Category Archives: Photos

Kiwi-land and Kiwi Fruit

Monday 24th February

The approach to Tauranga was as nice as Tauranga turned out to be. We sailed past what seemed to be an endless beach that extended back to a thickly wooded plain, which in turn extended back to a long sharp jagged mountain ridge which resembled an ancient flint tool set in the ground. As we sailed slowly along the coastline, the ridge slowly descended and gave way to rolling hills and when we rounded a broad sandy spit and entered the bay the town of Tauranga appeared, spread right around the flat plain in front of the encircling hills. Captain Cook called this area the bay of plenty before he set foot ashore and you can understand why as you look at the landscape. It seems to be in the perfect place to capture the sunlight and be protected from winds by the hills. The early settlers said that you only had to tickle the soil for anything to grow,

After one of the swiftest disembarkations yet, we made our way to a Kiwi Fruit orchard (Kiwi360) where we were shown the fruit growing from vines in abundance. The vines are not irrigated, their roots descend deep into the volcanic dust sub soil that lies beneath the sand topsoil. Each plant transpires 60 litres of water a day through their leaves alone before taking into account that required to form each fruit, of which there are hundreds on each plant. The micro climate in this area coupled with the perfect soil conditions mean that the fruits they grow are amongst the best in the world but very few make their way to the UK or the US because the current poor exchange rates make it unprofitable. The orchard grew every type of fruit and nut you could think of, Avocado, Almond, Pear, Cherry, Lemons, Oranges, Pistachio, but many of these were not even harvested as margins were so good on Kiwi and labour is so short that Kiwi remains the priority. Because labour is so short no one is entitled to the dole during the three harvest months as there is more work available than people to fill the jobs, so no one needs to be out of work. All around the area are fields of Maize and other crops and in between fields of Frisian (incidentally they are moving to dairy from sheep as there is so little margin on Lamb). We finished up at The Elms which was the old mission centre where the early missionaries set up shop bring Religion to the Maori population who were busy happily fighting amongst themselves and saw no reason to stop. When the settlers arrived and took the Maori’s land, they got a bit cross as you can imagine and challenged the British army to a fight which the 68^th Durham and 43^rd Monmouth light infantry agreed to with relish. They collectively agreed that the ‘fight’ would take place on 29th April 1864 at Gate Pa in Tauranga, whereupon the 68^th and the 43^rd got their collective bottoms well and truly spanked, despite having a numerically much larger force. This great victory by the Maori over the British was all the more conspicuous for the acts of kindness shown by the Maori to the British wounded afterwards. But in the end it all ended in tears for the Maori, as these things always do and two months later the British, having got their act together, inflicted heavy losses on the Maori at nearby Te Range and the land war was over. Settlers take all Maori get nothing. Still it’s not all bad, it seems that things have improved recently as since 1985 financial reparations have been made to a number of Maori tribes and they have been “allowed” to buy land and “invest” in education. But to give the Maori’s their due they don’t seem to have taken it to heart and now live in peace and harmony with the settlers.

It is easy to see why, driving along (on the left) we could so easily be somewhere in the UK. The weather is temperate, the countryside beautiful and the town is immaculate and it is not hard to understand why people are so content here. Fifty or so years ago it was a holiday resort, today it is the fastest growing city in New Zealand and has crept into the top ten as the ninth largest. More and more people visited and stayed, firms began to relocate which attracted yet more people. Land reclamation began for the docks and associated industry until it became what it is today, a thriving town.

Boats Planes and Jumpers

Tuesday 25th February

It was ‘nobbut a spit’ to Auckland from Tauranga as they say in Lancashire, or to put it in plain language, a very short distance. In the order of 150 miles. So it was not a surprise to wake up this morning and find that we had already arrived in Auckland the largest city in New Zealand and have been given pride of place in the town centre right opposite the old ferry terminal. Weather is perfect about 75°f [about 24°C for those of us who use proper units – Paul] and the sky full of cotton wool puffs of cloud. The Auckland skyline is not too overpowering as the majority of high-rise buildings are between fifteen and twenty-five stories high in the centre of the city with a sprinkling of smaller ones scattered around them to balance the effect. The further along the coast in each direction the lower the buildings.

