Day 3 of Our Very Flash and Totally Luxurious Pacific Island Cruise

27th April - Day 3, Sailing Day

Day three I woke to the sun streaming in our bedroom window with the promise of yet another full day available for me to beckon if not entice small amounts of melanoma.

Well, kind of.  We were travelling North and our room was on the port side of the ship, so those in the know will work out that the sun wasn’t ACTUALLY shining straight in our window but it was certainly peeking around the front of the boat then bouncing back in our window.

With the memory of yesterday’s breakfast so vivid in Neil’s mind, yet the memory of his near-fatal indigestion seemingly a figment of my imagination, he leapt out of bed with more spring in his step than teenage girls at a Justin Bieber concert.

Imagine then, the utter heartache and despair that followed when he was to discover that not only did they not have hash browns today… the utter travesty of travesties was the lack of hotcakes.  Short of demanding to see the Captain, Neil was somewhat placated by the addition of French Toast to the menu.  Saying something like “Briar would be disappointed if I didn’t” seemed to be the acceptable excuse for taking 3 massive slices.

I was completely fine and dealt my grief a blow by stocking up on double the amount of pastries.  I still had cheese, crackers, yoghurt, bacon and eggs; but in a great show of self-control, refrained from having both types of scrambled and didn’t have an omelette.  I also had a plum to make sure it was a balanced meal.

In light of the above, it was probably not my best move to decide after breakfast that I’d like to go looking for a bikini.  Walking into the shop (and I use the term “walking” very loosely) I was full of excited anticipation that today was going to be the day I found my dream swimwear.

Rifling through the racks, which were laden with several size 6’s and size 22’s, I found four or five pairs I liked, in a variety of sizes just in case the manufacturers had sewn the wrong labels on and I somehow didn’t fit into a size 10.   Looking around for a changing room, and not seeing one, I was a little alarmed at the prospect of losing my dream bikini.  Contemplating how discretely I could try them on over my jeans without the shopkeeper seeing, she glanced over and saw my handful of goodies and asked if that was in fact what I’d like to do.  “Um, yes, um, that would be nice… do you have a fitting room here..?” I say as I glance pointedly around the fitting-room-less shop.  “No we don’t” she said, “but you can take them back to your room to try on”.

Stunned silence, followed by - and I ashamedly admit – a brief contemplation of stealing-by-shopkeeper-fault for the first time in my life, it then suddenly dawned on me that it’s not like they didn’t know where to find me.

Making a note of all my sizes and styles, the lady popped them in a bag and off I skipped to my room, almost as excited as those same teenage girls at the same Justin Bieber concert.  

Ten minutes later I cursed those skinny teenage bitches and their pre-breastfeeding-breasts and their un-child-bearing-hips and their unstretched-unmarked thighs whilst simultaneously sending mental death threats to the designers of all bikinis.  

I had imagined myself looking something like this:

Surely I’m not the only mother in the world that wants a bikini that only does two simple things? 

1)       Cover my breasts.  And I mean all of them.  Not just the sides, or just the top and bottom.

2)       Cover my ass.

Why is it that tops and bottoms seem so mismatched?  When I found one with a top that kind-of fitted, I looked like I had my Nana’s undies from the 1930’s  on the bottom half.  When finding bottom halves that fitted, my top half  looked like I was doing an ad campaign to promote support for ethiopion woman, and halfway through got a little shy so covered up with some Star Chart stickers.

  

In fact I ended up feeling a little like this:

Muttering words that would shock Gordon Ramsay, I stumbled across one more pair in the bottom of the bag – my salvation!  They looked fantastic, they were the right size, and even Neil nodded when I made him take a nano-second respite from his computer game.  My excitement lasted for about five minutes.  Four and half dancing around the cabin looking at myself in the mirror thinking how fabulous I was going to look amongst the tropical fish, and 30 seconds getting back into my clothes. 

My joy was shortlived;  upon checking the price tag I was horrified to discover it had more figures than the weekly lotto draw.  There was no way I could justify spending that on pair of togs and I was quickly back on task of making Gordon look like sweet poet.

I spent the next hour sunbathing in my stupid board shorts and my even stupider singlet.

Luckily for me, lunchtime provided a welcome distraction, and I decided that if I weren’t going to be wearing a bikini I could get back to guilt-free eating again.  We returned to the restaurant, a little bit hesitant after yesterday’s Couple-That-Seem-Like-Siblings, but we needn’t have worried.   We were seated beside a gay couple.

