Tayrona National Park

 

Borealis Sunday 30th April 2023

At 8am we arrived at Santa Maria, still in Colombia. Compared with the flamboynce of Cartagena, the port looked shabby, though there were still some high rises in the distance. The port looked all the less attractive because of the storage of export coal, and the silos full of maize. Santa Marta is the oldest Spanish settlement on the Amercian mainland. It is also reputed to have a pretty town centre. However, most of the passengers had booked excursions to take them away out of Santa Marta, to a coffee farm, to the historic indigenous Taironaka settlement or (as in the case of Albina and me) to the Tayrona National Park. 

Initially as our coach eked its way through narrow road adjoiing the wtown centre, I noticed some spectacular and soulful graffiti in vibrant colours on the street walls. They seemed to show aspects of local life and birds and were presumably the result of a community project, rather than the work of individuals. One of the murals appeared to be almost 100 metres long as iy contined along the entire length of one block and seemed to be a narrative of some sort. All this I glimpsed as our coach shot past. But that did not prevent me from noticing the poo state of yhe pavements alongside these splendid murals. The responsible administration was obviously failing the community even when the community had made its own remarable contrubution to the appearance of the city. 

As we travelled there I noticed that the area was poor, the quality of the roads and of the suburban and rural houses, and rubbish lay everywhere, probably not collected for weeks. We crossed over a seemingly complete railway track along which people were walking, as if on a road, including a father with a small child. In the meantime our coach reflected that poverty, with seats that were not upright, safety belts that did not work and a microphone system that did not work either. The two guides, alternating between themselves, talked to us from two ends of the coach. They spent a lot of time talking about the lore and customs of the Indian population.  We learned about why they all chewed coca leaves as a substance that sustained their strength and their well-being, and how an attempt to link it with cocaine production by earlier authorities had contributed to the earlier partisan war by the peasants against the government. The election of a left wing president in the last year had led to a reduction in tension, as the promises from the earlier ceasefire agreement was slowly being implemented. One of the guides went into a long explanation of how the indian population in the Tayrona Park lived in different tribes, wearing different hats, participating in different economic activities, at different levels of altitude. However, they all carried their paporo produced from a pumpkin and filled with sea shell dust, which was presented to them on reaching a responsible age, mostly at 13 years old. From the state of this paporo, which they have to carry, their elders could tell if they have led good lives, and would punish them with incarceration or slave work, if they did not. To me it sounded like mini Chinese Communist Party levels of control, with less sophisticated, but equally effective, methods of social control and conformity. We were being bombarded with constant new strange names for different aspects of this Indian customs and culture, which struck me as increasingly primitive and irrelrevant to our needs in visiting the Park, but at least we learned that education at school and university level was now more accessible with the new government. Did the pupils take their paporo into class? Sometimes these paporos would be manufactured in pink gold, an alloy of local gold and copper, with beautiful ornaments. Many of these were plunderd from unmarked graves in the hillsides of the Tayrona Park. This practice has now become illegal and there is an attempt to have some of these paporos restored to Colombia from foreign museums.  

We were travelling now on a good quality road, which was part of the Pan-American Highway, until we turned off onto a glorified dirt track which happened to be the park entrance. The Tayrona National Park is now owned by 4 out of the 120 Indian nations living in Colombia. It is a vast area containing most of the Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta, a mountain range with 3 peaks at 5700 metres (Colon, La Reina, Bolivar), which are separate from the Andes. They contain a massive amount of plants and trees, wildlife in the form of caymans, jaguars, monkeys and lizards, insects, not to mention 2000 different species of birds, as well as the site of an ancient indigenous city.  

Eventually, we disembarked for a walk across very rough terrain and our two guides split us into two groups and led us through the forest. We were shown a wide range of flora, including mango and banana trees, and the pumpkin tree from which they produced their precious paporos. We came across armies of green ants marching with single-minded concentration along straight highways, carrying all sorts of leaves heavier than themselves. You needed to step across their half hidden path without disturbing them. "Reminds me of the Ho Chi Minh Trail," I joked with Ranald, who was also on our coach party with Sharon. There was a big ball hanging from one of the trees, which turned out to be a termite nest. Unlike their castle building cousins in Africa, these prefer to work from the safety of a tree. 

We trudged in the 33 degree heat past huts and even a restaurant prepared for rich visitors "roughing" it overnight in the forest, until we came out on to a beach. There was a strong surf, white sand and even a little bar with drinks, as well as shaded tables, where we stopped for a few minutes. The beach brought us no joy, because we had not been warned that we would be trudging through soft sand under a hot sun, and none of us had been advised to wear beach wear. Albina was exhausted by now and I needed to help her as we trudged back to the coach after our two hour trek. We saw one shy monkey and a couple of lizards, but had seen no other animal. We did see one of those native chieftans or Mamos in their full traditional dress, sitting at a table. I asked the guide if I could photograph him, but the Mamo signalled a "no". He was too busy, but with his mobile phone, not his poporo. 

We were then told we were travelling back to the ship. We had had no opportunity, as we walked through the dense undergrowth, and then the open beach, to take any pictures of the mountains which were such a central feature of the Tayrona National Park. Also there was no stop for buying souvenirs at the entrance, including examples of their much heralded pink gold ornaments. What with the rickety coach, the guides rattling on without microphones about strange aspects of Indian life, the heat and the unexpected beach, I found this possibly the worst excursion so far, even worse than the stopless coach trip in Nagoya. Others tended to agree with me. 

It was my intention at the end of the tour, to have a quick lunch on the boat, and then slip out for a quick half hour or so to the town centre of Santa Marta, to take a few photos. The town centre was apparently just a 20 minute walk from the ship and a taxi rade would have cost around 3 dollars. During our journey out we had been driven straight out of the port onto the rubbish strewn suburbs, missing out both the Spanish town centre and the more prosperous residential areas. After all, the small but picturesque cathedral I had seen on photographs was the oldest Catholic church in the Amercan mainland and worth a visit, however fleeting. Also Albina's Polish friend Marta had actually asked us to send her some pictures of the town centre, as she had always been fascinated by this remote Soth American town which bore her name. There would just have been enough time for that, as it was now about 2.15pm as we approached the dock, and the boat was due to sail at 4pm, Unfortunately, as we neared the dock, we were subjected to a sudden rain storm accompanied by thunder and lightning. We watched as the side streets were suddenly engulfed in torrents of water pouring along the high pavements, and where no pavements existed, along the formerly dusty road surfaces, carrying all the rubbish forward. The rain eased just enough for us to jump from the coach onto the ship's gangway, but then resumed its intensity. It made my planned outing to the Santa Marta town centre impossible. It was very frustrating, particularly as the ship's stay was extended because one of the returning coaches from another excursion got waterlogged from the rain. Ironically, as we waited for this coach to return, the weather suddenly improved, the clouds parted and I could normally have made the journey.

As we waited for the ship to depart we became aware that the air conditining on the ship was no longer working. The captain made an announcement about his engineers working on the problem. He repeated this apologetic explanation two more times during the course of the evening. It became warmer inside the ship inside than outside. All that heat from the Colombian jungle now seemed trapped with us inside. We were all getting sweaty and uncomfortable. Even at the evening quiz, we sat perspiring. Albina had earlier opened wide our cabin door, but our friends in the lower cabin were unable to do that. We joked about them all piling into our cabin for a party.

By midnight Albina and I had changed into our pyjamas and lay on our bed with all the sheets off, trying to sleep. I just remembered at the last moment to move our two watches an hour forward.