We were off on a jaunt by 10:00am with our steerologist Paul (who honestly admitted that this was his first day on the job with comments like “jees this is bigger than my mini” but it turned out that he normally did cross country tours and it ‘really was’ his first day on the half day trips). pointing out all relevant points of interest with an extremely droll sense of humour which kept the whole coach entertained. The cathedral (a fairly modern looking building) was compared rather disparagingly as an Ikea cathedral, to the lovely old hand carved wooden one it replaced which still stands, but was moved to the other side of the road. Apparently because a lot of buildings are made of wood the New Zealanders make a habit of picking them up and shifting them elsewhere. Passing the television tower we craned our necks to see the people bungee jumping from the top without much luck, Carol said she saw one, but I’m not sure her eyesight is that good. We were taken to see where the wealthy lived in Auckland and before we got there Paul announced that we were about to see examples of how, just because an individual is blessed with a high net worth, does not necessarily mean they are blessed with good taste. Then mentioned that the people who lived there had asked for the tourist coaches to be banned from driving past their houses as they always seemed to be laughing. Not surprisingly as he then started to intone “oh! Honey I’d like to live in a house like a chocolate cake” as we drove past one that looked just like that. Then “oh! Honey I’d like to live in a house like a bunker” and so on, past the house that looked like a biscuit tin, a Neo Georgian manor house. He had a dry comment for every situation, but he knew his stuff for all that. Remind me to tell you about the Orange people, I don’t have time or space to tell you here. But it’s worth hearing.

On our way back down the hill we stopped and Paul asked for a minutes silence, as we all went quiet he asked us to look over the harbour and pay our respects, as it was there that the New Zealand Americas Cup team lost the cup to a landlocked nation. Switzerland! Sailing is a national obsession (there is one sailing boat to every four people here) and that was the ultimate humiliation.

Talking of sailing, that was where we headed for next, back down to the wharf where eight of us boarded a fifteen metre sailing ship for a trip round the harbour. There was a respectable breeze and after motoring out from the quayside we hoisted the sail and off we went heeling over until we were all in heap in the bottom of the boat. Well, not quite, until that is I took the helm and then I heard some bumps and squeals behind me. Turns out that Carol had got over familiar with a Japanese couple as we were at a good angle and cracking on a bit. Things got a bit interesting when the seaplane (Alpha one) took off heading straight towards us drawing curses from the captain as they were supposed to be warned before take-off in order to steer clear. Over our heads she flew just missing us, honest! got it on video. Well it might have been a bit higher. As we sailed under the harbour bridge there was a piercing scream from above and a body plunged towards the sea. Hearts in our mouths we watched in disbelief as it headed vertically for the water and just as it reached the surface it shot straight back up again before once more plunging earthwards. This happened several times with decreasing intensity until the unfortunate victim was finally hauled back up towards the bridge. Bungee jumping! What is it with New Zealanders that they want to throw themselves of any available high structure?

All too soon time was up and we headed back to the quayside once more encountering the bungee jumpers and Alpha one, landing this time, more curses as again no warning until after she had landed in front of us. Again got it on video. Tying up alongside we headed off into the town wandered around the shops etc. Until it was time for Carol to go back on board, (she had a hair appointment) so I wandered off to find WiFi with a pub attached. Found one but it only sold lager and Guinness so I had a Guinness. Had a problem getting the WiFi to work but the little Chinese girl behind the bar sorted it out for me. What is it about young girls behind bars who can work your phone better than you can? WiFi was exceedingly slow but I did manage to get some pictures away. Won-she told me it was the Internet in New Zealand that was to blame not the bar. Had to leave without all the pictures going as we were sailing early 5:30pm so legged it back on board and as Carol was still sitting with her hair wrapped in tinfoil, I went up to the Commodore club for a pint to watch as we sailed from Auckland. With many a blast on the ships siren, we backed out and picked our way carefully through the thousands (or so it seemed) sailing boats that were zigzagging all over the place like demented water boatmen. Have they got a death wish or what? We are a big ship and they disappeared from our sight beneath the bow on occasion. Carol finally turned up and I got the look when I asked as casually as I could “Oh were they closed?” Had to buy a cocktail for that little aside, when will I ever learn?

Trumpets and Canoes

Wednesday 26th February

The Bay of Islands is another 150 miles north of Auckland and is a truly beautiful part of North Island with a plotted 142 islands around a coastline of bays and long silvery beaches. Captain Cook named it the Bay of Islands but New Zealand was first visited and named New Zealand after Zealand in Holland, in December 1642 by the Dutch Explorer Abel Tasman. I share this with you not as a history lesson, but for some interesting facts behind his discovery. He never set foot on land, his two ships anchored off in the Bay and the local Maori’s seeing these strange vessels arrive, sounded an alarm on an instrument that looked like a short didgeridoo and made a sound not unlike a trumpet.

