Sayonara Baby #6

Here are a couple of observations about Japan. We’ve been to six places so far – Aomori, Akita, Niigata, Kanazawa, Sakaiminato and Kitakyushu. Knowing as I do, how the Japanese are obsessed with golf, imagine my surprise at having seen a grand total of zero golf courses so far. One driving range but none of the real thing. And while on the subject of manicured greenery, the gardens we have seen have been truly spectacular. The largest we saw was 11 hectares. The smallest was as big as a suburban dinner table. Most Aussies would concrete that over and stick a barbecue in the corner. The average Japanese would put a water feature, half a dozen bonsais, a concrete lantern and two decorative trees in that space. We had a great landscaper but I’m not sure he could manage fountains operated by gravity and I’m not sure I could afford it.

We just did the Busan fish market. We’ve done the same sort of things before in rural Vietnam but not on the scale of this thing. This is where the food looks back at you and you could either leave with dinner or a pet. For a vegan this must be like being stuck in Dante’s Nine Circles of Hell. Inviting an unknowing vegan to a traipse round this place would be the epitome of Dante’s last ring of treachery especially if the next step was barbecuing something they’d just given a name to.

The  various tours we do are designated strenuous, moderate or easy. I’m always bemused by the number of people who opt for a strenuous tour when they struggle to even get off the bus. In Kitakyushu we went into the Akiyoshido Limestone Cave. It was dark, wet and slippery. It was also the largest underground void I have ever been in and I’ve been in a few, mostly man-made, in my years as a mine geologist. You could fit several full-size European Gothic cathedrals in there. So I wondered how useful the stragglers would be when the orcs arrived. Something for the Balrog to put on his sandwiches I guess since we didn’t have a Gandalf to help us out of the Japanese version of Moria (I’m assuming you’ve all read Lord of the Rings or at least seen the movies).

On a similar theme, we did a boat ride in the extensive moat system round the Matsue castle near our stop in Sakaiminato. There are 17 bridges over the moat and 4 of them are only a couple of feet above the water while the rest are not much higher. So imagine 10 people per boat crawling into a rocking, tent like space about as high as a dining room table then sitting on the floor and arranging ten sets of legs. Then we had to find the space to lie flat when passing under the 4 lowest bridges. I was laying on the legs of the lady arranged next to me. Fortunately she was a good sport and besides, the CB was sitting next to me trying to stop her feet from going to sleep. I suspect we may have left a few people in those boats because getting out was as hard as getting in – collateral damage.

Sayonara Baby #5

We’ve only been in Japan for five minutes and I’ve taken my shoes off and put them on again more often than I would in an average Queensland winter, not counting thongs (the foot variety). Having been here numerous times before, you’d think I knew what to expect. I guess I naively though there would be some dispensation for ignorant tourists, but not to be. So the heavy duty waterproof shoes of the first three stops have been replaced by slip on laceless sketches. They had to come off today when we stepped inside a long-dead samurai’s house in Kanazawa but at least I didn’t have to worry about negotiating a stiff back to do up the laces when we left. As a corollary to this, we booked a tour in Sakaiminato which involved a castle visit and a boat trip round the moats (more of this later) and I figured there’s two activities which should require shoes at all times. Not a chance.

I’m currently sitting on our balcony writing this while the CB washes her hair in preparation for dinner with the senior crew in a couple of hours. As frequent flyers with Azamara (this is our fifth) we’ll be hobnobbing with people who’ve done 30+ cruises with this outfit, l expect. To retain a shred of credibility regarding our cruising chops considering our relatively feeble accomplishments, we’ll just have to lie. I’ve travelled enough that I just might get away with it, like Basil Fawlty not mentioning the war.

There’s a lot of activity down below me on the wharf. There’s lights and speakers being set up and sound systems being checked. When we left Wismar in Germany a few cruises back we were serenaded by a very good Electric Light Orchestra tribute band and as I mentioned previously, we got the fireworks treatment in Akito. It looks like there’ll be a show on tonight. Either these people are pleased to see us go or a boat load of Kardashians are on the horizon and getting closer. “Love Me Do” is blasting out at the moment so maybe Ringo’s on his way.