Cartagena de Indios

 Borealis Saturday 29.04.2023

A strange dream in the night. I was on my way to work and caught a bus with some other commuters, mostly young men, at a bus stop. The bus was taking us on a different, more rural route, as we all talked and chatted to the middle aged lady who had greeted us as we entered the bus. We were all in excellent spirits happy with the thought that we would arrive at work a little later than usual. I was looking at a map to explain the route to another passenger, and it seemed familar, but in an imprecise sort of way. And then I suddenly felt a note of alarm. I did not recognize the English countryside around us. "Where exactly are we?" I asked the lady. The others stopped talking and waited for her answer. I can't remember what she replied, but she implied we were on a journey to nowhere in particular, like a joy ride, more than a planned mystery tour. Then I woke up.

I am obviously on a countdown to reality, The dreaminess behind this cruise is close to ending. We have drifted here divorced from the humdrum life at home. For Albina and me that is a dream lasting 80 days and never to be repeated. Our financial reserves could not permit something like this again. But for others on this voyage the dream is reality. They have no reason to return as their children have flown their nest. Others want to be with friends and relatives at home to tell them of their adventures, before they again plunge into this world of cruising where they are being pampered and spending money they have earned in their hard working earlier life. It is a fantasy life withour much purpose for people with higher octane finances.

Next on our current dream tour is the port of Cartagena de Indios on the coast of Colombia. We are scheduled to arrive before noon today. The sky is overcast and the sea is calm.  Initially I sunned myself by the pool and then moved over to our cabib balcony. Albina remained in bed with the fruit I brought her for breakfast still untouched. I watched the coast sitting and drowsing from our balcony, surprised that it was on the port side. That suggests that the boat sailed in a circle padding Catragena so as to approach it from the east. I watched the low level coast pass by waiting for the first sign of a city on the horizon. To my surprise the coast suddenly started disappearing. I was amazed as I seemed to be staring at a deep inlet or even an open sea. I stood up to peer to my right and was completely stunned by the sight of a forest of high rises only a mile away. They reminded me of a group of meerkats standed to attention carefully watching the horizon. This group of high rises is matched by a further smaller batch of high rises several miles to the west which form the backdrop to 6 high cranes and two empty piers, one of which is designated for us. The port is covered by a mass od containers from all over the world, stacked six high like lego boxes. The sunny weather had begun to cloud over again and there was a speck of rain in the air as we drew into port. The pier looked surprisingly empty with one longshoreman waiting for us, and we all joked that perhaps they had got the date wrong and were expecting us tomorrow, However, just as we were within touching distance of the pier, two more appeared from nowhere and caught our mooring ropes.  The time was 12.15 and we would be here until 10pm.

Albina had got up by now and we had lunch. We had at least four hours before we had to leave on our tour. We decided to visit the Oasis Park connected to the Port Terminal. As we left the ship we were faced with pouring rain. A shuttle bus had been provided by the port authority and that drove us the short distance before we reached Oasis Park. It was not a large enclosure, but so enchanting in content. It consisted of a large souvenir shop selling goods, ranging from jewellery, handicrafts to clothes, which was surrounded by a mini zoo of local animals. The first large enclosure with an imaginative lake and stream, included flamingos, black swans and brown pelicans. However the park also included pecocks and parroys of all colour, which seem free to leave and wander around the nearest buildings but also come back to be fed. I had never seen so many parrots, blue, red and green. There must have been near enough one hundred. 

Other animals included toucans, anteaters, turtles, tortoises and sloths, Albina's favourite. When in a Costa Rica gift shop she had bought herself a cuddly sloth, which she keeps next to her when she sleeps. Here she went all mushy when she saw a keeper hold a bay sloth, almost as endearing, if not as handsome, as a koala. She stroked it and posed with it and of course I had to take a picture of that. In the gift shop she bought herself a gold chain and a beautful leather brief case adaptable as a laptop case. Altogether a very enjoyable visit. As the rain had stopped now we caught the shuttle bus again tore turn to the ship. 

Our tour started just before 5. A coach carried us to the city centre. As we passed through the area surrounding the port we were dismayed to see how many houses were surrounded by high walls topped with barbed wire. Cartagena has a population of 1.5 million and is proud of its multiethnic mix, but obviously there are still social tensions in the city, which is the fifth largest in Colombia. It has to be remembered that Colombia could be a violent place. There were decades' long struggles with drug cartels, based particularly in the cities of Medellin and Cali, and there had been a guerilla war with the native populations in the countryside for decades as well. It is not surprising therefore that even now, with a left wing president, there are still the remnants of these tensions, with disaffected former guerilla still trying toadjust to a peace time economy.  

After a half hour's drive we reached the Castle of San Felipe de Barajas, one of the largest fortress I have ever seen, comparable to the ones I saw in Cairo and Agra, but more concentrated in its sheer mass. Its construction apparently started in 1536, but the most doinant section of the fortress was added in the early seventreenth century after the destructive attacks by Francis Drake, and to prevent further attacks by buccaneers and British and Dutch privateers. Cartagena Castle was important because it was the Fort Knox of the Spanish Americas. All the gold and silver and precious stones collected from Acapulco in the north to Cuzco in the south was accumulated in Cartagena and then shipped from there to Spain. This made Cartagens a tempting city to attack, and explains why not nly the fortress was built, but also a massive wall surrounding most of the city, of which some 13 kilometres still apparently remain. Both the fortress itself, and the remaining ramparts surrounding the city contributed not just to the safety of the town in the past, but also to its prosperity as a tourist attraction in the present.

Within these wall is a charming street layout still reflecting the splendid Spanish houses in shady streets belonging to those conquestadores, colonial officials and merchants who had become rich as a result of plunder, trade and the sale of slaves. Apparently, a total of one million slaves were sold in the markets of this city over two centuries. 

The next stage of the excursion was to travel around this wonderful old town centre in hors-drawn carriages. Albina and I shared a carriage with Lisa and Steve. It was a wnderful way to sample the colours and smells of the old colonial quarter in the darkening dusk. We must have driven around for at least 45 minutes watching and being watched by local traders, residents and tourists, as passed under the decorated wooden balconies and house fronts painted in yellow, red and green. The locals could be boisterous. As the cavalcade of horse carriages paused at one point, some sprightly young local Colombian rappers began a five minute chant literally leaning in to our carriege. I brushed them off with a two dollar bill for their trouble. We also passed churches, museums, hotels, jewellers and expensive fashion stores. We could also see the roof and high dome of the Cathedral a block away from our carriage tour.  By the time the carriage ride finished it was dark. We were able to do some more shopping for gifts and souvenirs in the Las Bovedas, the former dungeons, and now a popular arched arcade of shops attached to the city walls. Then the coach took us home afer what we considered a more than satisfactory tour. But again, we were alarmed to see how poorly the city streets were lighted. It is a mater of what you are used to, but, outside of the Old Town,  I would not choose to wander around the streets of Cartagena at night.

A lovely Colombian experience awaited us on the ship. The vessel had booked a local Colombian Folkloric Show. It was a troupe of six young male and six female dancers  from Colombia with a sensual and energetic display of traditional Colombian dances. I say traditional Colombian, but actually the tradition is overwhelmingly African. Apart from the Fandango and the dance about a farmers market, which are both Spanish Amercian, the remaining dances all told stories, of  peasant or fisherman's life, or about the jealousy of two women over one man, and were danced almost savagely to the beat of African drums, accompanied by an indigenous flute. The women and the men dance wildly waving their arms without grace, and then the women were lifted in turn either individually or together in a mutual cradle hold, and then tossed and spun round crazily to an ever increasing beat. All the time they wore flamboyant Spanish style costumes, which again mixed the genres and made the whole performance extraordinary erotic. It was a wonderful breathtaking performance.

Helen and Tony did not turn up for the late night quiz, but the remaining three battled on to get only 11 out of 15. 