Giggling internally, I wondered how Neil was going to cope with what lay ahead.  Now don’t get me wrong, he’s not homophobic.  He thinks that two chicks together is a fantastic idea, but he just doesn’t get man-on-man – and because he doesn’t get it, he may have thought we’d have nothing to discuss.

How far from the truth that was.  Feminine Half was very feminine – we discussed the rooms, the wine, clothes, bikinis (I’m sure they would have fitted him better than they fitted me), the décor, hairstyles and cocktails.  Masculine Half won me over when he commented that he wanted to buy a Huey. 

A Huey-huey, as in, an Iroquois helicopter. 

I nearly fell off my chair, I’m pretty sure it was only my new friend of the day, Bottle of Merlot, that had sufficiently numbed my limbs enough to prevent it happening.  Turns out he’s worked for the Aussie Defence Force for a number of years now and the conversation was as free-flowing as my wine.

After lunch there was a game show in the theatre called “Liar” and after some discussion and more wine Feminine Half and I decided it would be worth going.  I deposited Neil back to our room where he could play computer games to his heart’s content, also deciding against my better judgement to leave my BFIAB (Best Friend In A Bottle) behind as well.  I had some slight concerns about being talked about in hushed tones along with the words “sad”, “dependent”, and “meetings for that kind of thing” so early on in the cruise.  My intentions were good, but Port Villa night (Day 6) well and truly blew any of those doubts right out of the water.

Instead, I filled my glass to the brim (I didn’t want the rumours to shoot off in the other direction, either) and off I toddled to the theatre, dropping the bag of tainted merchandise back to the lady at the counter on the way past the shop.  I swear she stifled a giggle when she pulled out a size 8 bikini and put it back on the rack.  Just to teach her a lesson, I decided not to tell her that there was a manufacturing error and that that particular bikini should have been labelled as a size 4.

Arriving at the theatre with only five minutes until the show started, I was horrified to see that someone else was in my usual seat.  Standing beside them awkwardly looking from them to the seat to them to the seat again didn’t seem to work like it does with dogs and food.  They stayed firmly planted so I had to go find lodgings elsewhere. 

After finding a second-class seat, I had just made myself comfortable when I saw Lunch Couple arrive.  Waving madly, Feminine Half waved back and headed over to the two spare seats beside me.  Turns out that, even though these seats were empty, and there were no drinks/bags/jackets on the seats, they were apparently not “spare”.  Wanting to stay with my new-found friends, we moved, and much to my horror we found ourselves at the end of the row right up by the wing of the stage.   So effectively, we would be watching the show from behind. 

Determined to get our seats back, I moved back to where we’d just been and asked how many were being reserved.  Noting to the hoggers that there were three empty seats at various places along the row, I somehow managed to convince them to all move down – in the direction of the end, not the middle – and we got our second-class seats back.  I’m a little ashamed that I outsmarted them given that their average age was 93, but hey… they’ve had plenty of time to watch stage shows already. 

Feminine Half went to get a cocktail, and asked me if I’d like one too.  Politely delining, and showing him my glass of wine, he said “So?  You’ve got two hands!” and as he walked away laughing I kicked myself.  Of COURSE I’ve got two hands, why not use them??

The show consisted of four of the entertainment staff being given a word on the big screen, then having to give their version of what the word meant.  Three would be lying, one would be telling the truth – and it was our job to work out who was telling the truth.

First was the male lead from the cabaret shows.  All of his explanations began with “I’m not sure if you know this, but before I was a singer, I was a …” which would then lead to a story about how he knew what the word meant.  He led us to believe he’d been a Tuba player, a Sumo wrestler, a teacher and a ballerina.

Second was the Cruise Director Zoltina-J (apparently her real name… her parents were adventurous) who began all her explanations with “One of the cruises I did, we went to….” which would then lead to a story about how she knew what the word meant.  She led us to believe that she’d done 18 cruises,  54 cruises, 68 cruises, then 83 cruises.

Third was the comedian juggler from the first night with a fondness for balls.  All of his explanations were made from breaking the word down into letters or smaller words, and fumbling his way Frank-Spencer style through the smaller words until he came up with some ludicrous explanation.

Last was Hung Lo.  All his explanations involved farts.  Funnily enough, none of his stories were true.