It turned out that someone on one of the ships actually had a trumpet and thinking he could do better than that, let rip with a rendition of ‘Oh My Papa’ or the 1642 equivalent. Well! what the unfortunate Eddie Calvert wannabe didn’t know, was, whatever he played, was effectively a declaration of war to the Maori, a sort of musical equivalent of “Oi! come over ere if you want some!” Talk about red rag to a bull, Maori’s everywhere on hearing this immediately stopped whatever they happened to be doing, and looked at each other with that look that you know means trouble. One of those ominous silences descended over all the local bars (or the Maori equivalent) and never being ones to duck a fight they promptly put on their best fighting clobber, launched their war canoes and headed for the Dutch ships. The ship’s companies leant on the rails enjoying the spectacle thinking it was some kind of welcome. It just happened that a cutter rowing between the two ships was intercepted by these canoes and the unfortunate occupants clubbed to death. Whereupon the two ships hurriedly weighed anchor and beat a hasty retreat, whilst fighting a desperate regard action, no doubt thinking “That was a bit over the top! If that’s the way they react to poor trumpet playing goodness knows how they would react to something more serious”. Anyway the upshot was, no one went near the place for another hundred years (especially trumpet players) well would you? Until, yes you’ve guessed it, good old Captain Cook arrived like the proverbial bad penny, with a better trumpet player and the rest as they say is history.

We anchored about a mile off and went ashore in a tender as the bay was too shallow for the ship to get alongside, even if there had been anything go alongside. We landed at Waitangi (famous for the Waitangi Treaty between the Crown and the Maori). The place reminded me of a cross between the Lake District without the crowds and a dales village. We caught the shuttle bus into Paihia (pronounced Pie Here) about 2 km and wandered round a sort of cross between a village fête and a handicraft market, then along the high street. Paihia is like all the other places we have seen in New Zealand spotlessly clean and really friendly. As we were due on a trip in the afternoon we decided to walk back to Waitangi along the beach of Teti bay, picking up shells as we went. This really was a place you could spend more time at.

Our coach duly turned up and we set off inland for a trip around the local area. It was similar to the countryside around Tauranga growing pretty much the same stuff, though there were more vineyards. Our driver said that the wine produced in this area was some of the best in New Zealand and we passed one that belonged to a hotel chain which grew wine only for their hotels. It couldn’t be bought in any other outlet. One way to ensure your customers return, (if they like the wine that is). The vineyards were surrounded by tall hedges of either a thin wall of conifers or bamboo, up to a height of about ten metres to protect them from the wind. Not that the wind is a problem in itself, but by creating this wind break they raise the temperature inside the cordon by another two or three degrees and thus get a higher sugar content from the grapes.

We drove through one or two little hamlets and down to a little town called Kerikeri which has two of the oldest buildings in New Zealand, but the wooden one built in 1821 and the stone one built in 1835 reminds you of just how short the history of New Zealand is compared to European History. Maori’s did not have a written language until Hone Heike (a Maori chief) came to the UK and travelled to Cambridge where academics worked with him to create a written version, in order that they could write some of the history of the Maori people from the stories they told. Oh! and translate the bible into Maori. I’m not sure how easy a language Maori is to learn, but apparently an early missionary Henry Williams taught himself to speak fluent Maori in three months. Now that either makes it a heck of an easy language to learn or someone is telling porkies.

Further on we encountered the Waitangi River which has a solid rock riverbed. This is because when a nearby volcano erupted the lava flowed down the valley until it finally cooled and it was at this point that the Haruru Falls were formed. On down the valley we travelled until we arrived back at Waitangi and the start of our trip. It was here that the treaty was signed and a lot of the early shenanigans with Maori’s occurred but to this day the Maori’s remain the only indigenous race that has a written agreement with the British Government. The largest canoe in the world is also here. 36 metres long it holds 150 Maori’s and when Princes Diana was carried in it, the Royal Navy recorded it travelling at a speed of 27 knots. Some canoe!

Anyway I could go on for ever about this place but I’d better stop or I’d run into tomorrow, talking of which, clocks go back again tonight which puts us exactly 12 hours in front of you.

Beached whales and serial killers

Thursday 27th February

Back at sea again and we are heading West across the Tasman Sea for two days heading for Sydney our final destination for this leg of the voyage. So a late breakfast and a wander down to the theatre to watch another presentation by Dr Visser this time on why whales throw themselves on the beach and become stranded. The answer? No one knows. But she went through the possibilities. Whatever the reason it seems that the majority strand after following the key whale on to the shore. However she did have some good advice on what to do of you come across a stranded whale. Which basically boils down to, make sure it is upright, cover it in sheets (to keep the sun off it and help keep it wet), pour water over it to keep it wet, point it towards the sea and wait for the tide to come in. But then the chances of coming across a beached whale are few and far between (though I did think I saw one on Blackpool beach once, though on closer inspection it had a swimsuit on).