Panama Canal

 Borealis Friday 28.04.2023

By the time I had woken in the morning we were in the Panama Canal, and at 7.45 we were at our first lock, the Miraflores Lock. We had already got under the first bridge over the canal before we got this far. From my balcony I could see somewhat unedifying scrubland reaching up to the level of my deck. There was a massive vessel higher up ahead of us waiting to enter the neighbouring lock, after our vessel had gone through. The water level beyond the gate reached up to roughly our promenade deck but by that time we had spent 15 minutes in the lock so it had probably been a little higher. The Miraflores Gate House building is less than a stone's throw away from my cabin balcony. An Olympic long jumper could easily have covered it. A young female operator had stepped out onto the balcony as we passed it at the same level as me, and we greeted each other in Spanish. When I stepped out onto the Observation Platform on my deck I could see the starboard side as well. There there was a car park there and a road passing through into the forest beyond. Looking back on that side I could see several high rises in the distance which were part of Panama City, and the destination of the first bridge across the Canal.

Earlier when we had reached Panama Bay, we had veered north to enter the 44 mile long canal. We had finally left the Pacific Ocean after 28 days. The canal territory is policed by the U.S. armed forces and most of the land around us is administered by them. Once we were lifted higher by the lock, we found that another vessel, a container vessel, the Malaysian MSC Scia, was parallel with us on another lock, that we had not spotted until now. It was proceeding northwards to the Atlantic. After 50 minutes we appear to have finally cleared the first lock. We then moved into the second lock, te Pedro Miguel lock, which we had cleard by 10am. In the meantime I had had my breakfast, took Albina her Sugar Frosted Flakes and popped out on the observation platform again to catch a picture of the next large bridge spanning the canal. This was the six lane Centennial Bridge. Bolearis proceeded up the canal, seeming, like Alice, to be chasing the elusive container vessel which appeared like the White Rabbit to be escaping around the corners in the twists and turns of the canal route.

The sides of the canal had initially consisted of high stratified banks of earth piled up from the original earth dug up in the construction of the canal in the 1910s. This section was called the Galliard Cut. They were at least two deck storeys higher than the Borealis. We passed a Chinese COSCO container vessel followed by an Australian vessel called Spirit of Sydney, on their way to the Pacific. The widened sides of the canal now turned into jungle, and included breaks for shady inlets among the mangrove swamps, where some crocodiles were sighted (but not by me). We were still following the Malaysian vessel when a great white passenger vessel hove into view. It was the Royal Caribbean cruiser, Radiance of the Seas. As we passed each other in the narrow channel, we waved, and some witty bugger shouted to them “You’re going the wrong way!”. And then the official greetings started, initially as blasts from both ships’ sirens, and then as a concoction of strange sounds, with a wide range of tonality, which seemed to resemble the vocal rhapsody at the end of Close Encounters of the Third Kind. This strange sound reverberated over the still waters of the canal and the surrounding jungle canopy. After that we emerged into the lakes and followed a path across them laid out by buoys and metal markings.

Albina considered this a good time to get the laundry done and then to leave a bag of shirts and trousers in the corridor to be pressed. At least she avoided long term ironing that way.  All that took about an hour and a half, but I carried on chatting on the observation deck to my Polish friend from Southall, who runs a commercial roofing business in Ealing from his cabin, while his wife runs the accounts. He was enjoying the tour so much he decided to book another tour around Australia, the South Pacific and South America next year, but he books most of his excursions by internet with local agencies at each port. I am sure he saves money that way, but my wife would prefer the security of the more expensive Fred Olsen excursions. 

The construction of the Panama Canal was an amazing achievement, but during its construction under French administration nearly 20,000 died from tropical diseases. The French gave up, but the Amercans took over the project and finished it in 1913, although at least another 5,000 perished. About 40 large vessels now use the Canal each day. The lakes we were crossing now stretched out in all directions as we remained surrounded by virgin forests. Finally, by 2.20pm we had completed the crossing of the lakes and arrived at the third lock, the Gatun Lock, having allowed the Malaysian ship to slip in before us. this lock was to drop us down to the level of the Atlantic. As we were being dragged into position by four small engines on train tracks acting as tugs, two on each side, we sided up against a Texan tanker, being dragged in a similar way on the other side. At 3.30pm we had cleared the locks and could feel the gentle swell of the Atlantic, even though we were still in the canal and approaching the last bridge over the canal. In the meantime, a smaller Ecuadorian cargo ship slip in behind the Texan tanker that was going the other way.

The last bridge over the canal is the newest. The Atlantic Bridge, a vast four lane suspension bridge between two towers, seemingly built of white concrete, links western and northern Panama with the industrial port of Colon on the southern side. The bridge appeared to carry only about 5 cars in the 15 minutes or so of our apprach to the bridge, but again it may not have been the busiest time of the day. Its two approach roads seemed to disappear somewhere in the jungles on either side. However, the canal immediately widens into a sea outlet as soon as we pass it. The city of Colon appears on the right, with about twenty massive port cranes being the most noteworthy feature. As we appraoched more closely, we could see that about 5 large wharves, surrounded with some of the cranes, appeared to face the canal, the other cranes some two miles away from the first, appeared to face out onto the Atlantic. It looks like a clear distinction between canal traffic, possibly with goods still under clearance, and Atlantic traffic importing directly into Colon town. It was only after we had come level with Colon that I noticed two massive breakwaters, one coming out of Colon, and a matching one from the other side possibly some four or five miles long from northern Panama. The gap between these long and thin breakwaters was about the width of two vessels like Borealis. Perhaps they were a warning to Atlantic traffic that they are now entering Panama Canal waters, which are, after all, a U.S. militarized zone.

Once through that barrier and we are out in the Limon Bay, which is part of Atlantic proper. It is now downill all the way to Southampton. 15 days to go. England get ready.

I see that my colleagues in the Federation of Poles have heeded my comments in my letter to Mr Mularczyk. Two members of the executive came to the meeting as a record of thier interest, but contributed nothing. Probably the wisest course to take until this stupid campaign blows over, but unfortunately some prominent UK Poles, like Marek Laskiewicz, POSK Chairman, will probably get drawn up in this act of folly. 

 Also we had good news about my friend Zbyszek, He is now out of his coma, sitting up in bed and asking his wife for his mobile phone and cable. That is promising. 5 days ago we was at death's door.

The Borealis Theatre Company surpassed themselves with their Carnival of the World show. The choreography, the costumes, their lighting are so superb and had everyone on their feat with support. The five vocalists and three dancers who form the group are able to put on a lively new show nearly every week. When do they rehearse? How come each performance is faultless? Here they chose popular and some time classical songs from around the world and had costumes to match and into which they managed to change six or seven times during a 45 minute show. This Theatre Company is one of best of many briliant features of this Fred Olsen cruise.

By the way, even today, I have twice been congratulated by new people for my talk 3 weeks ago. It must have made an impact on those who came. Vert pleasing, but still extraordinary. Maybe because it proved together the fantasy of this voyage, and the fantasy of Jules Verne's world with reality. I don't know of any other talk that seemed to stay in people's memory so long.

Only 12 our of 15 in the quiz. The 2 winnong parties had 14. Each time we start with hope and then flounder on one or two questions which we perhaps could have risked a better informed guess. For me this quiz shows how much I have known, but since forgotten. I struggle to remember a name, but then one of my colleagues mention one, and I instatly know it's right. I mostly remember the facts that I knew from my schooldays and university. Thos remain in my brain, and that is still a good proportion of the questions we get.

Albina and I both felt a little hungry as the night wore on. After all, we had both missed high tea (which is a good thing) and dinner. However, I have only just discovered in these last days that there is a Supper Club every night between 11pm and midnight. Every night. We went up to the buffet dead on 11. The buffet was just opening. A full menu was laid out as for a normal meal, mostly consisting of cold meats, vegetables and cheeses, but with some hot meals as well, such as hot dogs with good quality sausages and onions. CLitchen staff and waiters in attendance. The latter poured out water as usual and offerred tea or cofee. Apart from us, only a handful people came in, mostly revellers in carnival dresses taking a break from the dancing and drinking in the Neptune Theatre. Nobody stayed longer than ten minutes, In all, for the twenty minutes we were there, some ten people turned up for food. An utter waste of time and money. And when do these members of the catering staff sleep? 