After the game show, I barely had time to rush back to our room, fill up my wine, remember to grab Neil, and get to the Orient Bar for the nightly quiz.    I discovered it the previous night while I was off an adventurous journey exploring the ship on my own, and stumbled into the bar where it was held.  It looked to be the beginnings of a fun hour, so I stood at the outskirts of the bar for a while watching everyone in their little teams getting ready and hyped up, then decided I wanted some of the action.  I finally plucked up the courage, went over to a lady who was sitting on her own and asked if she’d like to join together and make a team.  She said her hubby was just at the bar getting drinks but I was welcome to join them.  The way she glanced from me to my wine to the security staff was funny, what a hoot she was!  And so it came to pass that a random couple and I won a prize in the first nightly quiz, despite my protests that there were only two prizes and they should have them, they insisted I keep one myself.  I think they must have been late for dinner because they rushed off without even finishing their drinks.

Perhaps I should have stuck with them for the second nightly quiz.  But Neil and I took solace in the fact that 3/20 was not actually the lowest score that night.  The couple beside us got 2/20.  And in our defence, we were clearly far too young to be answering questions aimed at 90 year olds.  I mean, how am I supposed to know when some war in Germany was…?

After muttering our dismay at the Aussie-weighted question, we wandered off to the Atrium for the Pacific Cirque show.  We got there about 20 minutes early to ensure a good seat, which was on the second level of three – perfect viewing.    Right about here:

I had to order a cocktail because I was worried about getting dehydrated while we waited.  While I sat on the carpet, sipping my Toblerone, looking through the railings and wondering what all the poor people were doing, Neil remained standing – and got chatted up.  By a dude.  He assures me it was all very innocent and the dude in fact was just chatting about dude stuff.  I think I may have heard mentioned of “engineer” and “tools” and “grade metal” but I’m not convinced;  I’ve always like him in that particular shirt too.

When the performance started, I was gobsmacked.  In fact at one stage I very nearly spilt my cocktail, that’s how edge-of-the-seat they were.  I can’t do it justice by explaining, but I’ll try.  There was one chick who hung from the roof by a ribbon and did lots of spinning-swirling-flipping-splits type stuff, and at one stage she dropped, the ribbon unravelled and she rolled down the ribbon about ten feet.  It was all part of the act, but try telling that to the scream that fell out of my mouth. 

Apparently it’s called Aerial Silk, and it looked a little like this:

 

I briefly thought about taking classes and whipping it out one night as a wee surprise for Neil, but had second thoughts.  I don’t think the motel would let me put a hook in their ceiling.

There were chicks-on-ropes, guys-in-hoops, girl-on-guys, guys-on-uni-bikes and girl-guy-guy-hoop-rope-bike combos.  They kept getting better as the night went on, and I was bitterly disappointed that I’d clapped so hard after the first act because as hard as I tried, I couldn’t clap any louder as the performances got better.  I had to add “whooping” and “woohooing” to my repertoire.

On our way to the arena, we’d run into Peter and Loud Lady.  She’d asked us what we had planned for dinner and what time we were going.  Neil looked like a deer caught in the headlights, so she added “it’s just that we thought you two were pretty cool, so if you were happy to, we’d like to have dinner again with you tonight”. 

We were right in the corner and the paint was completely wet. 

I told her that we’d already booked our table for 7.45pm, and that a table had probably already been allocated.  She looked delighted and squealed “SAME!!  We’re having dinner at the same time!  Perhaps, but only if you want to, no pressure or anything, we honestly don’t mind if you don’t, but perhaps we could change your booking and ask if you could be seated with us?  What’s your room number?”

And so, as fate had deemed to bestow this couple upon us, when it was finished Neil walked away from the Circus performance dreading what lay ahead.  I was looking forward to it, not soley due to my bottled friend and my cocktail.  Dragging the chain getting dressed back in our room, he was worse than a child preparing for a vaccination visit. 

When we walked into the Restaurant and gave our table number, the waiter told us we were on table 96 and started to show us to our seats.  As we were walking, Peter and Loud Lady appeared in my line of sight, and I in theirs.  “Guys, GUYS, hi, HI, over here, lovely to see you, over here, here’s our table here!!”

“Um, those seats might be already booked I think, because we’ve been told we’re on table 96” I suggest.

“No, no, over here waiter, I rang, I rang and changed the booking, you’re at our table over here with all of us!!”

“Us” turned out to be them plus another two couples that they knew from their home town (an absolute coincidence, so we found out, that they were on the same cruise) and had gathered around them to help celebrate Peter’s birthday.

