth manoeuvre out of port. Finally, at 5.50 I hurried down to dinner. I knew I was a little late but I was surprised to see that my place had been cleared, slightly more surprised by the bewildered look of my fellow diners and completely confused when their desserts were brought. It was not 5.50 but 6.50. So I went to the Windjammer instead. Lily and Stan kindly came and found me and had a second dessert with me.
In the middle of the night, I woke with a start. If I had returned to the ship when my clock said it was 5.30 I would have seen it sailing out of port, leaving me marooned with only 100 euros, no passport, no change of underwear and a watch which was telling me the wrong time.
But now, as I turned over in my hammock, I relaxed. There were no more ports of call until America. Eight days of crossing the Atlantic.
But it could have been like when Jim Hawkins met Ben Gunn on Treasure Island.
The Man of the Island (or the man who mucked up his wrist watch)
From the side of the hill, which was here steep and stony, a spout of gravel was dislodged and fell rattling and bounding through the trees. My eyes turned instinctively in that direction, and I saw a figure leap with great rapidity behind the trunk of a pine. What it was, whether bear or man or monkey, I could in no wise tell. It seemed dark and shaggy; more I knew not. But the terror of this new apparition brought me to a stand.
I was now, it seemed, cut off upon both sides; behind me the murderers, before me this lurking nondescript. And immediately I began to prefer the dangers that I knew to those I knew not. Silver himself appeared less terrible in contrast with this creature of the woods, and I turned on my heel, and looking sharply behind me over my shoulder, began to retrace my steps in the direction of the boats.
Instantly the figure reappeared, and making a wide circuit, began to head me off. I was tired, at any rate; but had I been as fresh as when I rose, I could see it was in vain for me to contend in speed with such an adversary. From trunk to trunk the creature flitted like a deer, running manlike on two legs, but unlike any man that I had ever seen, stooping almost double as it ran. Yet a man it was, I could no longer be in doubt about that.
I began to recall what I had heard of cannibals. I was within an ace of calling for help. But the mere fact that he was a man, however wild, had somewhat reassured me, and my fear of Silver began to revive in proportion. I stood still, therefore, and cast about for some method of escape; and as I was so thinking, the recollection of my pistol flashed into my mind. As soon as I remembered I was not defenceless, courage glowed again in my heart and I set my face resolutely for this man of the island and walked briskly towards him.
He was concealed by this time behind another tree trunk; but he must have been watching me closely, for as soon as I began to move in his direction he reappeared and took a step to meet me. Then he hesitated, drew back, came forward again, and at last, to my wonder and confusion, threw himself on his knees and held out his clasped hands in supplication.
At that I once more stopped.
"Who are you?" I asked.
"Ben Gunn," he answered, and his voice sounded hoarse and awkward, like a rusty lock. "I'm poor Ben Gunn, I am; and I haven't spoke with a Christian these three years."
I could now see that he was a white man like myself and that his features were even pleasing. His skin, wherever it was exposed, was burnt by the sun; even his lips were black, and his fair eyes looked quite startling in so dark a face. Of all the beggar-men that I had seen or fancied, he was the chief for raggedness. He was clothed with tatters of old ship's canvas and old sea-cloth, and this extraordinary patchwork was all held together by a system of the most various and incongruous fastenings, brass buttons, bits of stick, and loops of tarry gaskin. About his waist he wore an old brass-buckled leather belt, which was the one thing solid in his whole accoutrement.
"Three years!" I cried. "Were you shipwrecked?"
"Nay, mate," said he; "marooned. Marooned three years agone,and lived on goats since then, and berries, and oysters. Wherever a man is, says I, a man can do for himself. But, mate, my heart is sore for Christian diet. You mightn't happen to have a piece of cheese about you, now? No? Well, many's the long night I've dreamed of cheese--toasted, mostly--and woke up again, and here I were."