We watched some TV programmes and were in bed by 12.30.   

 

Alongside the Isthmus

 

Borealis Thursday 27.04.2023

We carry on gliding through the Pacific, as placid now, as its name implied, and as it must have appeared to Nunez de Balboa "silent, upon a peak in Darien" (although it wasn't exactly Darien). Frigate birds and boobies skim alongside the ship swooping down on the occasional flying fish in the sea, as they offer us their company for this day's passage. It is delightfully warm without being overbearing, and ideal weather for sitting and working on our balcony.

A quiet day writing, while Albina spent most of the day in bed. I spent an hour sunning myself by the pool before attending a good lecture on the history and design of the Panama Canal, which we are crossing tomorrow.

The Polish Embassy acknowledged receipt of my letter to the minister and thanked me for making the effort while still on my holiday. Several friends even congratulated me, and said they would forward my comments to their friends.

I had checked at Guest Services on the gratuities policy by Fred Olsen payable at the end of the cruise. Basically they charge us £395 per person to be distributed to our maid and to restaurant staff that we used,That probably meant the lion's share may go to the Borealis Restaurant staff where a table was reserved for us, but which we hardly ever used. Albina was furious, but I had warned her all this was in the small print before we boarded the vessel. I know others had prebooked alternative methods of paying gratuities before thir voyahe began, but I am not sure quite what this was based on. As far as I am concerned this leaves the messy arrangements in the hands of somebody else, and we had expected to spend that money in any case.

We watched telly together in the evening and at 10pm I went upstairs for the quiz.

We got 14 out of 15. Sounds good but the questions were exceptionally easy and I foolishly allowed my team to overrule me by saying biggest cats were lions, when I thought tigers were right. But even if we got 15, 6 teams reached that figure as well.

Bed at 1pm but also we had to set watch one hour forward. I remembered to do it this time.

Costa Rica

Borealis Wednesday 26th April 2023

The sea was as calm as a mirror in the hazy morning sunshine. We passed an outgoing EUKOR roll on roll off ship, probably carrying cars. Ten minutes later we hove into sight of land and by 7am had docked in Puerto Caldera.

Looking from my breakfast table it seemed like a poor excuse for a tourist terminal. Perhaps unfair, because Puerto Caldera is primarily a commercial port covered with containers, surrounded by dense green foliage and waves beating on to a short beach. There are almost no houses in view outside of the port area. In fact it is us in the Borealis who seemed to be the intruders. Because of that there was strict ban on all civilians to walk around the dock area except for access to our excursion buses or shuttle buses.

At 8am Sammee came on the ship's intercom anouncing that the vessel had received clearance from the port. Our own tour to the town of Esparza and the Tarcoles River Cruise would not depart until 12.30. If we should wish to go ashore earlier there would be continuous port shuttle services to take us to the port gate. From there further shuttle buses at 15 minute intervals could take individuals on a 30 minute journey to the nearby town of Puntarenas for sight seeing and shopping. The temperature is already 33 degrees and is likely to rise to 35 degrees in the day.  

By 10am I was ready to go ashore but decided in view of the time frame to stop just at the port gate for a coffee and a wander round any shops. When I got out onto the port area the morning excursion buses had left and there was a huddle of people queuing for the shuttle buses. After some ten minutes one of our destination staff had announced that she had located a site in the dock terminal building where the usual sad brigade could sit in an air conditioned hall and make contact with their loved ones and their businesses in late afternoon UK time. That automatically reduced the queue by a half. Next we were told that there were no cafes at the port entrance so the only shuttle buses gong were on the 30 minute trip to Puntarenas. In biew of the lack of time that was a risky decision to take, as I needed to get back not only for the 12.30 excursion, but to reach the cabin in time beforehand and share a quick pre-excursion snack with her.

Sure enough the journey took a little longer than scheduled. Our coach continued along a coastal clinging route that covered a t stilocal express way and local roads with well preserved road surfaces. Rich green vegetation is everywhere, although there are areas of bare yellowish soil. Trees vary, including palm trees and more deciduous varieties, such as cedar trees, oaks and the national tree, the guanacaste with its thick trunk and wide canopy, which grows everywhere and is ecologically valued as an avid consumer of carbon dioxide, giving off oxygen as well as valued fruit. The more urbanized routes show off bushes with organge and lilac coloured blossoms. Part of the way we share the road with disused railway tracks. fter half an hour we finally reach Puntarenas which is a small seaside resort with one long quay currently occupied a British cruise vessel nearly one and a half times the size of Borealis. I assume they made the earlier booking and that is why Borealis was shifted off elsewhere and to dock in drab Puerto Caldera.  The central market and adjoining beach in Puntarenas would have been a much happier port destination for us. After spending just some 15 minuted in Puntarenas I decided not to risk a longer stay and to return to Puerto aldera on the same shuttle bus in which I arrived. I dare not raise the prospect of Albina's ire if I should arrive late for our scheduled afternoon trip. 

When I got back at 12 noon Albina prepared some scraps of lunch to take with us after selecting some cold meats, cheese and fresh rolls at the buffet restaurant. We joined our excursion coch on time with a cheery guide called Exon. As we travelled through the wooded hills, past attractive villages and smaller settlements, he gave us a long talk on the history and the economy of Costa Rica. After a civil war in 1948, the winning president abolished the army completely. As a result, unlike its Central American neighbours, Costa Rica has enjoyed peace, democracy and prosperity. All the funds that would normally by spent on the army were redirected to education and security. The G7 countries have guaranteed Costa Rica's independence against any foreign incursion, though the validity of that guarantee has never had to be put to the test. It sounds a little like Article 5 of the NATO treaty. If a member is attacked, all others in the alliance would come to its aid. I would feel obliged to be sceptical, but the whole of Europe's security is based on that one crucial little article. Meanwhile the expenditure on education offers not only free primaray and secondary education for school children, and afforadable student loans for those in highrt education, but also free places for all toddlers, so young mothers are free to join the work force. Poorer parents get aid with supplying school uniforms. Children learn Spanish and English from an early age, and are now thinking of introducing universal teaching of French in elementary schools. In the nineteenth and early twentieth century Costa Rica was single crop economy based on coffee and this made it dependent  on American and European importers. Now it has diversified its production and exports by also exporting bananas and pineapple, and medical products. It is also in the forefront of ecotourism, now a key component of the economy. All hunting had been banned in Costa Rica. Killing of wild animals and stealing shells from the sea shore could earn perpetrators short prison sentences.  

The guide also explained how the area we are exploring is on the borderline of wet tropical forests to the south and dry tropical forests to the north, so that we are passing through what he called "transitional" rain forests. The temperature is fairly constant between 23 and 28 degrees and there are two seasons in the year, wet (summer) and dry (winter). In our part of the Pacific coast the dry season is longer lasting from November to May. In other parts of Costa Rica the rainy season is longer. There are more changes in climate during the day than in between months. For instance, rain is most likely to ocur in the afternoons. The political stability and the predictability of the climate makes this an attractive place to live, even for Europeans. Certainly Albina was very impressed by the climate, the cleanliness and by the picture of the country drawn for us by Exon. I see a possible return to this country in the future.