A later talk by was much more interesting. Publicity for it said ‘Adults Only’ and it was called Serial Killers. It was by a personality profiler Diane Simpson. She was an elderly lady so tiny she could hardly see over the podium with her frail old ladies voice she could have easily played Miss Marple. But her style could make your blood run cold. She had a rather slow but precise diction, at times barely a whisper (but the microphone was good). She had interviewed many serial killers including Peter Sutcliffe (who by the way is believed to have killed about 77 people). But she could be funny as well. She told us she had been in nearly all the high security hospitals and prisons (including Bellmarsh) and as she approached the front of the stage she said it’s so nice to see so many familiar faces. But some of the stories she had to tell were truly gruesome and she took us through the mental processes of some of these killers. She was up to date too, as she had the background of the girl from Peterborough who was arrested recently for killing those guys found in ditches. Coupled with the video clips, for me it was one of the best so far.

Not much else to report, we went to the gym and then had a couple of drinks in the Commodore with a couple on our table who are leaving the ship in Sydney. Dinner was the last formal night of this leg so we had lobster, getting good at predicting the menu now.

Clocks go back again tonight, putting us eleven hours ahead of you and that’s about it.

Wet weekend in Sydney

Saturday 1st and Sunday 2nd March

Sydney reputably one of the world’s most spectacular harbours. It is impressive, I’ll give you that, but spectacular? not too sure. We were up early full of expectation. Early morning light was fighting with thick cloud and for the most part losing. It was a murky morning. Where was all that sunshine the Aussies promised us, it was here last week we were told. Last week’s no good, we are here today and Australia is supposed to be the land of eternal sunshine. Any way we approached the entrance through the impressive Heads, North & South. These are massive cliffs that together with middle head served to disguise the entrance making it difficult for early mariners to find, as when sailing past it looks like one continuous rocky coastline and without today’s modern navigational aids it would still be difficult to find, looking towards the shore from out at sea. As we nosed through the narrow gap and into the harbour, those twin features appeared far to starboard, Sydney Harbour Bridge and Sydney Opera House. We turned to starboard making for them, as if suddenly getting our bearings so to speak and realising where we were. As we bore down on the bridge we were surrounded by helicopters and light aircraft flying round and round like angry hornets, one of the helicopters (channel nine) repeatedly swooped down to almost sea level, headed towards us before soaring up and over us. Not sure that would have been allowed in the UK, but it all served to create an atmosphere of excitement especially when the ship unfurled our surprise. Our visit coincides with Mardi Gras and to show our support we are joining in with the celebrations by flying a 126 metre long Happy Mardi Gras cape, 12.5 metres high, complementing this was a 2.2 metre high stiletto. We were to be bathed in pink light and designated ‘Queen of the harbour’ hmmm and were to party the night away, ‘were’ being the operative word, more on that later. All the tower blocks around the harbour were twinkling away as hundreds of cameras clicked and arms appeared waving at every accessible point around the quays. We slipped slickly between the Opera House and the bridge as if we did it every day of the week.

Immigration was a doddle here as the immigration officials sailed with us from New Zealand. (NB. America). After breakfast we disembarked for our trip which was ‘Leisurely Sydney’ an overview of the city in order for us to decide what we were going to do in our own time. We boarded our coach and set off through the traffic (which as in all cities was nose to tail) fortunately our driver drove contra to the main flow so we were not as impeded as we could have been, but it would not really have mattered if we had as the heavens opened and we stared glumly out of the coach windows as our guide enthused about what we would have seen had the visibility been good.

Rain was on and off the whole morning and in this it was kind to us when we arrived at Bondi Beach it was during an off period. Bondi was smaller than we imagined from the stories we had heard, perfectly formed for rollers, but the surfers did not want to perform. There were hundreds of surfer’s heads in the sea all waiting for that one big one which never came. Every now and then a brave soul would have a crack only to be swallowed up in a mass of white froth as the wave broke before even getting going. There was a continuous stream of fed up surfers leaving and optimistic surfers arriving, we spent about 35 minutes watching the fun but the rain showed signs of returning so we resumed our Leisurely Tour.