I glanced over at Neil who was looking round desperately.  For what I’m not quite sure - either a way out,  a stiff drink, or a object with which to fake his own death.

We took our seats and I was beside Loud Lady, Neil beside Peter.  About to wish him a happy birthday, three syllables were out of my mouth before Loud Lady merrily introduced us to all at the table.  One couple were my age, and one couple were the Titanic’s age.  We made polite conversation, and Titanic Couple seemed completely besotted with us for some reason.  Beginning to think I’d forgotten to put eyeballs in or something, I became a little disconcerted about how pointedly interested they were in us; it might have been because we were Kiwis, or it might have simply been because we knew what computers were.

I tried to divert the conversation back to Loud Lady, and give some attention to Neil, who by this stage looked like he was past Cocktails and ready for a whole bottle of something. 

Speaking of bottle, my BFIAB of the day had expired earlier, so it was time to find another.  Loud Lady and I perused the wine list, and decided it would be silly to share a bottle – after all, it WAS Peter’s birthday, and it’s not every day you have a birthday.  Trying to decide whether I’d like a particular drop of bubbles, Loud Lady said “hang on, that’s what Martha (AKA Titanic Lady) is drinking, here try this” and with that grabs Titanic Lady’s wine from her and passes it over to me to have a sip.

For probably only the second time in my life, I was speechless.  Unsure whether to have a sip from Titanic Lady’s glass, whom I’d only met minutes earlier, and who hadn’t offered it to me herself; or to refuse and possibly offend her, I erred on the side of caution.  I mean, really, it was wine.  Of course I had to try it.

Turns out it was very nice, so I had thereby forged the way for a new friendship.  With the wine, not Titanic Lady.

Dinner was, well…. enjoyable for me, unbearable for Neil.  It wasn’t going too bad to begin with;  he just kept quiet and ate;  then our eating habits came up in conversation.  Loud Lady and I were in one of the those conversations that all parents have – you know the ones – where you compete with total strangers to see who’s child takes after their parent more.  I was discussing Maz and her very weird eating habit of sorting all her food on her plate into portions, and having a piece of every portion in every mouthful.  If one ingredient looks like it’s not going to last the meal, she cuts it into even smaller portions so that it will. 

When Maz first shared this with me, I was deeply concerned for her mental health.  That, and a little stunned, because it’s exactly how I eat my dinner yet I’ve never once discussed it with her or made it obvious to anyone that that’s what I do.

[Note:  if anyone shares a meal with me after this, please feel free to stare at my plate while I’m eating and watch exactly how it’s done]

When I finished telling this story to Loud Lady, Neil made a funny remark teasing me about it.  Peter gave me a funny look, the meaning of which was soon to become crystal clear.  I told Loud Lady that I thought Neil ate weird, because he eats all of one thing, then all of the next, then all of the next, and so on, until his plate is empty.

Well.  Goodness.  It appears that my innocent statement opened the gates of hell.

For the next ten minutes I watched in fascinated horror as Neil got lectured about changing his eating habits.  And she was serious.  Turns out Peter used to eat exactly the same way, until she taught him the error of his ways.  It’s absolutely horrific to eat your food item by item, as the food was prepared, cooked and served as a group.  And so it must be eaten as a group, with all the flavours complimenting each other as they were designed.

I don’t think I can convey in words the seriousness of this conversation.  We’re talking G8 serious.  Allowing nukes into NZ serious.  Running out of world chocolate supplies serious.

It appears that Neil was exhausted of all tact by this point because he stabbed his soup's solitary crouton, looked her in the eye, and said "Well.  I'm about to drive you mental then".

I was left with no option but to either fake some sort of contagious illness; or pretend the wine had made Neil irresistible and flirt outrageously until someone told us to get a room.

I’m obviously not a very talented actress because no one blinked an eye at either of my attempts.  No one, that is, except for the seven different waiters that walked by each time I wobbled my cleavage at him.

Thankfully, the Our-Age Couple were going to the evening show that was starting in ten minutes, so rose from the table to leave.  I jumped on this opportunity to leave as well;  I grabbed my bottle, my boy and my boobs and took off before the waiters could start slipping me AUD$1 notes.

We weren’t interested in the show that night, so we decided to try and redeem ourselves at the late night quiz.  This one was a “Logic Quiz” so I thought we smash it.  I don’t know if I’ve told you this, but I’m actually quite clever.  And logic.