                                    

Our first stop was in the small town of Esparza. We stopped at the main town square surrounded by a church, a Papa John pizza parlour, a bank, some souvenir shops and other low level 2 storey municipal and commercial buildings. A local school had prepared a programme for our two coach parties, but one which I expect they had repeated several times that day. Chairs and refreshments had been set out for us. Some six young female students, accompanied by four children, had been dressed in bright red and white costumes, with wide skirts and aprons, which they could swish around as they danced. They performed a couple of patriotic dances and then got us spectaros involved as they danced the turkey dance. This begins with a young boy armed with a broom decorated like a turkey, which he sweeps in the air from time to time, as thegirls form a circle and danve around him. Suddenly the circle breaks and the dancers invite (read snatch) onlookers into the circle  to continue the dance and constantly changing the person in the middle. That person is the turkey and the idea is to pass on that broom to someone else as quickly as possible. Whoever is left with the broom at the end of the dance gets a drink of spirits (to make the victim's flesh more tender) and is then decapitated with a huge machete. One of our ladies did end up as the sacrificial victim, and although she drank the vodka and saw the long machete being prepared, she was finally pardoned. We bought some coffee and home made souvenirs and returned to our coaches.

The next stop was a well manged souvenir shop combined with a restaurant. Several coaches had arrived here, including tourists with distinctive American accents. Although the place was crowded it was spacious enough, and with a sufficient range of first class souvenirs, including clothers, ceramics, cuddly toys, packets of food and local jewllery, to keep everyone one happy. They served free coffee, the best in Central America, our guide said. The added attraction was that the shop accepted credit cards, so they made thousands of dollars (and some tens of thousands of Costa Rica colons) were spent there this day.

Another stop, this time to taste the local wine or beer, whichever was our preference. This stop was more rural in appearance with an open air restaurant and shop where additional purchases could be made as we wandered around between various trees and flowerd bushes.

Then our coach turned off the road into a narrow track through farms and meadows inhabited by very pale coloured cattle and, less common, some atractive horses perhaps trained to be race or show horses. I always imagine horses are kept in the same enclosure as cows to make them less nervous. After about a mile along this track we came to a river with low lush green river banks, interspersed occasionally with mangrove trees. This was the River Targoles reputed and even named after its native crocodiles. We crossed a rickety swaying metal jetty on to a falt bottomed river boat with a roof big enough for our 35 person coach load. Another coach load of Borealis tourists then boarded a second boat. As we cruised southwards to towards the sea we found one whole side covered with magrove swamps which feel at home in the bracked water to be found beteen frsh river water and the more saline sea water at the river's mouth. Exon was good at desriving the multiplicity of birds sitting on the trees, or wading in the water, or flying around and above us and our boat. He named egrets, white ibis, mangrove swallows, whimbrels, kingfishers, ospreys, frigate birds, blue parrots, vultures and quite numerous and photogenic brown pelicans. It was a colourful contrast of sea, land and river birds, flyers and waders, all breeding and feeding on the river banks. Exon had eagle eyes, as well as an encyclopaedic knowledge of birds, and he not only identified the various birds, but explained their activities. There were also some beautiful butterflies. 

However, the main atraction of this river was supposed to be crocodiles, including the nesting of tiny crocodiles in between the roots of the trees in the mangrove forest. After an hour's trip up and down the river we did not see a single crocodile. Exon spotted an item in the river which he believed to be the upper part of a crocodole's head, but it soon disappeared under water, and river was too muddy to be clear. One or two of our party politly complained. So the guide said we could always throw somebody in the water, to entice them. "Who?" somebody asked. "The people who make most complaints." That caused a laugh but there were more laments. In my case it is the strory of my life. We pass through whale breeding grounds, and I see no whales. We sail down a river supposedly teeming with crocodiles, and I do not see a single one. Such is life. We returned to the coach, still pleased with the experience, We arrived back at 6pm.

One of the characteristics of both our cruise and our excursions is the number of disabled who participate. I have joked that this is a ship of wrinklies. Indeed, so it is, and I am one of them. However, it is extraordinary how many people relyimg on wheelchairs and sticks still volunteer to some of the most adventurous trips. Thanks to the sacrifice and assistance of other passengers, but especialy of the staff and the hired guides and drivers. They fold the wheelchairs and assist the handicapped in clambering onto the coach or boat, or whatever obstacle lies in their wake. It also means that it always takes longer to get on or off the coach. Mostly places are reserved for them at the front of the coach, but others have to queue to get on and wait patiently to get off a coach. A guide may suggest a 20 minute stop for a comfort break, but it may take up to 10 minutes for those at the back to get off the coach. So that is why I mention the patience of the other passengers, although there is always understanding for those with disabilities. On this occasion there was one couple, where the relatively young wife was a paraplegic, obviously after a stroke that made her lose her speech. She recorded her messages on a computer screen which she operates with her face. Moving her in and out of the coach or the river boat required parience and time. Yet nobody questioned her right to be there. As we were finally getting off the coach at the harbour, she stayed behind and as we passed her seat on the coach, she left each of us a recorded thank you for our patience. What could do but thank her in turn for her courage and that of her husband too.  

As we got back on to the boat, I noticed that a lot of cargo was being delivered into the ship's hold. In fact they were loading quite late. I did not think a tiny hamlet like Puerto Caldera was likely to be a useful supplier for the ship's main provisions. But then you never know.

Albina and I refrshed and changed and went for our dinner in the buffet restaurant. At 8.30 we went to the Neptune Theatre to watch a showing of the full Mike Todd version of "Around the World in 80 Days". To a Jules Verne lover like me it was full of trite inconsistencies and ran away from the boom version a number of times, especially in depicting a balloon journey from Paris, ending up in Spain rather than France, and a 20 minute session of flamenco dancing and bull fighting, totally irrelevant to the story. You had to alow for that as there were colourful scenes from Egypt, Bombay, Japan, Thailand and America, while the most wonderful scenes recreated Victorian London. Cameo roles of famous actors, both foreign and English, gave the film an added attraction and David Niven was at his best playing the central character of Phileas Fogg. At the time the film was a true spectacle of cinematography, but now on second viewing, a lot of the effects appear cheap. At least this time we saw the full 3 hour and 2 minute version, and not the truncated shown earlier where the film ended only 2/3 of the way through.

To add salt to the wound of our river trip, I asked an old gentleman in the lift if he had enjoyed his trip on that same river in the morning. "Oh yes," he said. "I had a crocodile at arm's length from me in the water." Well, good for you, mate. Some people have all the luck.

Later that night I finished composing an open letter to Deputy Foreign Minister Arkadiusz Mularczyk who is comiing to London on Friday to promote the Polish government's self destructive campaign to wrest $1.5 trillion out of Germany in reparations for wartime destruction of Poland. The figure may be a correct assessment of the human and material losses incurred by Poland and its people, but financially and legally it is unpayable. I have criticized this campaign before. This time I might have left it alone as I am on holiday after all, as Albina pointed out, but Mr Mularczyk is moving onto my turf, that is London, I shall include the text on my Polish langage bloc. I sent the letter at midnight by way of my contact at the Embassy. I guess he will just ignore it. 

Mexican Night

 Borealis Tuesday 25.04.2023

Started the day with a quick around the Observation Deck on Deck 3 and then up for breakfast. It is hot and humid on the deck and this is only partially relieved by a small sea breeze. When you open the door back into the ship the air conditioning hits you like a sudden cold shower. 

Went for my 8am appoitment with the chiropodist at the spa. She dealt with an ingrained toe nail, massaged my feer and polished the nails to make them shine. That last was to impress Albina that this had been done properly.

Have been trying to book that flight to Poland for the Book Fair which I am to attend at the end of May, but unfortunately I cannot make contact for the special reduced prices for former BA staff because the programme has played havoc again with the passwords and wants all sorts of strange details about Albina to establish her identity.