Just watched the farewell show. About 30 dancers in traditional gear including a few who look like they were let out of kindergarten early plus about eight people rythmically waving some of the biggest most colourful flags I’ve ever seen. Waving them to exhaustion it seems as after a few songs they had to rest their jellied arms. Incidentally, if there were celebrities coming in it could have been James Hetfield and Lars Ulrich because the last song was Japanese Metallica – a voice that could turn a crowbar into iron filings and a thumping drum beat.

Again, we have been feted for being the first cruise ship of the season. I’d much sooner be third and have better weather.

Sayonara Baby #4

When it’s raining really hard we have sayings like “it’s pissing down” or “it’s hammering down”. What do you say when it’s snowing heavily? “It’s FLOATING down!!!”? Whatever it is, it’s covering the acres of solar panels next door to the port and it’s stopped FLOATING down and the sun’s come out. No wind either so the wind monstrosities on a nearby hill are stationary. Could be worse (or better) I guess – they could be on fire as frequently happens to these useless piles of unrecyclable crap. Actually you’re lucky if you live next to a burning windmill because there’s no electricity (snow on the solar panels) but at least it’s warm.

We weren’t prepared for all of this snow. Mid-teens temperatures were forecast, not mid-tundra. Can’t be global warming. Must be climate change. Or it could be down to latitude and the time of year, said the climate denier who is willing to bet that no country will ever achieve net zero despite the “pledges” (gazillion dollar hilarity ensues). Notwithstanding, it is a nice change for us who have come out of an ultra-humid Queensland summer, especially when you can look at it through double glazing rather than stand in it wearing inadequate clothing.

Met the Skipper and his crew (I was going to call them Gilligans but as we have already struck a respectful chord, I didn’t) last night. The all-singing, all-dancing cruise director was on our last cruise (Africa Through the Bottom of a Glass). Had our photograph taken with the captain and no doubt they will try to sell the picture to us for an extortionate price. Maybe if he’d been Captain Jack Sparrow or Forrest Gump…

Afterwards the cabaret kicked in. The format and participants were similar to previous cruises – four singers, two male and two female and two dancers, one male and one female. The dancers “sang” with the singers but we knew they were lip syncing because they didn’t have those little microphone thingies which are strapped to your head if you are required to extravagantly wave your hands and arms around as you boogie round the stage. They could dance though. Even at my fittest sometime last century when I was playing rugby and working underground I would have struggled to fling around a lithe young lady, even with a run-up – dodgy shoulder, you see. So well-played them.

We just left our second stop – Akita – and they put on a fireworks display that wouldn’t have been out of place on New year’s Eve. Don’t know if they were happy that we visited or happy to see us go.

Sayonara Baby #3

The child bride had a technicolour yawn the afternoon of the storm. First time I’ve seen (heard actually) her do that since our first date. Then it was bacardi and coke. This time it was white wine (probably) and a bucking bronco ship. I don’t think white wine will suffer the same fate as bacardi which has not passed her lips since that fateful night. I suspect there may have been some morning sickness spews a few decades ago also but no particular incident stands out like the very first and the very latest (notice how i didn’t say “last” – you never know). And I may have been at work.

Yesterday was our first full day of sightseeing in Japan if you don’t count getting from Haneda Airport to the good ship Azamara Journey three days ago. Trying to find something quirky about Japan is difficult. Sure, the culture’s quite different but we don’t want to be disrespectful. It’s also very clean and the people are friendly and polite (except the prick who was grinding his elbow into my back on a jam-packed train many years ago). The worst I could say about Aomori is that it appeared to be closed….. on a Thursday. It could have been that everyone was inside with all of the doors closed because it was ear-snappingly cold and occasionally snowed. The only snow angel and snow ball frolicking was being done by those from the tropics and sub tropics until the realisation that snow is cold and wet set in, as if we didn’t already know.

