Over the Ligurian Sea to Santa Margherita

This was the port many of us had been waiting for - a very pretty, charming place bursting with character - or so we thought.

I was awoken at 6.30am by the sound of the anchor chain dragging across a lower deck (right beneath my cabin).  The clanking went on and on and on as each link of the thick chain reverberated against the deck as the anchor slipped slowly to the seabed.  Never will I take a "Saver" fare again as these worst cabins are definitely reserved for the solo traveller who books at the last minute.  I live and learn.

This was a tender port with Oriana being anchored way offshore and using her own lifeboats to gradually ferry us all ashore.

I collected my tender ticket (No 179) at 9am and waited 50 minutes whilst all those on excursions were taken off first.  The Captain had warned us that local speed boats liked to play games with tenders from cruise liners by cutting in front of them at speed thus creating a wake which would rock the little tenders unmercifully.  As we set off I spotted a speed boat lying in wait in the distance - true enough, being timed to perfection it cut in front of us right in the middle of the bay.  Our little boat was sent on a joy ride as it pitched up and down over the wake.  I don't think that is a very friendly way to greet visitors, in fact I don't think I am going to like Santa Margherita after all.

Having landed safely I ambled around for a couple of hours but was so disappointed.  The decorated buildings were very pretty

but the town in general had very little character, just over priced cafes and restaurants.  

The only good thing I found was a tiny WC tucked away in the base of an old medieval fortification on the waterfront.  It was operated by an enterprising gentleman who collected 50 cents off every patron.  He then offered up a box of tissues indication that I was allowed to take 2 tissues with me into the loo.  That was the best 50 cents that I spent all day - in fact it was the only 50 cents that I spent in Santa Margherita. 

A quiet afternoon was called for.  I had no interest in music around the pool so found myself a lovely quiet spot on The Prom Deck and settled down to listen to an audio book.  So relaxing.  RB Digital, provided through my local library, has proved a wonderful resource.  Check out an audio book online, down load it to smart phone/tablet/computer and then listen to it wherever you are in the world - as long as you are still within the 3 week loan period.  A bit like BBC iPlayer - download a programme/series before a holiday and then watch it on laptop whilst away. There are many advantages to the digital age.

After dinner, as we glided over a perfectly calm sea, I had an hour on The Prom Deck just as the sun was about to set.  So beautiful.

The cabaret this evening was Ben Makisi a tenor from Wellington, New Zealand who now lives in Portishead (just up the road from me in Somerset!).  Wonderful entertainer, especially with his songs from the South Pacific. 

The French Riviera - Toulon and La Seyne Sur Mer

No shuttle bus here but a shuttle boat instead!

I had no great expectations for Toulon but I was pleasantly surprised.  It is home to the French navy so the port area was full of large ships, but the harbour was abuzz with sailing yachts their masts all lined up with military precision as if on parade.  

As usual I headed off up the back streets, the tall pastel coloured buildings towering above making the alleyways appear even narrower than they actually were.  

Every now and then the streets open up into a square and every square in Toulon sports an ornate water fountain - just right for taking the weight off ones feet.

And don't forget to look up because there, tucked away high up on walls, can be found tiny religious statues.

Quite by chance I fell across the morning market.  Oh boy, the scent of Herbs de Provence and the smell of fresh fruit, salad and vegetables.  Again I despair at the UK.  How healthily one could eat if you lived here.  As the fruit and veg stalls petered out so the clothes stalls took over.  The very last stall (or the first depending on direction) was stacked with "Made in Italy" fashion - exactly the styles and lables that I used to be able to get in Weston until the tiny boutique closed its doors due to rising rents.  The stall was run by a gentleman of perhaps Turkish or Egyptian descent.  He indicated that all winter type clothes could be had at a discount due to the fact that summer was fast approaching.  He spoke little English and I spoke no French but he pointed at the sun and then at the rack of woolly clothes and we understook each other perfectly - working in Hong Kong and using sign language in the street markets certainly helped!  But it was the summer clothes that caught my attention - light as a feather, delicately coloured and fashioned to disguise bulging midrifts.  Perfect.  I purchased a top and a dress and was told that I was "Tres Joli" - I hope that meant "very happy" because I certainly was.

After lunch I headed out again, but this time for a walk to the local town of La Seyne Sur Mer.  A leisurely 15 minute stroll along a well marked route to "Centrale Town".  It was now siesta time so the back streets slumbered, the little shops were closed and a piano sat quietly remembering the days when it was the centre of attention.  Just right for snapping photos here, there and everywhere.  