On over to the high point where we would have seen spectacular views of the harbour, but for the fact that the weather had once more closed in and some unfortunate soul had jumped so the area was closed off by the police whilst they carried out their grim inquiries. This is apparently the number one spot for suicide and is covered by dozens of security cameras. There was however one bright (if it can be called that) side to this place as our guide pointed out a small ordinary bungalow opposite, where, apparently until he died a few months ago, a gentleman lived who is credited with saving over 440 lives during his time there. It seems he would keep an eye out for potential jumpers and would rush out and invite them in for a cup of tea and a chat, ending in talking them out of it. It was voluntary, he wasn’t paid anything but had received various honours for his work, it left us wondering how effective video cameras would be in taking his place. Anyway suitable cheered up by this positive spin on an otherwise depressing story in depressing weather we moved on to Mrs Macquarie’s Chair. Mrs Macquarie liked to walk around the point opposite the botanic gardens but needed somewhere to sit to admire them as governor’s wives do, so she asked her husband to get the convicts to carve a seat out of the solid rock so she could sit and stare across the bay, which he (and they) duly did. One could only guess what was going through the convict’s minds as they sweated in 40 plus degrees in the hot sun so she could have somewhere cool to sit. It was not that kind of weather for us, because as we were contemplating life in those days the heavens opened again and we were caught in another torrential downpour.

I was not going to miss my ice cream for a spot of rain so I bought a cornet from an incredulous Australian lady and clambered back on board the coach, drenched. We finally got back to the ship for a shower and a change of clothes a bite to eat and then guess what? It stopped raining, so off we went round the Rocks the oldest part of Sydney (where the first convict’s tents were erected) and now home to markets, shops and other tourist attractions. Rain still attempted to discourage us but most of the markets were under cover and a lot of the pavements were sheltered by overhangs. We found some WiFi with a bar attached and managed to get rid of all the photo’s we had accumulated. Then back on board for dinner before venturing out for the Mardi Gras. Well that was the plan! We went up to the cabin to get some cash, went out onto the balcony to see how warm it was only to see rain falling out of the sky like out of a bucket. Not a soul in sight and not a sound, so plan B the bar. I guess the Mardi Gras was a washout which is a bit of a shame as they plan for it all year round.

Sunday was a little better so we shot off first thing for the Opera House and then into the Botanic gardens. We were surprised at how quiet everywhere was, the train we took for the guided tour only had about eight people on it. It took about half an hour and we then went to walk around at our own pace having had the overview. This was too good to be true the rain held off and the sun even had the temerity to show it’s face for a while. About twelve thirty we decided to go back for a bite to eat before exploring under the bridge. As we made our way back past the Opera House we realised we had made a good choice by going early as the crowds were pouring in. Word had got out that the sun was shining. 🙂 It was not to last, we were almost back on board when the rain returned and we watched from the Lido as the crowds melted away as fast as they had arrived. Another three hours of rain and we nipped out again with a brolly to explore under the bridge and round the “fingers” quays that stick out into the harbour on the other side of the bridge. Although we had some bad luck with the weather, the tour that went to the Blue Mountains travelled two hours to see nothing, no mountains, no blue and they got drenched as the windows in the bus leaked. The bridge tour got drenched climbing the bridge and couldn’t see much when they got to the top and we daren’t ask the cycle tour people how they had got on. Never mind, we are now back at sea heading for Brisbane and we have changed a huge chunk of Australians for a huge chunk of Japanese and the food has changed to reflect this.

Turned out nice again

Tuesday 4th March

Today’s Tuesday so it must be Brisbane 🙂 . We were to pick up the pilot at 3.15am and due to berth at 8:00am which indicated a tortuous entry into the port. And so it was to be, entering and transiting the North West channel, passing Caloundra Head, Transit the Spitfire Channel, into the Main Channel, passing Cowan Point, then south into the East Channel taking us into Moreton Bay. Crossing Moreton Bay, past Mud Island, transit between Fisherman Islands and Luggage Point before entering the Inner Bar Reach and finding our berth. Phew! Got that? Good cos you have to find your own way out 😉 . Our view from the cabin? A pale blue corrugated iron wall, bearing in mind we are eight decks up that was some wall and once more it is raining. We went up on deck and saw that we were deep in the Industrial docklands of Brisbane, surrounded by acres of cars parked for transit, in or out, we did not know. Huge mountains of what looked like sand but turned out to be sawdust, and what looked like salt but turned out to be sand, and huge mountains of what looked like coal and turned out to be coal.

We were not doing a trip here as the only one on offer was a trip round the central business district, not exactly a life changing experience. To make matters worse we were told that the shuttle bus took 40 minutes to get into Brisbane, but not to worry as there were two, one going in the other coming out! Deep gloom, things can only get better as a politician once had us believe. Still during breakfast the sun started to show its face and we chatted to a couple who knew the place and were quite enthusiastic about things to do. So after giving it a little time for the crowds to clear we left the ship and walked the couple of hundred yards through a tented walkway (so we couldn’t see all the dockside activity) to where the queue was for the shuttle bus.