Despite the Walking Dead atmosphere of the town, the reception at the Port was brilliant. There were young ladies in traditional dress singing and dancing, blokes dressed up as … something and running after buses waving giant hands, a TV crew and someone in a giant apple suit. This is the apple capital of Japan so that stands to reason. We are their first cruise ship of the season so I guess they were pretty pleased to see us, if only for the gaijin dollars we injected into the local economy. Two coffees from us, worth about $18. Don’t spend it all at once.

Last night was French night at the fourth poshest restaurant on the ship – a perfectly reasonable cultural experience on an American ship in Japan. But we joined in and had the beef bourguignon and the coq au vin but drew the line at escargot and frog’s legs. Did all that when I was being paid to bow to others’ cultural and gastronomic proclivities. On my own dime I’ll eat what I want not what someone else puts in front for me. The most unusual thing that can be said about that was regarding a couple who turned up dressed for dinner. Him in his suit and her in a long frock. This isn’t the Queen Elizabeth but bloody good for them nonetheless. If you have any standards, adhere to them because there are increasing numbers of people out there who have none whatsoever.

Sayonara Baby #2

I am now an expert (better informed actually) on numerous diseases I had never heard of prior to half an hour ago. The CB and I are having our morning coffee and three single women of a certain age sitting next to us have been loudly trying to outdo each other in describing their various ailments like the four Yorkshiremen of Monty Python fame. The strident alpha amongst them is starting to give me the shits so it’s time to relocate. That’s easier said than done at the moment because like the first day of our last cruise, we’re at sea all day and it’s pretty rough. A 6 to 9 foot swell doesn’t sound much for a cruise ship to contend with but it’s enough to roll you out of bed if you haven’t got something to hang onto. Fortunately I do. So we put the wobbly boots on and pinballed back to our cabin, sorry, state room. The captain just advised that at 1.00pm we hit a storm and the swell’s going to 12 to 15 feet (or more) and it’s 1C outside. I should have paid more attention to the safety briefing yesterday. Lifeboat 1 I think. Time to get lunch in (and try to keep it down) before the shit hits the fan.

Last night was a chance to reacquaint ourselves with our favourite bar – what used to be called the Looking Glass because it’s high and at the front with a panoramic view of bugger all for the next day or so and is now rather boringly called the Living Room. The band is the ubiquitous (similar bands are playing all over Asia) bunch of talented Phillipinos and one Phillipina and like all of their clones, they can play anything. They did requests and were asked for a Santana song by one dude, which they performed remarkably well and when they looked at me they got Hotel California which they also did very well including the guitar solo at the end. The guitarist came and had a chat with us when they finished and I offered to drum for them (their drummer’s sick apparently). I’d had a few red wines and never sat at a drum kit before but I think I got the gig. We’ll see tonight.

We are now in the midst of our first cruising storm after four previou ocean cruises and three river cruises (which don’t really count). The boat’s rocking and rolling in a veritable sea (funnily enough) of white caps. The outside decks are closed but I don’t think the pool and adjacent hot-tub would be getting much action today, storm or no storm. So the options are to sit in the room and write this or sit in the lunch restaurant with a glass of wine and write this. Decisions decisions. We just smashed through another big wave and were momentarily in a foam cloud. I think we’ll stay in the restaurant.

I’ve commented previously (see Africa Through the Bottom of a Glass) about how the CB and I are generally amongst the youngest and most mobile and therefore most stable on our pins, of this cruise line’s clientele. There’re a lot of people here in the restaurant now and if they try to relocate we could lose a few if they get anywhere near the ship’s rail. Paying extra for a veranda room is looking like a crap investment at this point.

Speaking of investments, a few things had to be attended to when we boarded the ship yesterday. When packing for these excursions, I’m most efficient when I do it an hour before leaving for the airport. I learnt this after numerous work trips over many years. Apart from the times when I’ve had to buy ties, belts, socks, pants (that was only once) etc I usually get it right. The longer I have to consider the necessities the greater the chance I’ll forget something. This time I forgot one of my medications so had to make arrangements for this with the onboard medical centre. Most expensive pills i’ve ever bought. Also I’d left it too late to book our shore excursions so had to do that after boarding. And get the internet sorted. These were all jobs for today but I had them all sorted within two hours of getting on the boat yesterday. Luckily I’m not a Labor politician otherwise those jobs would have taken a month and I’d be staring down the barrel of another stroke.

