Marco Polo and the Northern Lights

Cruise Sunday 2^nd, up early and try to stuff all our winter cloths, walking boots, snow chains, lounge suits, four pairs of shoes, tripod, cameras, laptop and associated cables and fittings into two suitcases. Eventually gave up and brought another bag down for the shoes, walking sticks, umbrellas and other very necessary survival items. So by 8am l was relaxed and able to watch the recorded highlights of the previous days football, followed by this week’s omnibus version of the Archers. Not the same these days now a lot of the characters have been replaced by newcomers. They just don’t sound the same.

Late breakfast/brunch. It’s so unusual to have a cooked breakfast, sausages, black pudding, poached eggs on English muffins, mushrooms and grilled tomatoes. Do much so, that it nearly beat me. Not used to eating such a large amount of food in one go. Nevertheless, l managed after a while. Ensuring that l wiped up all the soft egg yolk that had dripped off the butter laden crumpets. Who has high cholesterol?

It’s not every day that you have such a treat, although fourteen days on a cruise may prove just a little too much temptation. Will have to wait and see.

Having sorted Gwen out, stocked her up for the next fortnight we disappeared down the M2 to the Dartford tunnel. Originally we were going to get a train to Ebbsfleet, then a short bus ride to Gravesend. Then the passenger ferry would take us directly to the Cruise terminal. Just one problem, they don’t operate a service on a Sunday.

So we decided to take the car. It was more convenient, although the parking rates at the port were rather excessive. £11 per day. A quick search on the internet brought up a very useful site which rents out private parking, anywhere in the UK where there is a demand. Its private parking on peoples drives, fully insured at a fraction of the price. £39 for the two weeks. Then an inexpensive taxi took us the short hop to the port. A £100 pounds saving. Pay for a few drinks on board.

Tug swinging the ship round to point us seaward

 

Must say that the cruise terminal at Tilbury isn’t like Miami, not quite as slick, and the clientèle is also dramatically different. As you would imagine, people are dressed in winter cloths, and the profile mix is predominantly British, elderly retired. The check in procedure is also a little low key, drawn out and rather disorganised.  

Initial impressions were not brilliant, although we expected as much after reading past passenger’s reports. But time will tell, keep an open mind, that’s my policy. Although l was surprised that they had real x-ray machines, thought they may be cardboard replicas built to Blue Peter standards at the local schools. Nevertheless, they didn’t seem to pick up my AK47 and surface to air missiles or my Swedish penknife that were stashed in my overnight case. More intent on pulling peoples elicit alcohol that they were trying to smuggle on board. Life is too short to try and fill water bottles with gin or vodka. Realistically, the prices for drinks on board are no different to those in any local pub in the south of England.

In fact, once you had been processed, canned and sealed, we moved aboard the ship and was whisked immediately away to our room/cabin. Again, it was exceedingly clean, all that you could wish for. And the positioning was excellent in the centre of the ship so that you were effected the least by the rocking and rolling if or once we hit bad weather.

 

The ship had character, small, petite and old fashioned. A breath of fresh air from the large all bells and whistle affairs of the new floating hotels with their glitzy atriums full of upmarket shopping arcades and art galleries. Don’t get me wrong, l love the wide open spaces of the large megaships, especially when you can take advantage of the exterior eating and seating areas in the Caribbean heat. Cold and damp Tilbury doesn’t hold that same mystique.

The Bistro self-serve restaurant was doing a roaring trade, plates were overflowing with all manner of delicacies, ranging from full dinners to big cream cakes dowsed with thick cream. We settled for cup of coffee and a stroll round the decks.

Bloody cold outside. Soon disappeared down to the room and fitted myself out with long johns, thermals and boots, fleece, scarf and thick winter coat, fur hat and gloves. As snug as a bug in a rug.

Outside for another look round and watch the fiasco of the seamen trying to get the lines to the tugs. They were getting into a real mess, lines were over one another getting tangled. It was like spaghetti junction. Eventually the two tugs moved the ship away from the dock into the main flow, then all of a sudden the front tug did a quick soft she shuffle and turned the ship round on a sixpence.

Dinner was great, table of eight and all very pleasant, as was the food. Seven courses, although we only had a starter salad and main. Try to stay reasonably good, no point in taking calories just for the sake of it. But what we had was great.

FROM DINNER to the show.

It was quite a small theatre, in fact compared to most cruise shows it was minute, but the dancers, singers and orchestra really gave it their all. And being a small area, you had the performers virtually on top of you. They really where good, not spectacular, but good value for money. Very varied performance, and a good range of singers. The word is promising. And l have definitely seen worse.
 FIRST PORT OF CALL - Amsterdam 
 Up early to have breakfast and tour Amsterdam, the sex and drug capital of Europe, or so the blurb informed us. Not sure that is the correct message you need to transfer to OAP’s and the even older crinkle’s on board. Expected to go outside and view the city centre, only to find that we were still out at sea and nowhere near Amsterdam. The bing bong of the tannoy sounds to inform everyone that we are stacked behind tankers and we will not be ready to for disembarking until midday. All the tours have been rescheduled for the afternoon, not that we had booked anything. We settled down to a game of cards.