Twenty questions later, we thought’d we done pretty well, and turn out we had – 17/20.  And the three we didn’t get were haaaaaaaaaard!  Thinking we must have got a prize, we were surprised that two teams scored more than us – one of them getting 20/20.  How they got the answer to “what is narrow at the top, wide at the bottom and has ears” was beyond anyone’s comprehensions.  Each team passes their answer sheet to another team to score (and open themselves to general ridicule and teasing) then it gets given back with the results.  The host then reveals the scores by asking for a show of hands, “who got 15 or more?”, “who got 16 or more?” and so on, so we were pretty sure we were in.  When we put our hands down at 17, the quiz host said to one team “not counting you guys, did anyone else get 18 or over?” which we thought was an odd question.  One team did, and he walked over and gave them the prize.  Even odder.  Until he turned back to the crowd and said “this group were on the last cruise where we had exactly the same questions!”   Everyone laughed, and gave some general jest to the group.  Haha, what hard cases they were!

Or not….

Less than a minute later, the general good vibe and laughter is undermined by some very serious conversation in the room.  The cheating-done-this-before group had the audacity to COMPLAIN to the quiz master that they should have won the prize, and how dare he embarrass and accuse them of cheating in front of everyone, and they were not leaving until they got their prize.  We were stunned, and if Neil had let me I would have told those old whinging poms exactly what I thought of their bloody top-bottom-ears answer.  Not really caring what they were threatening him with, the quiz host told them plain and simple that they weren’t playing fair, he offered his bosses name if they wanted to complain about the way he treated them, and if they felt that badly about getting a prize, he would go and get them one each.  They indignantly demanded that they not only wanted one, they deserved one, so off he went.

And returned with P&O branded sick bags.

And so, with justice in the air, a satisfied belly, and a beautiful wine buzz, I raised my glass to Kharma and said good day to another wonderful experience and went to bed excited about things to come.

(My first Island that is… the next morning)

Day 2 of Our Very Flash and Totally Luxurious Pacific Island Cruise

26th April - Day 2, Sailing Day

Going to sleep with your bed rocking is lovely; waking up to your bed rocking is plain weird.  I rolled over to see what Neil was up to, but he was fast asleep.  Slowly recalling where we were, I went to the window and opened the curtains, and WOW!  There was sea outside.  And lots of it.  So much in fact that it was all I could sea…..

That was the first and last time we slept with our curtains closed, for the remainder of our trip we slept with them open so we could be woken by the morning sun and greeted with some stunning views.

Despite the fact that there was no land for around 500 miles, which is a bit further than I could see on the horizon, I stared out the window for about five minutes; silently lost in my thoughts of how beautiful nature was, how calm the sea looked on the surface yet how unforgiving it could be, how blue and clear the sky was and…

Bloody hell – breakfast!!  Suddenly I remembered there was a buffet upstairs and about a kilo of bacon with my name written on it in grease.  I quickly threw my shoes on, grabbed my Cruise Card, and as I ran out of our cabin, caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.    I was a little shocked by what stared back at me - eyes wild, mouth drooling, hair unkempt.  Forgetting to put clothes was a minor detail.

Guessing I should probably take Neil as well, I thought I was going to have another agonising wait but my urgency seemed to spur him into action and I think he had hash-brown brain as he was ready in seconds.

As with lunch the day before, the buffet was grand and vast.  Tutting and sighing loudly at the people in front of us that wavered at any one choice for too long, we made our way down the servery, piling our plates as we went.  Some might say it’s a little greedy to have more than one type of egg, but how was I to know at the beginning of the line that they’d have scrambled, omelette AND fried – sunny side up?  Anyway, the fried eggs came on plates of their own, so they didn’t count.  Turning away to find a seat, we noticed another entire section, resplendent with pastries, cakes, buns and juice.  My plate was already full, but being an optimist I saw this as a challenge, not an obstacle.

When we sat down, our trays looked a little something like this:

Just mine alone had:

·       A bowl of kircher cereal

·       A blueberry yoghurt pottle

·       Watermelon

·       Rock melon

·       Pineapple

·       Two pieces of toast

·       Two hotcakes

·       Scrambled eggs

·       Salmon omelette

·       Grilled tomato

·       6 rashers of bacon

·       A fried egg

·       Danish pastry

·       Pan au chocolat (croissant with chocolate for the south-islanders)

·       Chocolate muffin

·       Orange juice

·       Coffee

Don’t panic though, I could go back for seconds if necessary.