First surprise there was a queue, but it was moving quite quickly and as the bus filled up another took its place and then another, (two bus myth busted). The journey in did indeed take 45 minutes but traffic did not hold us up and we were dropped right in the centre of town. The centre of Brisbane was a hive of activity and extremely pedestrian friendly. The central mall area was an entirely pedestrian precinct with dozens of street cafés and bars. Large plane trees everywhere provided shade from the sun which by now had decided to show its face and they had suspended large triangles of lattice panels to provide shade at all the central crossroads which made them natural piazzas and a place where the street entertainers entertained and people gathered to chat, creating a lovely bonhomie atmosphere. Brisbane is a delightful mixture of old and new. All the old buildings are pristine and with the modern building towering over them but not oppressively so. We passed the Anzac Gardens noticing that steps led down beneath them to air conditioned shopping malls. The whole effect was one of spaciousness and as we walked slowly up Queen Street (the central mall) enjoying the blasts of cool air from malls leading off left and right, it was easy to see how they have managed to cram over 650 stores along a stretch of less than a kilometre without it being overpowering (Brisbane City Precinct is home to over 1,500 retail stores in total). The top of Queen Street culminates in Brisbane Square, a huge square that is faced on one side by the sandstone Treasury Building which is now a casino (very apt) and on the opposite side the Supreme Law Courts, facing us was the river Brisbane. But as we stood there we realised where all the traffic was. To our left cleverly disguised, was the entrance to a tunnel into which traffic was pouring like water down a plughole and slightly further across traffic was exiting at the same rate, right under the area we had just been strolling. Alongside the river ran the freeway that supplied and received the tunnel traffic the whole system designed to keep pedestrians and traffic well separated. And talking of well separated, all footpaths were strictly organised, a line running down the centre of the path with arrows keeping pedestrians to the left, avoiding people getting in each other’s way. Signs every so often read “Cyclists, Skate Boarders and Segway’s give way to pedestrians”, followed by “Pedestrians do not block the pavements”. It seemed to work quite well, possibly because there were police patrolling on mountain bikes. We crossed the river and wandered through the gardens on the far riverbank before returning to Brisbane Square where Carol spotted a closing down sale and strode purposely towards it as only Carol can when she senses a bargain (and yes I got a photo).

We, well I was getting a bit thirsty by this time so we found a café/bar in the main thoroughfare and plonked ourselves down, idly watching the crowds walk by when I became aware of the longest pair of legs culminating in the skimpiest pair of shorts standing right in front of me. As I tore my eyes away and up to see who the owner of this delightful pair of pins was, it dawned on me that it was Anna, ashore with a friend. She had spotted us and came over to chat. Remember Anna? Our waitress? She who got the other red rose on valentine’s night? Anyway it was her and I shall be requesting she dresses like that at the table in future. And no I didn’t get a photo.

Anyway we had to go as Carol wanted some hairspray, so off we went passing a street artist dressed as a statue and sitting in mid-air (or so it seemed) not sure how he did that, but he was getting a lot of dollars for sitting around doing nothing. Back passed the Anzac gardens where there was live music, so we found ourselves a couple of deckchairs and sat in the sun for a while listening to a young girl singing (cut your wrist music) to an acoustic guitar. After about half an hour when the wails began to echo off the skyscraper walls we decided that others would be more appreciative of our deck chairs (that and the fact that our last bus left at 4:30pm) so we moved on.

All things considered I think I marginally preferred Brisbane over Sydney, take away the bridge and the Opera House there is little to choose between them. Brisbane due to lack of traffic is definitely kinder to those who want to wander around without constantly watching out crossing roads and for some reason Brisbane felt more friendly. Oh and Brisbane definitely had the best WiFi, I didn’t need to look for it, it found me. Every time I took a picture it was uploaded without me needing to do anything.

Monday 3rd March

Woke to another day at sea with the sun now shining. Up to breakfast later than usual for a sea day, but what does it matter when you have the whole day ahead of you? We went to another of Diane Simpson’s talks, this time on mindfulness. Not as interesting as the others, in fact as she was teaching techniques to explore the mind, I fell asleep and only woke up when Carol nudged me to tell me I was snoring. Still they can’t all be fascinating. Dinner table now empty apart from us. I suppose they can’t put Japanese speakers on as there would not be much to talk about. Let’s see what happens after Brisbane. Clocks go back tonight so we will be ten hours ahead from tomorrow. That’s about it for today, off for a pint now.