The crew told us it was necessary to get either a bus or taxi into the centre, as it was over two miles through boring scenery. What a load of tosh! They must be so used to dealing with overweight sedentary Americans. The first thing that hits you are the stacks of bikes. Being flat it is the main form of transport, and every conceivable, size , colour and shape come flashing by, some sporting carry bags others seats for the brood of children that are strapped precariously into some form of restraint. Lights flash at the pedestrian crossings and you have to decipher, if the green signal is for you, the glut of bikes lined up on the starting line, the trams or the modern and expensive Audi’s being driven by oversized suited businessmen. In fact you could imagine you were in Germany, although the hurdy-gurdy language and smell of drugs soon brought you back to realisation.

The architecture with the tilting crooked houses framed by canals with a backdrop of churches was stunning, even on an overcast drizzly March afternoon. We strolled up and down, past umpteen Asian and Chinese restaurants, the surviving result of the countries colonial days, past shops filled with middle eastern bubble pipes and the numerous sex shops selling all manner of enhancements. The male black rubber suits were definitely fetching, although l couldn’t imagine that it would suit me. Too many chains hanging from all manner of places.

Then without noticing we turned down a street only to be confronted by rows and rows of glass fronted doors, filled in more ways than one with ladies of the night, although it was only 2pm in the afternoon.

local families just passed by as if it was a normal occurrence, which for them l would imagine it was. At least it keeps it all in one manageable and controllable place, all above board. None of the hanging around dark street corners waiting for curb crawlers and men in gabardine Macintoshes.

After a few hours walking through the melange of canals and squares we headed back to the ship for afternoon tea. Fresh scones with jam and cream. After which l couldn’t resist a chocolate éclair. What a pig? Don’t answer that it was a rhetorical question.

Back on board and we are heading along the canals, through the locks and out to sea

reflection of the Marco Polo as it sails on the canal

Awake to a group of islands passing by on the eastern edge. It’s Alesund in Norway, Wednesday 5^th March, and the sun is coming up on the far side of the mountains. Surprisingly, there is hardly any snow. Global warming is effecting everything.

Down for more food, and breakfast of fresh fruit, the odd scrambled egg, sausage, potato and bacon with a little toast on the side and of course the necessary and obligatory gallon of coffee. Followed by another ten laps of the deck. Calculated that ten laps equates to approximately two K, so in effect we are walking at speed six k per day. Hopefully it will mean we only put the one stone of weight on over the two week trip.

Awoke to the scene of distant mountains tipped with snow as we headed gingerly towards Alesund. The sea was teaming with small fishing smacks decorated with assortment of coloured sails in the near mirror like conditions. Small homesteads hugged each granite faced pinnacle, most fronted with colourful wooden boat houses. Within seconds of arriving at the mouth of a Fiord a pilot boat sped out to deposit the nimble pilot who hopped on board the ship and guided us the rest of the way into Alesund

 

We should not have arrived until midday, but the strong Southerly’s had pushed us along so quick during the night we had arrived by 9am. Not bad going, although it took them a further 2 hours to go through the formalities. So we waited for the tours to depart, had a light lunch and then shot off, wrapped up to the nines in an attempt to keep out the cold. In fact it was quite warm, although that may be due to the exertion require to climb the 430 odd steps to het to the top of the observation platform. 

The wind was so strong at the top of the lookout that it became difficult to stand still long enough to take a photograph. Eventually found shelter round the far side of a craggy mound to take a few snaps.

Then it was down the same steps to get to the harbour and the pedestrian precinct that was the home of a selection of Art Nouveau properties. 

One wonders what type of life these people have, situated not far from the Arctic circle. Most of the work comes from fishing and tourism. The latter only lasting a few months a year, so the majority of work is from the fishing industry. Great if you like gutting and salting fish. No wonder that the Norwegians come across quite boring. Would imagine that they perhaps suffer from a high rate of alcoholism. You must realise that this belief comes from my own personal meetings with two Norwegians and bares no relationship to any statistical or factual evidence. They are possibly quite content to live on a small island that is either light for 24 hours a day or during the winter pitch black the rest.

After walking up and down the hills we eventually head back to the ship and afternoon tea. More scones and today some little doughnuts. 

 

As we go to bed we are advised to store away all breakables as the forecast is rough seas ahead and force 8 winds. So we awake the following morning with the boat rocking and rolling about in rough seas, although when we get on deck it is more of a swell. The waves are being blown at stern of our boat.

 But it soon calms down as we enter the inner channel of the fiords, heading for the point when we cross into the Arctic Circle.

66 degrees North and a few minutes - we are in the Arctic circle and heading up to the Svartisen Glacier

But its wind and raining, so we might not see a great deal

In the distant we just caught sight of a white tailed sea eagle

Narvik Friday 7^th March

Iron ore capital of Norway, train loads of oar is transferred to Narvik to be shipped across the world. Its bleak and rather uninteresting, although the WWII links are very strong. The majority of tourism relates to the the ski fields that look quite magnificent. Otherwise it’s a working town with expensive shops, well from a British perspective. £3.65 for a small loaf of bread. Not that we wanted to buy one, we just noticed the price as we slipped and slid on the packed ice by a bakery.