I’ve previously mentioned that there’s an Irish pub on board. The child bride and I have achieved local status – they know our names and room number and deliver G&T’s without asking. A couple of Irish guys play there a few times a night and watching them has convinced me to go back to my roots. Being 25% Irish, which incidentally is proportionally higher than most of our aboriginals are aboriginal in my estimation, it’s a legitimate pursuit, I think.
So I’ve been noting the songs that these guys have been playing, that I’d like to play. One is about a bloke who gets married just before being executed, one is about a bloke who steals to feed his family and gets transported to Australia, one is about a bloke who dreams about his Irish home while living in California (he dies when he’s 23), and another is about a bloke who is framed by a beautiful woman and is also sent to Australia. There are others with similar themes but I have trouble reading the words and music at this stage because of the tears. I love the Pogues also, but it’s hard to get a smile from most of their songs. I need to find or write some happy Irish songs.
It’s quite anomalous when you consider how outwardly happy-go-lucky the Irish are yet there is so much sadness and bitterness in their music. They can and do draw on rebellions, troubles, crime, betrayal, war and famine – disagreements and tragedy on every conceivable level.
Time to move on to something debatably less traumatic. The good news is we’ve had no rain so far on this trip. The bad news is the wind has been whipping up rough seas so our last stop in Norway – Alesund – has also been dropped from the itinerary. Fortunately, when Gravdal was jettisoned, Narvik was available to step into the breech. This time it looked like a slow 3 day wend down to Southampton until Le Havre volunteered it’s services. Is this the first time the French have volunteered for anything? Just asking. So, Le Havre here we come.
The first and last time I was in Le Havre was in 1986 and all I can remember is looking at a large pile of coal which our hosts assured us came from our mine in Queensland. How was I to know if they were having us on? If you’ve ever seen piles of coal ostensibly from different mines next to each other, you’ll know what I’m talking about. Oh, and the trip back to Paris was conducted like we had a terminator on out tail with Jake and Ellwood Blues taking it in turns to drive.
So Le Havre was an opportunity for a bus drive into Paris, a bit of a drive around, a photo opportunity at the Eiffel Tower and lunch in a restaurant that reminded me of the refectory at university. We then drove back. And that is the end of the Fjord Escort. Next comes the Sicily Walk as we head to Italy today.