Whitsunday Island and The Great Barrier Reef

Thursday 6th March

We woke shortly before anchoring in Pioneer Bay on what was Queen Elizabeth’s maiden call to Whitsunday Island some 700 miles to the north of Brisbane and, contrary to what we had been told, we found ourselves 6 nautical miles off Airlie Beach, quite a trip ashore. Not to worry, instead of the ships tenders (holding about eighty people and travelling at about 7 knots) we had local catamarans holding some three hundred plus and travelling at 22 knots. We waited for the initial rush to subside which in 300 tranches took no time at all. Airlie Beach is a small town (population 4,000) with no building older than 35 years but it is the gateway to the 74 Whitsunday Islands and the Great Barrier Reef so is an important tourist town with all the facilities of such. It is a major yachting and boating centre as well as having many hotels, back-packers accommodation, holiday apartments and camping sites. The town has a very new look about it with pristine facilities, a bathing lagoon just above the beach which at first sight seems superfluous as it was immediately adjacent was a very attractive beach, until that is, we read the notice about the dangers of stingers (or jelly fish as we know them) some of their stings can be fatal and the season for them stretches from November to May. Incredibly there were people swimming. But for all its superficial attractions there was the odd sinister hint that conditions were not always as tranquil. Passing along a boardwalk through some mangroves we spotted the bow section of what was once a very expensive catamaran or a very sleek yacht and not very old as the glass fibre broken edges were pure white and the metalwork was still gleaming. It would have taken some powerful waves to get it embedded as far into the mangrove as it was and once our attention was drawn to it we began to notice other storm detritus that they had not been able to clear away. It would appear that there is a price to pay for living in paradise and in this part of the world that price is set and levied by the forces of nature.

We spent a very enjoyable few hours in Airlie Beach culminating in a pint or two in a Bar overlooking Pioneer Bay which was where I first noticed something odd about the ship. It was still very much in the same position as when we disembarked, not I hasten to add, that I expected it to have sailed or anything, but the tide had clearly turned whilst we were ashore and the ship hadn’t. Furthermore the wind was on the port beam so even if the tide was not sufficient to shift her the stiff breeze should have, very odd, especially as when we returned on board it was clear that not only was there a strong tide but the wind on the port beam was causing a list of a degree or so to starboard. So I wandered down to deck 3 to see if they had a stern anchor set that could account for this. But it was simpler than that. The ships engines were running, the starboard pod was pointing to starboard countering the pressure bought by the wind, and the port pod was countering the pressure bought by the tide. I have never been on a ship that kept her engines running whilst anchored before, but it is probably to avoid the destruction of sea bed coral, I’ll let you know if I find out. One very disappointing aspect of this part of Australia is the sea. I had expected it to be crystal clear, but it is opaque, almost milky in appearance so no chance of seeing the coral (even in a glass bottomed boat) again I’m not quite sure what the reason for this is but if I find out I’ll let you know.

Wednesday 5th March

Navigation in this part of Australia is tricky to say the least. Most of the sea bed is covered in protected coral where is even illegal to drop anchor due to the damage it inflicts on the sea bed, not so much the anchor itself but the long length of chain that is laid out on the sea bed after the anchor is dropped. As the tide turns and the ship swings round into its new position, it drags this chain round, crushing and damaging a huge circle of coral that’s taken hundreds of years to grow. When you get hundreds of ships dropping anchor, you begin to realise the scale of damage this creates. So for all the smaller boats that want to spend the night in a particular anchorage the reef authorities have provided buoys to moor to free of charge. The majority of people here are extremely careful about the reef so it tends to be self-policing. Last night we retraced our wiggly course out of Brisbane, re-entering the Pacific Ocean and turning North then North West into the Capricorn Channel which led us into the Great Barrier Reef (not the sort of place you want to wander without a pilot) and so for the whole time we are in the GBR we will have a pilot on board.

We went to the first of a series of talks by a forensic dentist on some of the cases she has been called to help solve from bite mark evidence. More gruesome crimes and fascinating switches in cases brought about by bite marks or not (as in the case where the marks turned out to be crayfish bites as the body had been in water for 24 hours). Not really a job I’d relish doing, looking forward to her other talks.

Towards the end of the day we were heading into Whitsunday Passage which leads us to Pioneer Bay where we will anchor off. Yes I know! but more about that tomorrow.

Life next to an active volcano

Sunday 9th March

Not exactly the ideal way to be woken up in the morning, but it was a first for me. In response to my shoulder being vigorously shaken, I opened my eyes and saw an arm extended over my head pointing to the patio doors. My eyes slowly followed the direction of the pointed finger and focussed on, of all things, a volcano with a plume of smoke and ash pouring out of it on the far side of a small bay. OMG! (as I believe modern vernacular would have it), what are we doing so close to such a menacing looking vent? Has the Captain gone mad? It would appear so, as we are in the process of mooring alongside in Rabaul, Papua New Guinea. The town and port of Rabaul is built would you believe, inside the remains of a volcano or caldera as those who know about these things call it. Not only that, but the caldera is surrounded by active volcanoes one of which is sitting right on the edge of the very same caldera in which we are floating, looking like an angry black boil, belching all sorts of nasty’s into the sky. A bit too close for comfort if you ask me, but nobody was so I got up took a photo of Mr Nasty or Mt Tavurvur as it prefers to be called, had a shower and a shave and went to breakfast. By this time Mr Nasty had calmed down and only a couple of wisps of steam could be seen around the rim, I took another photo, so I had a before and after if you get my drift.