At one point, whilst standing in the middle of a narrow street, I was aware of a car coming to a halt behind me.  I was about to jump out of its way but the driver smiled and waited patiently whilst I snapped my shot - he seemed delighted that a tourist should want to take a photo of his street.  Most cruise line passengers never give a thought to walking around the local area.  I thanked him - Merci, Merci and he smiled broadly.  

Now it was time for my own siesta back aboard Oriana.  The latest adaptation of "Murder on the Orient Express" lulled me to sleep in the cabin.  No reflection on the production as the characterisation and acting was first rate - I was just shattered.  I revived just enough to enjoy the evening cabaret - Rebecca Miles and her electric harp.

Ambling along La Rambla

 

My morning was spent ambling along La Rambla - early before all the cafe's and eateries had opened.  So many interesting buildings.  

How I wish I could have been here 100 years ago when this building housed a shop selling Far Eastern parasols, umbrellas and beautiful fans.  In the 21st. Century its only the facade which acknowledges its past.  

A little further on a lady leans provacatively over a balcony - advertising the Museum of Erotica.

The market is a riot of colour - how dull, dismal and tasteless our supermarkets are in comparison.

 
This is how strawberries should look - not the unripe red and white things we have to suffer in April.  The growers must shout "Hooray for Britain - the only ones fool enough to want our rubbish".

A black mark for Barcelona is that it is one of the few ports which does not believe in handing out good free street maps to its visitors.  The only free map available was that from the Hop On/Hop Off bus company which naturally proved absolutely useless as a walker's street map.  At the top of La Rambla is that fabulous department store, El Corte Ingles.  Fabulous for all sorts of reasons not least of which is that they provide good loos without having to lash out on buying coffee or tea.  As usual I am blown away by their stunning fashion - why oh why are we so dowdy in England.  Thank goodness I popped my credit card in my bag today!

Then I venture into the narrow alleyways of the Old Quarter.  More humorous figures on balconies

bridged archways over the streets

even a shop selling marionettes (no I MUST NOT!).  

Back in the 1950s when just 10 I had noticed a few marionettes hanging high up in an old shop in Brighton.  Full of character, their faces old and wrinkled, their bodies moving slightly as the breeze wafted in through the open door.  They had me mesmerised, but money was tight and there was no way I was allowed to purchase such unnecessary items.  The thought of those puppets stayed with me throughout my life.  Whilst in Hong Kong I discovered old Chinese Puppets - they came back to the UK with me.  A Venetian puppeteer advertised his marionettes online - a couple were made especially for me and winged their way to the UK one Christmas.  Obsessions are all part of my Aspergers Syndrome - hey ho, we are all different.

No way I can get lost on my way back to the ship because Christopher Columbus points the way.

At the sailaway that evening I met K....., who in her youth was a runner, played hockey and served in the army.  An injury during a hockey match left her crippled for life and her mobility decreases with every passing year.  But she tries to stay positive and gets around with the aid of two crutches.  A couple of years ago she lost her daughter to cancer - what tragic stories I hear.  This is her first cruise - I do hope she enjoys it.

The Colours of Oporto

I could quite easily have slept for another hour this particular morning but its a port day and my camera urges me up to the top deck.  The new cruise terminal at Lexios is considered a masterpiece of design but I far prefer the sight of the old lighthouse jutting out from the end of the pier.  The worn stone structure has so much more character than the new white bunion.

As I snap away I meet J... another solo traveller who tells me the very sad tale of her best friend back in Yorkshire.  Until 6 months ago they were constantly gadding about on adventures - by car, by train and even walking.  Then dementia hit and within months her friend had lost the ability to do everyday tasks.  In the shops she cannot use her bank card because the numbers have disappeared from her memory.  The washing machine dials prove a mystery and the computer is like a being from another planet.  J.... worries how her friend will cope whilst she is away on this 3 week cruise.

After breakfast I take the shuttle bus into town - a 10k journey taking 30 minutes or so along the banks of the River Douro.  A wonderful esplanade runs the entire length with beaches and rocky outcrops along the way.  As today is a Sunday it is busy with locals.  The drop off point in town is a park called Pc da Cordoaria and after getting my bearings head off down narrow cobbled streets - hopefully in the direction of The Ribeira, the old waterfront area with its tall, narrow, colourful buildings.  It's a steep descent down from the terracotta rooftops of the city - thank goodness I have a map - to navigate the narrow streets.