Neil’s plate was similar to mine, double the fruit and add some hash browns, but minus the pastries.  After all, he does try to eat healthy.

Conscious of our wine tasting appointment after breakfast I tried to pace myself so as to not be too full to cancel the effects of the wine I was about to drink.  Neil, however, was on a different mission.  Five minutes before our wine tasting was to start, with a third of my meal uneaten, I almost had to fireman-carry him out to the elevator.  Whilst I looked around for a wheelchair, he bravely managed the walk into the next restaurant where our table awaited us, along with 3 other couples; as well as five other tables with 8 people on each too.  This was gonna get rowdy.

The 60 yr old couple to my left asked if we were on our Honeymoon.  Warning them that for the sake of Neil’s mental health they needed to stop that line of questioning, they coyly told us that they were.  Delighted congratulations came from all round our table, which quickly turned to smutty giggles from me when they smiled at each other and put their hands on each other’s thigh under the table.

The other two couples started discussing earthquakes, so I guessed one of them were Kiwis, when I heard the younger couple say “..yeah, we had ours in 1931 so we’ve definitely had our share.”

“Excuse me” I interrupted… “are you guys from NAPIER??!”

“Yeah, we sure are – are you Kiwi as well?” they asked.

“Oh em gee, I grew up in Napier!!!” and so we chatted for a few more minutes.  Well, I chatted and they listened.  The guy looked a little embarrassed when I asked his age and name, thinking out loud that we may have gone to school together.    It seems I was the last one at the table to realise that I was a generation away from being in classes with either of them… in fact I was probably more likely to have been their babysitters.

The third couple looked like a cross between Ben Stiller’s parents on “Meet the Fockers” and Posh and Becks.  Dripping in bling, cloaked in designer outfits, yet somewhat odd-looking and not at all normal.  The first six of us were cruise virgins, but Odd Focker Couple had cruised several times before.  This time, they had their kids plus four of their kids’ friends with them.  Oh, they were going to have eight friends, but there was a glitch with the ticketing and they had to change cruises and four friends were unable to make the new dates. 

My kids will be lucky just to bring themselves on a cruise with us.

We had six wines to taste, and each was presented by a different waiter.  The first waiter was Flagrantly Gay Thai Man, who followed his introduction by asking how many of us were virgins, and how many had sailed before.  Then he told us that there were approximately 30 honeymooning couples on board, and said it was their fault the boat had been so rocky the night before, keeping everyone awake.  I stifled more smutty giggles, glanced sideways at Honeymoon Couple and he grinned right back at me with a twinkle in his eye that I recognise from those late night TV channels.

That’s Honeymoon Man beside me:

Much laughter and several jokes at Honeymoon Couple later, we’d finished our tasting and I’d like to say I’d learnt so much more about wine.  However the truth is mostly I just “yucked” and “mmmm’d” and nodded and imagined fruitful berry tones with underlying oak tannin and a slight pear flavour.  It was a little awkward when at one stage they pointed out I was holding my water glass.

As soon as the last waiter finished talking, Odd Focker Couple got up, said their goodbyes, and walked out.  With their glasses still full!         

I know it’s CALLED a wine tasting, but good god – who actually DOES that??  We got every single drop of our $16, in fact I very reluctantly had to draw the line at letting Neil lick his glasses dry.  He went on to mention that it was only the thought of catching a cold for the rest of our cruise that stopped him emptying their glasses as well.  Wondering if we were really that tight – and/or uneducated – we looked over at Young Kiwi Couple, who laughed and told us that Young Kiwi Man has been under strict instructions that he was not to spit any wine out under any circumstance and every drop was to be swallowed.

Yet again highlights my faith in Kiwis.

Honeymoon couple rose from the table, saying they had somewhere to be and something to do.  My friend Wine-Tasting-Karo asked them if they were off to consummate their marriage, to which his reply was “already done that last night – several times!”.

Not sure whether to high-five her, high-five him, or sob into my empty wine glass, I muttered a goodbye as I glanced down at my bare left ring finger,  secretly hoping that Neil had the worst indigestion ever.

Be careful what you wish for...  The next two hours were spent on our bed.  Unfortunately, they were spent stuck on our sides, unable to even roll, staring out our window cursing the breakfast buffet and all it’s temptations.

Half an hour later, it was lunchtime.

Ever the troopers, we put our discomfort aside, and soldiered on in the name of Kiwi’s everywhere.  I’d rather pop than admit defeat.  And pop I nearly did.