We know that we passed the coast Guatemala in the night, and that of El Salavador in the morning. We are now passing the coast of Nicaragua, another of these benighted poor countries relying mostly on single crop agricultural exports and with often ruthless brutal governments. In an instant we can pass them by on our port bow and forget they even existed, like a bad dream.That does not sound generous, but those sad countries remain outside the mainstream of world politics and are only remembered when some grotesque misjugdement or massacre takes place. We are on our way to their southern neighbour, Costa Rica, which seems to have had a happier history, possibly because they opted to abolish their national army.

We spent the early afternoon half reading and half dozing in the Library, with Albina enjoying a Coffee Royale and myself an Emperor Breakfast Tea, along with two outsize cakes. Then up we went to the buffet restaurant for an afternoon tea. What excess! But at least we ignored the cakes and only took very choice shrimp and pulled pork sandwiches. Duing tea we ran into a lovely couple from Kent, Ron and Jill. It transpired he was ninety (he looked o be in his upper seventies) and had married Jill less than 10 years ago after they met on a Fred Olsen boat. They spent more time every year on an Olsen vessel rather than in their home. They were like gypsies, always on the move, even meeting Olsen staff who themselves had moved from one Olsen ship to another. Their cabin was their wagon. He had been a policeman, a soldier, an airline pilot, and now he was relaxed and making what you can with the rest of your life. He was also very much a Home Counties man, aghast at the speech and antics of some of the more boisterous Northern England cruise passengers.    

That evening was Mexican Night. I had nothing particular to wear. I had not found anything for tonight as I was so busy in Acapulco. Nevertheless, I went up to the Poolside on Deck 8 in the early evening and spent around half an hour chatting to friends, sampling the Mexican food and taking a few photos. The whole live music celebration lasted a total of 6 hours with a range of musicians, including the Stattus Band, the Borealis String Trio and the ever present guitarist singer Howard Johnson, who has been with us since Southampton, always plays us in on the Evening Quiz Night in Morning Light Lounge, and then plays us out after the quiz is over.  By then I had long since returned to the cabin to continue my letter to Polish Deputy Foreign Minister Arkadiusz Mularczyk concerning his madcap plan to elicit $1.5 trillion war reparations from the German government. He will be speaking in London next week and I decide to send an open letter criticizing his motivation while still on my cruise.  

As for the evening quiz at 9 out of 15, we might as well not have bothered. We were way out.

How many Apple Stores?

 Borealis 24th April 2023

A wonderful hot day with a late start. At last I slept well. I tidied up my blog on Acapulco and we exchanged thank you messages for that wonderful day. Having a lot of trouble with my left toe nail so I booked a chiropodist at spa for early next morning.  At lunchtime we went to see Tom Cruise in "Top Gun: Maverick" at the Auditorium and spent a quiet afternoon together.

At lunch time our new captain advised us that we were now some 100 miles off shore from the Mexican port of Puerto Angel. At this rate we will be passing the coast of poverty stricken Guatemala. The temperature is hot, hot, hot. You can feel the heat as you cross by the sweaty bodies lying around the pool.

In the evening I watched another talent show, which unbelievably was even better than the first, One of my friend's, Robert, normally somewhat morose, came out with some borderline jokes, somewhat on the style of Tommy Cooper, There was a Scottish poet with some witty poems about everyday married life, and some genuinely good female singers. This was followed by a variety show including a magician, an instrumentalist playing on anything from a flute to a bicycle pump, and a singer, Lorraine Brown, who sang for us earlier. 

Then a chance for our team to meet together at last for the 10pm quiz. This time we got 13 out of 15. This was a winning score, but three other teams had the same total as us. The deciding question for the winning teams was to give the total number of Apple Stores throughout the world. My own guess was 2000, as I believe that only the largest cities in the world have an Apple Store. But others in our team said upto 150,000. So we settled at 70,000. Other teams gave various answers ranging from 1500 to 5 million. The answer was actually 525, half of them in the USA

. We were runners up again. I was ready for an early night but Albina had started her midnight calls to her friends in Poland and England, so I had to wait.

With Jack and Lyn in Acapulco

 Borealis Sunday 23rd April 2023

At 7 in the morning we sweep past the hilly north headland into Acapulco Bay. We are faced with an array of wide buildings, large and small, clinging to the cliffs and the more distant hills beyond. These in turn appear to be the foothills to even more distant mountains, the Sierra Madre del Sur. It is a somewhat misty start to what purports to be a sunny day, with a noon temperature of 32 degrees or more. That is the warmest we've had since Singapore. We can also see the nearby fortress museum just above the cargo terminal. Very imposing and in the form of a five pointed star. It was the bastion defending the eastern end of the profitable and dangerous Manila run, which pumped riches and sliver into Spain and its possessions, thus eventually bankrupting its own industry and agriculture. The whole scene looks very welcoming, as we slowly slowly move in to dock at 7.15, nearly an hour earlier than scheduled.

Immigration was no big deal in Acapulco. We just needed a photocopy of our passport, which nobody looked at. A Mexican brass band was playing us in, as well as a tiger like figure confronting a man with a whip, and two couples in traditional local costumes. As Albina and I stepped ashore, we were accosted by a local TV station asking about our trip and whether we were looking forward to visiting Acapulco. Of course I obliged, describing the tour we had amde and what was yet to come. Apparently not that many cruise boats arrive here these days and Acapulco still rests on its past glories as a centre for glamour and fun. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Lyn and Jack coming up, just as I finished my interview, and we all four hugged each other like long-lost friends, which is what we were.

Our emotional reunion was being interrupted now and again by touts offering us their services as guides and taxi drivers. Initial greetings over, the next question is what did we want to do. We most wanted to talk and reminisce and simply share each other’s company. As Jack and Lyn both speak fluent Spanish, I left all these tricky conversation to them. We mentioned the town centre (zocalo) and the fortress which appeared so near. We decided on the latter taking in the local history and deciding to have a breakfast nearby as Jack had not yet eaten. One guy in a supposedly official municipal blue uniform had outlasted the others in drawing our attention. He led us to a pedestrian bridge over the main coastline road towards the imposing walls of the XVIth century fortress. As it was Sunday, entry was supposed to be free and the building was due to be open at 9. We were 20 minutes early and when we came to the end of the bridge the gates were still locked. A bored local official happened to see us and unlocked the gates at our guide’s request. We sat amidst the trees with mangoes dropping down like rain around us as we waited and chatted.

At 9 our guide led us to the entrance where we told the building had been closed due to renovation. Did he not know that? I wondered too whether our destination staff on the ship had know that. Visiting the fortress was one of the key elements in at least three of their tours. We managed to wangle permission to take a picture inside the central courtyard of the fortress standing next to a cannon and then moved on. To where? Our indecision led us past the similarly closed Naval Museum towards a seedy side street which eventually led to a market square with some shops and cafes. We entered a shop looking for something Mexican for a Mexican evening on the ship, but nothing immediately came to mind. We opted finally to get out of there and have a breakfast stop in or near their hotel, particularly as we were carting around a bag with some presents for them. The important thing was to catch a municipal blue and white cab and not one of the rogue taxis who could drive you who knows where and were probably not adequately insured. The first municipal cab that turned up was actually being used by Helen and Tony, guided here by their cab driver guide to do a little shopping. We introduced our friends to them. Of course, they were retaining their cab, but within a few minutes we caught another and went to Jack’s hotel, the Ramada, which was on the seafront. On the way there, Jack stopped the taxi to buy a bottle of Mescal Joven for us as a going away present.

From the outside their hotel looked like an empty department store. So much so, that just then more acquaintances passed from the ship and asked what this empty building was that I was walking into. Inside the lobby was very basic with no amenities immediately visible except for the reception desk. However, a lift soon whisked us upstairs to the 19^th floor. Even from their corridor. there was a spectacular view of the city against its mountainous background. However, inside their spacious room the view of the harbour from the balcony was even more spectacular. I could see Borealis from there as well the whole sweep of the bay, a truly majestic view that had made this such a useful naturally protected harbour for the galleon fleets on the Manila run. Lyn told us that earlier in the morning Jack had emerged from the shower to observe Borealis coming into port and had had no chance yet to dress. As I too had emerged naked from my shower onto our cabin balcony earlier to take pictures of the headland and the bay, as we sailed in. It must have been at the same time as Jack’s equally revealing emergence on his balcony. We always knew how to communicate, even by telepathy. After all, we had been friends since we were 7 years old.