 

Past a very dilapidated building displaying intriguing artwork

 

Always looking back at the end of every sector so that I will be able to recognise my way back.  However, when it comes to crossing roads in Europe I am always at a loss.  I wait for the green man and then cross but just as I step out a car zooms around a corner screaming to a stop inches from my side.  I seem to recall something about vehicles being allowed to turn right (or was it left!) but as I have never been a driver it's never really sunk in.  I think the pedestrian has right of way but talk about scary. 

Thank goodness a few small souvenir shops are just beginning to open.  I retreat inside to recover and calm my nerves.  Tiles, wall plaques and pottery are the main items on offer - wonderful artwork.  In one shop I marvelled at the sculptured figures so full of character.  How I would love the very aged lady exposing her fragile skin to the sun without a care in the world about her sagging figure.  But she was just too heavy for my suitcase.  Instead I opted for a delicately painted tile of a magic mushroom as this seems to be the theme of this cruise  It will remind me of my morning in Oporto and more importantly it was the only RED tile in the shop - just right for my travel themed kitchen back home.

Eventually I reach the waterfront where the cafes are just beginning to open.  Its alive with tourists making for the ferries or the old trams.  

With the steep hills in town I'm not too certain how popular the bicycle tours are!

After a 30 minute amble its time to make my way back UP those hills.  Frequent stops are called for to catch my breath.  

At last I'm back at Pc da Cordoaria and spot the shuttle buses on the other side - just time to snap a picture of some very jolly fellows laughing their way through life.

During the afternoon I had intended heading to the beach for an hour but having sat down for ten minutes after lunch I fell asleep and woke up 2 hours later.  All this fresh air is really tiring.

My lasting memory of Oporto will (very strangely) be of the colourful roof tiles abundant with growth.

All at Sea

The gentle motion of the ship had rocked me to sleep last night and I slept really well. By 8am I was in The Conservatory trying to steer clear of the Full English and very tempting muffins. Instead I made for the fruit and cereal counters.  Moderation is the key because there is lunch, tea and dinner yet to come!  10 laps of The Prom Deck = 3 miles and its always a joy completing this directly after breakfast - although its worth remembering that the clocks are very rarely correct!

As the hour between 9 and 10 progresses then more and more people descend for a spot of exercise.  It's a bit like a box of allsorts for here you will see the knock kneed and bow legged; the upright and the stooped; the lean and the rotund.  Walking styles differ from person to person from the flat footed to the stomper to the delicately nimble.  Some are out for a gentle amble whilst others are into their fitness regimes - although jogging and running are NOT allowed on The Prom.

The Bay of Biscay has been kind to us on this occasion but staff relate the terrible weather they experienced for four full days on the previous cruise to The Azores.  All we have to contend with is fog and the intermittent drone of the ships hooter warning other vessels that we are in the vicinity.

This evening was the first of the formal nights - dress code wise.  I donned a black and gold jacket purchased in Hong Kong last year.  To my utter amazement the jacket turned heads all evening and stopped many ladies in their tracks:  "Your jacket is stunning" - "I love your jacket" - "What a beautiful jacket".  My outfits have NEVER caused this sort of reaction before.  When I am next in Hong Kong I must re-visit the lovely ladies in Stanley Market for they will be delighted with this little story.

Oriana

Friday dawned bright and sunny - it was going to be another beautiful day.  By 1pm I had negotiated Check-In and was having lunch in The Conservatory aboard Oriana.  This buffet restaurant proved to be a lot smalter than those on Aurora and Arcadia but hopefully will be large enough for purpose.  At 2pm it was off to find cabin F106 right down in the bowels of the ship and at the very sharp end.  It did not take long to find out that Oriana is one of those ships where not all the stairs provide access to the full length of the ship.  Hence for the first 48 hours many passengers were wandering about without a clue as to where they were or where they were going.  With only one false turn I found F106 - it's position marked by a picture of a magic mushroom! 

On opening the door I was greeted with the sight of two portholes - this is the first time I have had a porthole cabin, not to mention been at the sharp end of the ship.  I pray for calm seas!

The cabin is provided with a double bed plus two upper berths folded back agais the wall.  I know this is a "saver fare" but I do hope that does not mean sharing!!!!!!!  Anyway the cabin is only just about big enough for me on my own - goodness only knows what it would be like to have 4 people in here.  Needless to say I filled up all 4 wardrobes and all 4 drawers with the contents of my two suitcases.