Sayonara Baby #1

When you’re looking for things to write about you tend to notice oddities from the nuanced to the in-your-face, sticks out like dogs’ balls. Let’s enjoy ourselves and consider a few that became obvious including some before we even left New South Wales airspace.

When the Tokyo flight got underway, I plugged the tablet on which I am writing this into the power socket in the CB’s seat and was informed it would take 34 hours and 59 minutes to fully charge. It was half charged to start with. That’s Sydney/Tokyo/Sydney/Tokyo/Sydney and frankly, I don’t have that much available time. Oh yes, I had to plug it into her seat because my power outlet didn’t work. Hopefully, as this is an Airbus A330, everything else works and we won’t lose a door or a wheel as Boeing planes have tended to do recently.

Anyone who has travelled internationally even once will be aware that meals are served at the strangest of times. I’ve had lunch at 9.30am, a full dinner service at 2.00am and today we had lunch at 2.30pm. Now that’s not too bad you’d have to reckon and the food was okay (said no one ever while travelling in gorilla class). We were late leaving Sydney so the timing of lunch was impacted by their having to pump up the tyres or something so I guess they have an excuse. But the cutlery was made of wood. The peasants in Game of Thrones had more efficient eating implements than these. Imagine trying to saw through steak with the stick that was in your ice cream. The old anti-highjacking plastic ones were way better than these.

Here’s one that has zero nuance. We’re shuffling in an endless immigration queue trying to get through Haneda Airport and 4 out of 5 people including everyone under 40 is staring at their phones. Can’t these people wait until they clear the airport before checking their friggin’ Instagram. I guess being disconnected from the cyber world for 10 hours is too much for too many mush-brained sociozombies. I suspect I was better at interpersonal communication than these people even at the time I was having a stroke a year ago. Those of you with superior deductive powers will have concluded from this diatribe that the hotel bar closed just as we arrived. Not to worry. It’s free booze on Azamara and we’re boarding tomorrow. Arrrrgh!

Sayonara Baby – Prologue (Day -1)

In the immortal words of Willie Nelson (and me – I’ve stolen this one before) the child bride and I are on the road again, can’t wait to sniff some assholes with my friends… no wait, that was Rodney Rude’s dog impersonating Willie. As the title suggests, we are on our way to Japan for a very short cruise – Tokyo to Tokyo. We’re on a Qantas flight to Sydney then on to Haneda in Tokyo also with Qantas. After the events of a year ago I swore I wouldn’t fly with them again but I guess we’re here because of a forlorn hope for an upgrade after being stroked in London last March. Hasn’t happened. Oh, and I hate connecting through Sydney Airport (about as much as I hate connecting through Heathrow). It’s been put together like a Bombay slum and it feels and smells like one when 5 international flights all arrive within 5 minutes of each other. Not to worry – we have to suffer these privations if we want escape occasionally.

We had a bit of an unexpected rather traumatic day yesterday. We had two cats for many years but now we only have one. For all of those years they boarded together at the pet motel whenever we travelled. Having each other for company meant they could forget about us for a few weeks rather than just during the 23 hours a day they spend sleeping. Edgar, the survivor, had something of a personality transplant when Kaos ran out of lives last year. All of a sudden he realised that treating us with typical cat disdain was not to be recommended without back-up. He is now our best friend and on his first solo stay at the feline spa, he fretted and lost weight which was probably a good thing for his ponderous bulk. Many months of the cat version of sucking up, which is pretty much confined to demands for a pat, have meant that taking him to his holiday destination yesterday felt like taking him to the cat abattoir. We dropped him off and bolted – best not to linger and get all mushy.

Most of our cruises have been in summer or in warmer climes than Japan where the maximum temperature will be around 14C and the minimum will be around 3C while we’re there. So cold-packing was a new experience. This isn’t a thongs (for the feet), jocks, shorts and t-shirts cruise. It’s a “how many long sleeved shirts will I need” and “is 8 pairs of jeans too many” and “where the f… did I put that beanie” type of cruise. We have never come close to the airline weight limit for our bags. This time we did.