Rabaul has not had a happy history since its foundation in 1910. In 1937 there was a catastrophic volcanic eruption which killed 507 people and left large areas in ruin. During WWII it was home to over 100,000 Japanese troops and thus attracted a large number of American air raids. Having rebuilt it into a popular commercial and recreational centre of prominence it was again destroyed and buried under several feet of ash when in 1994 Mr Nasty (Mt Tavurvur) blew his top big style, closely followed by Mt Vulcan on the opposite side of the harbour. We didn’t need reminding that Rabaul lies on the Pacific ring of fire as the last eruption that closed the airport was in 2008 and Mr Nasty remains extremely active. Whilst we were ashore he had a big belch and we watched as a cloud of ash rose up over the ship (Paul will post the photo’s when we get them uploaded, but we are at sea for five days now).

The town from the ship looked a very sad affair following its various misfortunes. The harbour was home to quite a few semi sunken ships (victims of the heavy ash clouds) and the area in front of the ship had an oil terminal to the left an empty car park and a container park with a dozen or so containers. Right in front of the ship was an empty corrugated iron warehouse with no doors. Someone had placed a container in front of the opening to prevent theft of the non-existent goods within. A line of ramshackle minibuses queued to take passengers on some of the organised trips, missing windows covered up with polythene and tape. You have to hand it to the inhabitants of this devastated area for persevering in the face of continuing aggression from the likes of Mr Nasty.

After breakfast as we made our way ashore we encountered Graham and Janet who were ‘also exploring’ and as we left the dockyard gates we sort of followed the “ant trail” of returning passengers. As you have probably gathered, the town is not too big and it seemed like every inhabitant had turned out with a stall selling various tourist souvenirs etc. Up the road we walked turned left still following the ant trail, Graham asked one of the returning ants, “is the forage worth it?” and got the answer “keep foraging” (or words to that effect). So we ploughed on through the turgid humidity (temperatures now hitting 36°C) and by now the pool back on board was becoming almost irresistible to Janet, but she persevered and we wandered into a local supermarket. Now I know a lot of people knock Tesco, but I think the looks I exchanged with Janet said something along the lines of “phew! we don’t know how lucky we are”. For all the problems these people have, we couldn’t help but notice how they were all smiling and we were not pestered by anyone, the stall holders, the children, or the people selling trips. All we got on our walk was “good morning, hello, and other welcoming messages. As we were retuning past the stalls near the gates, one of the passengers with a young son (5 or 6) was talking to a stall holder about a necklace her son had picked up was holding and we overheard the mother saying how much? and the ladies behind the stall were saying “no no it’s ok, you take”. I have never seen that, in all the places I have visited, as we walked on I heard the mother thanking them, saying you are so nice. In the local market some of the stalls only had a bunch of sad looking bananas or a few shrivelled sweet potatoes but everywhere people were smiling.

We didn’t stay there long, we were due to sail at 15:30 but were delayed by a tour that was late returning. It was 16:00 by the time we let go and inched away from the wharf, through all the little boats with families out for a days fishing, all of them waving up and giggling when we waved back. We performed a 180° turn very gingerly before picking up a bit of speed and headed for the gap in the caldera, past the old airport now under a metre or two of ash, past Mr Nasty still puffing yellow smoke and ash and grumbling away, out through the gap and turning left we felt the engines pick up to increase speed as we sailed through Mr Nasty’s plume smelling very strongly of sulphur. I really don’t know how those people can live so peacefully and happily inside what is effectively a very live and feisty volcano. The big caldera of the first volcano has within its walls two smaller active volcanoes one of which is continuously venting. This means that the chimney that fed the original eruption is still wide open and liable to blow at the drop of a hat with little or no warning. Now that’s either very very brave or very very stupid or perhaps both.

That’s about it for today folks, oh! Except for one thing. Thanks to Ruth for spotting that I was reliving February. Days here drift by like the ports and the countries, one day merges into another, I don’t know what day of the week it is let alone what date, so I follow the auto text suggestion when I start the next days blog little realising that it was still suggesting February.

That’s how I managed to forget my 21st birthday, but an even sadder side to this is, it looks like only Ruth is reading this :’-( .