We refreshed ourselves with some drinks and, in my case, another shower, after the dusty hot introduction to Acapulco and we could at last hand over the presents. We caught another cab to take us to nearby La Quebrada to watch the local display of professional divers jumping from on high onto a small inlets some 40 metres below. They perform daily shows for the public and the next one was to take place at 10.15. We were ensconced in a restaurant well placed above the cliffs enjoying a mixture of various Mexican dishes. As we waited for the diving who should turn up at the same restaurant alongside us but Tony and Helen still with their guide. So, who’s stalking who? asked Helen. Still they took a picture of us sitting together, the first occasion we had for a picture of the four of us together. The dives were spectacular with younger boys and girls attempting jumps from lower heights at say 15 to 20 metres on an opposite cliff. It was important apparently to time their jumps with an incoming wave to ensure enough depth in the water to receive them without their hitting the bottom. As this was a professional operation, they obviously need to train a new generation to ensure the business continuity after the older divers retire or depart for other less pleasant reasons. The senior divers actually have to clamber to the top of their cliffs from below. There seems to be no easy access to the jumping off points from above and this extra hazard ensures a sustained expectant addition to the spectacle as they slowly make their way up. In the meantime, boats with spectators pass by, either private yachts or especially hired tour boats, including no doubt one hired by the destination staff of the Borealis.

There were about six divers, all male, with four jumping from a somewhat lower ledge and the most senior ones going from the top. As each one prepared to dive he would lift up his hands to show his readiness to jump. It is like the old gladiators in Rome, signalling to the emperor and the crowds the famous cry “Those who are about to die, salute you”. Then they adopt a swallow position and jump. Certainly, it was spectacular as they drop like dive bombing sea birds into the sea below. I wondered how long the body and the head can take such an impact perhaps several times a day over God knows how many years? We could also see some of the divers, perhaps the more junior ones, swimming out to sea towards the tourist boat. For tips? I can only guess. But why not.

We returned to our cab driver, Raoul, who spoke quite a reasonable English, and who drove us to the central square, the zocalo, in front of the cathedral. The impact of the Catedral de Nuestra Señora de la Soledad (Our Lady of Solitude) is astonishing. From the outside it resembles what I would call a pastiche of a Mexican church that might appear on a film set or an international exhibition. From the front it presents a barrel shaped edifice painted brilliant white with the three small roundelwindows, from which decorated pennants give the appearance of tears. The middle window also emits a golden sunrise. The front edifice is surrounded by two square white towers topped with two decorated blue coloured compartments that could pass as early cosmic satellites in a fairground attraction.  Behind the façade is a round building covered with a single bright blue dome. Apparently, it was built in the early thirties, and it certainly has the feel of a mixture Spanish and indigenous Indian styles, but it is still the main place of Catholic worship in Acapulco. The proof of that lay in the full capacity of the church being filled by its congregation attending a Sunday mass. We had a look around the square which included some fountains and kiosks, and spectacular ceiba trees with their protruding knarled roots and thick heavy branches. We shopped for some clothes and shoes and then quickly entered the Cathedral after the mass had finished. The interior walls and the domed ceiling were decorated with mostly blue glazed tiles and the floor was covered with golden mosaics. There were a number of depictions of a crucified Jesus with matted black hair on three of the walls and another figure, also presumably Jesus, lying shrouded in a glass case.  I have to say I liked this cathedral. It is not a huge church, but the unique design and the blue and gold colour on the walls and under the dome  makes it different from any other church I have ever visited.

One of the ceiba trees had photographs hanging from the branches like forbidden fruit. They depicted the 43 students supposedly murdered in a mass kidnapping by a rogue police raid on their bus in 2014 in the local province of Guerrero. Latest evidence suggests they were actually handed over to a local drugs gang for execution following their attempt to commemorate the massacre of students in Mexico City in 1968. The reach of the drug gangs is massive in Mexico, and they monopolize and fight each other not only over drugs but nearly every other form of profitable trade, such as restaurants, hotels or even the sale of avocados to the United States. As I mentioned in my earlier lecture on the boat, some 120,000 Mexicans had been killed since 2007 as a result of this vicious war between the state and the cartels and between the gang cartels. These have become more and more violent as the gangs fragment. The power of many of these gangs reaches far abroad as well as over Mexican local and national authorities, particularly in Northern Mexico. Before 2000 the Mexican government seemed to actually share power with them. The worst violence began after the governments of Fox, Calderon and their successors declared war on them, arrested many of their leaders and this led to the increasing fragmentation. That is also why you see soldiers parading up and down the main streets on the Acapulco seafront, on foot or in jeeps nestling a manned machine gun.

Raoul suggested we go to spend the afternoon in a hotel called Los Flamencos in the prosperous Las Playas district, sitting on top of that headland peninsula that we first passed before sailing into Acapulco Bay. The road to the hotel was typically third world, winding narrow streets, hilly and with a potholed road surface ready to declare war on any car suspension that ventures that way. Obviously, Raoul was used to this as we rattled our way up in his taxi ensuring that we felt every bump on the way. The hotel, painted in the most resplendent pink, was perched on a high cliff above the ocean with an open air but sheltered restaurant where we sat down to continue our reminiscences of friends and activities over the last more than half century. We were sitting on the same terrace and the same tables with pink tablecloths, where John Wayne and Johnny Weismuller of Tarzan fame, and other Hollywood stars sat and drank and partied in the 1930s and 1940s . They, like us, sat overlooking this wonderful panoramic view of the Pacific and the brightly painted houses perched on the neighbouring cliffs. This was the faded charm of old Mexico, which we paid homage to by sharing a bottle of the best locally made Mescal. I can't quite remember how many glasses we drank.

Maybe that is why my memory of our later visit to Acapulco remains so shrouded and dismembered as I dozed off occasionally, glass still in hand, in this delicious 36 degree afternoon heat, talking with our best friends in the world about family, friends and the world in general. Finally, Raoul in his battered taxi brought us back down to reality at the immigration terminal alongside Borealis, still well in time before its departure. I had squeezed a last goodbye with Jack and Lyn as we had quickly stopped at their hotel entrance when we realised that we had left the previous Mescal there along with some mangoes from the orchard outside the closed fortress.

We got back on the ship, and I fell on the bed and fell asleep immediately. I did not even wake up when the ship slipped away from its moorings an hour later, but Albina was there on the balcony waving to the departing city and to our absent friends on the balcony of the Ramada Hotel. Who knows when the fates will allow us to meet again.

I managed to wake up in time for dinner, although Albina remained sleeping in bed. I ran again into Tony and Helen. She was somewhat distraught as she had misplaced her purse with her credit cards. Sure enough they had had a good trip as well with their guide, although they had returned much earlier than we did. They too had been gazing at the ocean from the cliff top terrace at the Hotel Los Flamencos. According to their guide a number of U.S. film stars, including Steve McQueen, once had villas in that area,. Acapulco has the beauty and charm of an ageing actress, no longer quite capable of disguising her wrinkles, but still ready to make an impression when the occasion demands it.

Too damn tired (and still a bit too sozzled) to face a quiz game tonight.

On the Bridge

 Borealis Saturday 22nd April 2023

I woke up somewhat late so I had a late breakfast in the View buffet restaurant, after which I brought down some milk for Albina to enjoy her cereals in the cabin. I sat outside on our balcony in the warm morning sunshine. A couple of boobies flitted past my side of the ship and I managed to catch them on my Iphone. 