Sitting on the flight down to Sydney I’m reminded of one of those imponderables, like why do women stroke their chins when driving or why does “change-up” mean “slow down” in an assortment of ball throwing games. No, the one I’m thinking of is why does the airline industry attract so many gay men but straight women. Opportunity I guess and you can interpret that word however you like. The corollary to this of course is why do so many sports attract gay women but straight men. I’ve got another ten hours or so to ponder these imponderables until they get shoved back into the dark recesses of my mind from whence they came.

Africa Through the Bottom of a Glass – Epilogue

To everything there is a season and a time to every purpose under the heaven. I may not have the wisdom of Solomon (or Pete Seeger) as elucidated in Ecclesiastes in the 10th century BC but fate certainly impacted my purpose under the heaven recently. A bit pompous and presumptuous I know, but there are times when we face our mortality and come out the other side. What is the reason for this uncharacteristically spiritual intro to what is usually an irreverent decidedly unspiritual diatribe on this blog? Let me explain.

We left the good ship Azamara Journey on Saturday morning and made our way to Lisbon Airport. Our British Airways flight to London was delayed by 40 minutes but no problem because we had a two hour connection time for our Qantas flight to Singapore. At this stage it’s worth pointing out that the ticket was a Qantas ticket, not a British Airways ticket. The significance or otherwise of this is about to become obvious. Our Lisbon/London flight was further delayed by 20 minutes because we couldn’t fly over France – air traffic controllers strike. I could make jokes about this but the consequences were too serious.

We landed at Terminal 5 at Heathrow an hour late and the CB and I commenced our sprint across to Terminal 3. Our Qantas flight was leaving from Gate 1, the closest you would think. No it was the furthest away. The Departures board said “Gate Closing” so the race was on. We got there completely knackered and sweating profusely. The gate was still open but we were greeted with the news that BA had cancelled our tickets because the minimum connection time had been breached. You can imagine what happened next, especially when a handful of people who arrived after us were allowed to board.

To exacerbate the situation the Qantas staff were the epitome of indifference and arrogance. When told BA had cancelled our flights, I “politely” informed them we had Qantas tickets and BA had no right to cancel them. Take it up with BA was the response from Qantas. Fire up that computer and uncancel the tickets I said. Take it up with BA they said, because BA cancelled them. The rage was approaching Rambo proportions by this stage. When it became clear that we weren’t getting anywhere (we already knew they didn’t give a shit), we seethed our way back to the BA Service Desk at the other end of Terminal 3. You’d think the distance would have given us a chance to calm down. Instead the CB’s anger fed off my anger as we approached a perfect storm. 1+1 certainly did =3 in this case.

What made it worse was that I had been through similar situations in the past. I had been met getting off flights to be fast tracked to the next flight due to flight delays. The usual “do you know who I am” arguments also held no water – we were travelling biz class and I’m a life-time gold frequent flyer with Qantas. The least BA could have done was meet us off the Lisbon flight and give us the news then, rather than let us blow numerous gaskets getting to the Qantas boarding gate only to be told it was all in vain.

By the time we got to the service desk the BA people had already worn a tidal wave of abuse from another passenger in exactly the same situation as us. Cutting to the chase, I had banished the CB to a seat about 10m away lest she strangle someone and was waiting for my turn to get our new arrangements from BA when I dropped my boarding pass. On reflection, I decided I hadn’t dropped it, it had fallen from my left hand. I struggled to pick it up – my fingers were not cooperating. I picked it up with my right hand, stood up and addressed the BA lady as follows “kqergqeyurfgyrf”. This was rather disconcerting because I wasn’t aware I could speak in tongues, let alone Swahili. Then it hit me. Like a brick. I beckoned the CB with my right hand because my left arm was impersonating a French air traffic controller and when she arrived I said “jweiufhbdvdywgdstroke” through the right side of my mouth which was still sort of cooperating.

The CB leapt into action announcing an emergency to the whole terminal and demanding an ambulance. An hour later, after drifting in and out of incoherence and having been attended to by a para medic (who rode through the terminal on his bicycle), we set off for the best stroke hospital in London – Charing Cross. The best part of this whole episode was being in the back of an ambulance with sirens blaring and lights flashing, just for me.