Sharing a table again, we were seated beside a couple that at first I didn’t think were a couple.  And there’s a very good reason for that.  He was talking about his relationship with another lady.  And not just “oh yeah man, she was a bitch, you’re waaaay better at making beds than her, she wasted money and was a terrible cook”.  It was deep and meaningful stuff about how intense their relationship was, what a perfect couple they had been, how they were unable to be friends after they broke up due to their residual feelings for each other.

Thinking that she was a very sweet sister for listening to all this over a lovely lunch, they introduced themselves to us.  Brother and sister they were not.  Feeling so awkward, I put aside my drunk/full/discomfort/heartburn/calorie-intake worries and ordered a bottle of wine, one glass,  make it quick.  Luckily for Neil he had that man-thing going on where he was completely oblivious to all and anything except what was on the menu in front of him.

One (the only?) drawback to cruising with P&O is that you can’t take any of your own alcohol on board.  Even if you buy duty free from them, it stays locked up until you disembark.

The upside to this is, contrary to what we’d been told, their onboard prices are  not too bad if you’re a wine drinker.  There were a range of bottles available from $22, which is not much more than you’d pay at the bottle store in Australia.  Even better, once you bought a bottle, no matter which bar it was from, you could take it with you and drink it anywhere on the ship.

This, in my defence, is the only reason I spent the next ten days wandering the ship with a full bottle in one hand, glass in the other.  I was merely trying to be economical.

The bottle of red I bought with lunch that day kept me company for the rest of the afternoon while Neil retired to the cabin for more rest.  We had a great time together – we went onto the pool deck to sunbathe in a lounger; we went to a music quiz run by a Kiwi DJ (Neil joined us for that) where I could only answer the Prince and Icehouse songs and Neil didn’t answer the Chilli’s song even though they’re his favourite band; we went to sunbathe a bit more and watch young dudes try and pick up young chicks; we went to another quiz run by a funny Pom and won a P&O drink bottle, then we went back to the cabin to get Neil for dinner.  By that stage, Bottle of Red was exhausted, so I left him in the room and picked a new friend to entertain me for the rest of the night.

Dinner was again a shared table, this time with a nice posh looking couple, and a couple whom the lady of which was to become Neil’s nemesis.  And although we saw them lots over the next nine days, I cannot for the life of me remember her name.  So I shall call them Peter and Loud Lady.

I knew within seconds of sitting down that Neil was not going to enjoy this dinner.  Firstly, he’d started to feel a little off-colour from motion sickness.  Secondly, this lady made me look like a mute.  Personally, I really liked her and found her to be light-hearted and a real hard case but by the end of the meal Neil was beside himself and I knew that if teleportation was possible, I’d have been eating alone.

I discovered during this dinner that I don’t like trout.  I’ve lived in New Zealand for forty years yet somehow we’ve never crossed paths until now – how is this possible?!  It’s like not having tried tomato sauce.

After dinner the show for the evening was a Broadway Spectacular.  Unfortunately for Neil, Loud Lady and Peter were going to watch it as well, so they accompanied us on the walk to the Marquee.  Also unfortunately for Neil, Loud Lady found out we weren’t married, and spend the entire walk planning our wedding with the help of the onboard jewellery shop, clothes boutique and restaurants.  I didn’t object, after all she was a stranger and as I didn’t know her well enough it would have been rude to interrupt.  His facial expression was somewhat similar to Sean Penn in the final scenes of “Dead Man Walking”.

The Broadway show was spectacular, except for one tiny thing.  In my opinion, the lead lady and the second should have swapped.  And unfortunately, I hung on to that thought like an OCD child and it interfered with my enjoyment of the show.  Yes, the lead lady was good. But nowhere near as good as her 2IC.  And for that reason alone, I couldn’t relax completely. Every time she hit a high note (or tried to hit a high note) I found myself pfffffting and shaking my head, looking at Neil as if the utmost abomination had occurred. 

After the Broadway show, we had a local Sydney comedian on stage who was hilarious and totally offensive – I laughed so hard it nearly erased the bad memories of Lead Lady Gone Wrong.  As I drifted off to sleep that night, my Cruise-Experience-So-Far-ometer was nearly off the clock.