Then I wandered forward to the Observation Paltform on my deck. A group of five or so stalwart watchers were out there with binoculars and expensive cameras in tow. The said they had seen nothing this morning but suddenly they got very excited concentrating on something on their left. I followed their gaze as they watched whatever it was disappear down the ship's port side. They were discussing passionately whether it was an albatross or a booby. "It was a frigate bird," said one lady conclusively, and that was the end of that discussion. 

I returned to the balcony to check on some notes and reminded Albina it was time to get up as we were nearing 11 and needed to get to lunch by 12 noon in order for us to meet Sammie at 12.55. Also our maid Atitaya needed to get prompt access to our cabin to clean it because she was to be on a training course later. The poor lady has a hard time with us. We do not hold regular hours and Albina often stays in bed at times that are quite awkward for anyone trying to get access to the room. It is still the curse of those BA night shifts which she worked for a couple of decades

I was keen to watch a talk on the 007 franchise, not having missed a single film. As I was expecting, it was a jocular anecdotal romp through all the James Bond films by film buff Helen Pointer. Each film was often being covered with a single revealing sentence and a single slide, but still with rich pickings of incidental scraps of information that nobody knew, such a young Steve Segal being the stuntman who broke Sean Connery’s wrist or Dolph Lundgren starting his career as baddie in “A View to a Kill” because he was Grace Jones’ boyfriend, or the fact that the steel cable which Jaws (Richard Kiel) bites through with his teeth was actually made of liquorice. Those, like Albina and me, who were watching the talk on their TV screens in their cabins, instead of coming into the lecture theatre, would only have seen the speaker’s slides, but not the speaker herself. She chided us for that by saying she was wearing a bikini just like Ursula Andress on the beach in the first Bond film. Not sure how many screen viewers rushed into the lecture theatre at that moment.

At midday I waited to meet Sammie at the Guest Services. She was a little late and Albina lost interest after a few minutes and went off shopping. Although the invitation was to meet the Captain he was not there and I was greeted on the bridge on Deck 7 by his number 2, Navigation Officer Alex Chadwick. At Sammie’s request I repeated the broad gist of my lecture and Alex agreed that my account was broadly correct. Fred Olsen had conceived of this trip 3 years before, at the earlier phase of the pandemic as a filler to go between their regular scheduled tours to Scandinavia and the Mediterranean, but it was a risk based on the idea that covid should be under control by 2023. The Norwegian cruises by Fred Olsen are standard everyday fayre for their three passenger ships and normally each of them does longer round the world or long-distance cruise early in the year as it is the safest for the passengers by avoiding the main months for tropical cyclones, typhoons and hurricanes. The broader concepts are worked out at Fred Olsen’s head office in Ipswich or its home port in Liverpool. The proposed route is then discussed with the captains and senior navigation and destination officers of each vessel to check what is more feasible. As they were starting on this occasion with the premise that they would be commemorating Jules Verne’s book, that excluded the possibility of a circumnavigation in a westward direction. Also, as they were only following the routes which covered Fogg’s sea journey they knew they had to include Brindisi, Suez, Mumbai, Singapore, Hong Kong, Yokohama and San Francisco, and initially Shanghai, before the political dimension and the strict covid restrictions in China made that made that last port impossible. Also, Aden and Calcutta, which Fogg visited, would not have been practical destinations, for reason of security in the first case, and unnecessary distance in the second. So they were dropped. The rest was a matter of how to fill in the gaps so that the cruise could stretch to the promoted period of 80 days. So, Lisbon was added because the route would have to go that way in order to reach Brindisi via Gibraltar, the Egyptian visits to Cairo and ancient Egyptian sites were an added attraction that brought in the ports of Port Said and Sofaga to the cruise. Goa and Kochi were attractive destinations that would have been on the necessary route and added just two days, which in turn enabled some passengers to be offered a 3-day visit by land and air to the Taj Mahal. There was just enough time to squeeze in a stop in Vietnam and also the three extra destinations in Japan (perfectly timed for the cherry blossom weeks) and three destinations in Hawaii needed to break up the crossing of the Pacific and thus lengthening the journey by an extra six days in total. After San Francisco it was a matter of using the most attractive destinations in a route that would take in the necessity of utilising the Panama Canal. Although Fogg had used New York, that would not now be a viable option for this ctuise as we would be too far south and the journey from Azores to Southampton would have taken the same as the journey from New York to Southampton, but without the attraction of those warm destinations in Colombia and the Caribbean on the way. Hence the logic behind the current tour. The rest was a matter of making sure each of the ports could handle a vessel the size of Borealis and that arrangements could be made with the appropriate immigration authorities. This explanation tied in very neatly with the content of my lecture, but obviously in far greater detail.

Alex showed mearound the controls of the vessel in the huge expanse of the bridge. There were only two other officers on the bridge but everything was being han. dled as calmly as if were standing on a stationary tower. Alex also showed me the steering wheel, so tiny that it was a quarter of the size of the steering wheel of my Suzuki. There were no paper charts but everything appears on electronic maps that can be read and modified at a moment's notice. Some reading show the depths of the ocean beneath us, another points out the latitude and longitude. He showed me an outline of the approach to our next port Acapulco, although their local knowledge is also enhanced by a local pilot who comes aboard at each port. I noticed an area in the port of Acapulco marked out as anchorage, but he explained that was merely a last resort, because the pier should be immediately available to us.  I asked how they prevent collision with whales. In the day they could normally spot a spout of water from a whale in time, but in any case whales would normally move away on hearing the ship's vibrations. But, he said, there was no mechanism that could signal their presence to them, especially in the dark. 

Fred Olsen Cruises were pleased with their gamble in organizing this 80 day tour, as they had the vessel at 70% capacity. This is good because there is always the problem of contagious dideases such as covid and norovirus. To combat that they need to have a sufficient number of empty cabin spaces in reserve.

I thanked him for the explanation and the tour. I posed for a photo with him and Sammie and even sat on the Captain's raised chair.

Back to reality and my cabin. During tea time we were delighted to find Sharon back, enjoying the freedom of eating in a public space, with Ranald. She had enjoyed her quarnatine in the luxury of a larger accomodation with a bath in which she soak herself. She was imppressed two by the number of drawers at her disposal. Our cabins have 9 drawers on Deck 6, but on Deck 3 they only have 3 drawers. In total she missed only one tour, in San Diego, and will be able to visit Acapulco tomorrow. We bought a couple of gifts for kack and Lyn in the shop on Deck 5. My old friend Shiri was there. She was very pleased she will be on an excursion tomorrow, observing the release of sea turtles. Albina also tried to buy me a pair of light coloured trousers, but they had nothing in my size.

The evening was a Formal Night again. I noticed that a number of older gentlemen who wore black dinner jackets on such occasions in the past, now switched to white jackets. What an extravagance. As Albina ws still not participating I put on a light coloured suit with a yellow tie, which looked just as good and seemed original. I attended a Guest Talent Show but only two songs were any good, as well as a cheeky irreverent poem recited from memory by Terry. The rest were mediocre and in the case of a limpid tango performance, pathetic. Still I had no close person performing so I could afford to chuckle. It was followed by a concert by songstress Lorraine Brown singing largely motown ballads and put in a lot of fire and passion in to her performance as well as some quirky humour. The quiz went badly as Ranald and Sharon obviously felt too worn out to turn up. We struggled on with Helen and Tony but ended up with 9 out of 15. It was frustrating really not knowing that Dutch is also an official language in Belgium, and not just Flemish and French, and that the second most populous country in the world is India, when I know that all serious commntators acknowledge that India has surpassed China's population in the last two years. Just life, I guess. 

Albina was happy to finally contact Sandro by phone in Finland.