After unpacking the rest of the afternoon was spent exploring the ship.  Chaplins, the cinema, boasts some fine figures of the cheeky chappie himself.

As we steamed out of Southampton at 5pm the sun was still shining brilliantly and the Solent was sparkling ahead of us.

After dinner I had an hour relaxing on The Prom Deck.  The English Channel was like a mill pond and the coastline appeared to hover above a misty line as it slowly disappeared into the distance.

I had The Prom Deck all to myself as the sun turned into a ball of fire slipping slowly towards the horizon.  Soltitude, the Sea and a beautiful Sunset - this is true happiness.

All aboard for another adventure

And so it's time to depart on another adventure.  I found I was suprisingly calm with no signs of panic, just excitement at the thought of what lay ahead.  The extreme panic attack and vertigo of March 2017 were hopefully a one off.

The trains to Bristol were again running late which meant I caught the one before I had intended and arrived very early.  But no problems as that gave me ample time to spend a penny or two and enjoy a skinny latte from Starbucks.  Next came a leisurely wait on Platform 9 for the train to Southampton.  The indicator board showed that it was running on time - that is until 2 minutes before it was due to arrive when all of a sudden it's arrival was deleted.  I had a fair idea of what that meant - a dreaded platform change - so slowly made my way towards the lift.  Sure enough the next we hear is that it's going to be arriving on Platform 3.  Myself and a young mother with three small children manage to get into the lift whilst a throng of others make for the stairs in a mad panic.  Just because the platform had been changed did not mean the train would be held up to allow passengers to get to the correct platform - oh the joys of travelling with GWR.  The subway thronged with a rush of people and I was carried along in the crowd.  Waiting and then catching the lift UP to Platform 3 was not an option so summoning all my strength I dragged my heavy hand luggage up the stairs.  Gasping for breath at the top I found the train had arrived and was disgorging its passengers - just time to dash for a door and heave myself and my luggage aboard. 

There was one empty aisle seat near the luggage racks which looked ideal.  But there was a lady asleep in the window seat, a carrier bag on the empty seat plus an array of empty sandwich packages on the pull down drinks tray.  Was the seat empty or did she have a companion who was visiting the toilet?   I woke her up and asked if the seat was free - she was NOT happy!  But I had no sympathy because as it turned out the carrier bag and array of rubbish were hers.  She was even less happy at having to squeeze the bag under her legs - but at least I disposed of the rubbish for her.  At Bath Spa a lot of seats became available and I was able to move elsewhere.  The rest of the journey was a joy as we sped through the Wiltshire countryside in brilliant sunshine.

At Southampton a taxi took me onward to the wonderful old and quirky Star Hotel.  The owners are gradully refurbishing the premises but rather than take out a massive bank loan its a matter of when money becomes available then another room gets redecorated.  I was fortunate in that I was allocated Room 2 - revamped with modern wallpaper, glittery framed bed and newly tiled bathroom (or to be more accurate, Shower Room).  But even this was as quirky as ever:  a towel rail almost falling off the wall, a tile missing revealing pipework under the sink, a stylish sink with plug that it seemed impossible to raise or lower, crystal bed knobs that were loose and sitting at precarious angles.  I smiled and thought of Fawlty Towers! 

The afternoon was spent in the Southampton shops and then on to the Mayflower Park to wave Arcadia off on her latest cruise.  No matter how many times I watch a P&O liner leaving port it still brings a lump to my throat.  The passengers onboard enjoying their sailaway waved from the upper decks and I waved back.  Tomorrow it would be me aboard Oriana.

Returning to the hotel I ran into hundreds of bikers who were in town for a regular meet up.  What a sight.

Hopefully there would not be a lot of noise outside during the night as I wanted a good night's rest.  As it happened that was not to be - and it had nothing at all to do with the bikers.  Room No. 2 was above the old coach house overlooking the small hotel carpark and next to the back yards of adjoining premises. 

Somewhere a generator or air conditioner droned away in the background - no problem if it had remained a constant low level noise but every now and then it would switch itself off.  The silence was then wonderful but when it turned back on 10 minutes later the noise seemed even more intrusive.  Never mind, I managed.  At least until 5.30 am when the Weatherstone pub took delivery of a large order which meant metal trolleys being pulled over cobblestones for a full hour! 

Note to self:  also worth remembering that the rooms in The Star have neither air conditioning nor heating so staying at this particular hotel in the height of summer or depth of winter would not be advisable.