As the ambos wheeled me into the hospital I could see a posse of white coated medical practitioners poised to climb all over me as I reached them. Seconds later one was shoving a needle into the back of my right hand another into the left and attaching both to tubes, one was shoving a needle into my arm to take blood another into my finger for a blood sugar test, one was ripping my shirt off, sticking electrodes on my chest and attaching wires to it, another was taking my blood pressure and I had a gizmo stuck on my finger. While all of this very well organized mayhem was going on another doctor was shouting at me “Ignore them and look at me. How many fingers am I holding up, what day is it….” and other questions to test how Joe Biden I was.

After the initial tests were conducted, within minutes of arriving, I was told they wanted to administer a new clot-busting stroke drug with a 35% chance of complete success, 60% chance of partial success, 4% chance of causing bleeding on the brain and a 1% chance of severe bleeding. I assumed this last one was a euphemism for something more final. We went for it and minutes later it was being pumped into my left hand. It needed to be injected within 4 hours of the stroke if it was to work. We beat that by hours. After a CT scan an ECG and an MRI the next day plus constant heart monitoring and assessment by various doctors, physiotherapists and occupational therapists it was decided the drug had worked exactly as it was supposed to and I was discharged Monday night, having been admitted late Saturday night.

I could have been discharged early Monday afternoon but the excellence of the NHS’s medical staff (“thankyou” seems infinitely insignificant) is not necessarily a reflection of the NHS’s administrative efficiency. I discovered this inefficiency is also inherent in other large organisations namely, British Airways and Heathrow Airport. When we left the airport on Saturday night in rather a hurry, we left our luggage in limbo. Getting it back was a saga in itself and a story for another day. Suffice to say the CB and I are now stuck in London because I can’t travel for two weeks. But flights have been rebooked, insurance has been sorted, accommodation is confirmed and luggage has been retrieved. We have a blue llama attached to one suitcase and a pineapple attached to the other. These were key according to the BA lady who went out of her way to find them.

Africa Through the Bottom of a Glass #10

This is your humble scribe reporting from Codger Cruises and today we’re going to cover some onboard stuff. Not onboard activities because I don’t consider bridge (the card game not the ship’s cockpit) an activity. It’s more of a passivity. Shuffleboard, bingo and even trivia competitions (I’ve lost my competitive edge) are off-limits also so I’ll cover a bunch of arbitrary and unrelated topics to give you a flavour of what it’s like on one of these floating gin palaces. Incidentally they make an excellent G&T and in respectably large glasses. I re-introduced the CB to this particular delicacy after a long gin-and-tonic free hiatus which wasn’t hard I have to admit.

While sipping our G&T’s, beers or wines we have been watching the band in our favourite bar at the front of the ship. We’ve sort of got to know them, having achieved “local” status at this particular bar. So the other night the ship was bouncing around more than it had in the previous more than two weeks, making it somewhat difficult for the musicians to perform and especially for the singer to keep his mouth near his microphone, like someone was turning the volume up and down as his head bobbed about. At the end of the set as he walked past he said it was time for a stiff drink – whiskey time. I asked him if I could make a request. Sure, he said. The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald said. I really need that whiskey now, said he. Actually I’m surprised he didn’t want a rum being as they are from St Lucia in the Caribbean and they play with a distinct reggae beat. The running joke for the cruise has been that Red Red Wine is the worst song ever written so people keep requesting it.

Another down-side to rough seas is that people get sea-sick. I was explaining my disappointment to the cruise director that the only time I’ve seen a guitar on board, no one was playing it. He said someone was supposed to be playing it but apparently Serbia (for Serbian, the guitarist is) and Ghana were having a disagreement that prevented him getting on the ship. He caught up with us in the Canary Islands and promptly got sea-sick so no show.

The CB and I don’t actually mind when the ship’s bobbing about more than usual and we have to put on our wobbly boots. I may have previously mentioned the difficulties some of our fellow passengers have in moving from A to B, especially when there are steps and/or hills between A and B. Consequently it means the usual scrum at meal times becomes infinitely more civilized. But don’t try ordering room service when people are confined to barracks. It’s like ordering Uber Eats or Dominos at Grand Final or Super Bowl or FA Cup time.

The CB and I sat at one of the up-market bars onboard a couple of nights ago. I knew it was up-market because there was wood panelling, a grand piano (which someone was playing), no adjacent swimming pool and people covered up most of their wrinkles. It was like many up-market bars except for two things. First, the barman wasn’t ignoring me in favor of beautiful 20 somethings. I guess one of the reasons for this is that apart from the singers and dancers, there aren’t any. The second is that no one was paying for their drinks. The barmen must struggle when they venture out into the real world.

I worked underground a lot in my work-related youth and have spent my whole career in the mining industry. It’s a pretty hostile environment and safety is paramount to the point of obsession. So I’m always bemused by our devil-may-care attitude in everyday life. Like how close we are to speeding traffic when we stand on the side of a busy street. I was standing on our balcony a few nights back and looking down. It was a dark night and the water was over 4000m deep. The ship was travelling at around 16 knots and we were hundreds of mils from land. I was one steel railing away from the most unimaginably awful fate should I end up in the drink there and then. I needed a safety harness. At least during the day someone might see you go in. At night, forget it. And on that cheerful note, that’s it for #10.

Africa Through the Bottom of a Glass #9

There are five traffic lights in The Gambia (don’t forget the “The”). There are three times that number in my suburb. Admittedly The Gambia is not a very big country with less than 2 million people but there are less than 2 million people in the Greater Brisbane area, just to put this into some barely relatable context.

It’s not very big geographically either. The capital, Banjul, where we have just been, is very small – it has a population of less than 40,000. It’s definitely the capital because our guide helpfully pointed out the National Assembly building and the US Embassy is there. The reason our ship was able to park in Banjul is because it’s on the Gambia River. In fact the country is the Gambia River with a line drawn around it to include the north bank and the south bank. It’s almost like Senegal decided there were too many crocodiles in the river so they wanted to make it someone else’s problem. Consequently The Gambia is surrounded on three sides by Senegal and on one side by the Atlantic Ocean. It’s just another of those sovereign quirks like bits of Spain in North Africa and a piece of Russia surrounded by Lithuania and Poland.

Speaking of crocodiles there’s a crocodile farm in The Gambia which has been in the same family for over five centuries. Obviously the market for crocodile farms is somewhat restricted and certainly the number of potential buyers would appear to be thin on the ground, unlike the hundred or so crocodiles which lie about doing nothing, like so many council workers. And you would normally associate a petting zoo with cuddly and cute animals like bunny rabbits and puppies. That would be in the snowflake west. In The Gambia you pet crocodiles. And they don’t even want to lick you back. Call me suspicious but the one being subjected to constant stroking had blood on its face coming from fresh tooth holes after a recent crocodile spat but it didn’t eat anyone while we were there. Their rather non-crocodile-like behavior has something to do with feeding them fish rather than meat so they don’t have blood lust like the Australia Zoo crocs – wimps.

The Gambia is so small that there wasn’t enough room for all of the ship’s shore excursions so one had to go to Senegal. Everyone had to be back onboard by about 6.30pm so we could leave at 8.00pm. 8.00pm came and went and we were still about 100 passengers light. Could it be that Senegal was holding them hostage? Or were they victims of mañana. They had to return on a ferry and I don’t think the ferryman was maintaining a stopwatch accurate timetable. A bevvy of officers were nervously pacing on the dock like fathers waiting for their teenage daughters, no doubt considering the implications for their careers of losing significantly more than a handful of passengers.

Even worse they were all missing out on White Night which is the cruise’s big party night. Everyone dresses in white, gets pissed and makes fools of themselves. Maybe a grubby ferry on the Gambia River would have been a preferred option for some – who knows. It’s an opportunity for all of the various entertainers to get together and sing and dance for a couple of hours. And they do it with maximum aplomb and enthusiasm while we apply similar fervour to drinking. Two days at sea before Gran Canaria should be enough to shake the hangover.