Our Very Flash and Totally Luxurious Pacific Island Cruise

Wednesday 25^th April – Day 1, Embarkation Day

It’s fair to say that after being warned of an Impending-Mass-Killing-by-Zombie, I had a little trouble sleeping on ANZAC eve.  After a restless night, I woke at 0700 and rolled over to quickly check that Neil was still in possession of his brain.  Thankfully, he was still intact.

Having completely packed both my bags and our entire motel room the day before, as per my instructions, I was ready to be on the run at 0705.  Neil, however, was on a totally different timetable to me.  Somehow, he managed to enjoy a leisurely 20 min shower even while I was standing at the door reminding him every 30 seconds what the time was.

Once out of the shower, and after what I deem to be a far-too-leisurely coffee, he said he needed to pop out and grab something.  With my super-intelligent maths brain I realised he was talking about train tickets and scoffed at him saying we’d be fine.  After all, the train to the airport is never full… pfffft.  Novice.

The every-seat-taken-by-the-last-leg-of-the-trip situation we later found ourselves in was just a coincidence.

The waiting around was insanely excruciating, but I went down and annoyed the Slaves to make the time pass.  They suggested we might be doing a tour of China.

Finally it was time to leave so off we trundled with our bags packed and my finest “I’m Flying to Somewhere Very Exotic Today” outfit on.  The outfit lasted a little less than two minutes as I realised that Neil’s long stride vs my long dress + slip-on wedges was a very complicated equation.  This saw me running, in bare feet, suitcase in one hand, dress hitched up with the other while holding shoes, beside Neil all the way to the train station. 

But it’s ok, don’t panic.  We made it with 8 minutes to spare and not one zombie in sight. 

We still made sure, however, that we carried out a complete reconnaissance of the area. 

Neil caught some movement in his peripheral vision but luckily the train left just in the nick of time.

We were safe for now, but it appeared others before us may not have been so lucky.

 

The remainder of the train trip was pretty uneventful, except for the Big Baggage Move. We had all our baggage sitting on the seats opposite us, and as the train got fuller we discussed the possibility of having to carry it on our laps.  “Nah…” said I.  “There’s plenty of other seats here, they can sit somewhere else.  I don’t want to have to have our big bags on my lap”.

About three minutes later, I had our big bags on my lap.  The little asian lady who made us move them did say thank you, so I held off offering her to the zombies.

Convinced beyond any doubt that we were flying somewhere, I started getting anxious about which stop to get off at.  I mean, I love Neil to bits and have every faith in him if I want an aeroplane engineered, a car fixed or a computer rebuilt.  But directions are not his strong point, and we weren’t equipped with our faithful GPS.  As we approached Central Station, I got twitchy and asked him several times if he knew where we were getting off.  So to speak. 

As we pulled into Central, and he made no moves to alight, I nearly had an aneurysm.  You may think I was being a control freak, but to be honest I think I was concerned that the time delay in missing our connecting train would convert to at least one free drink at the Koru  Club Lounge.  As we pulled out of Central, he commented “the station we want is Sien-Tral I think it’s pronounced…?” 

A little while longer, he warned me our stop was next.  I must have looked like he’d just asked me to pickle some babies in vinegar, because he then justified his statement.  “These guys with their ANZAC medals should give you a clue”.  Oh shit… we’re going to a parade.

Now don’t get me wrong – I’m more patriotic than the average person and under any other circumstances would love to be at an ANZAC parade. But this was Free Drink 2, 3 & 4 slipping out of my grasp as well as precious Duty Free Shopping time.

Trying to be appreciative, I smiled at Neil, who must have seen my disappointment like a neon light and said “they have fast jets in Aussie, remember?”

I was off that train faster than you could say after-burner, and I didn’t care how many Vets I knocked over in the process.  As we negotiated our way through the back streets of downtown Sydney, I became concerned again, until Neil said “I think it’s down by the water cos there’s a Navy display as well”.

Believing every word (because lets be honest, why wouldn’t I?  He says he loves me) I follow him down to the waterfront.  As we turned the corner to the wharves, I noticed a big white thing obstructing my view , but didn’t take much notice.  Commenting along the lines of “how embarrassing we’ve got all our luggage with us, never mind”  I was blindly following him agreeing without really listening, thinking how excited Kylie (Kyz as I like to call her) was going to be for me that I’d seen the fast jets. 

This was the big white thing obstructing my view.

As we got a little closer to the big white thing that was obstructing my view, I started noticing an increasing number of people with baggage.  Muttering “surely NOT?” but thinking “Oh em effing GEE I bloody hope so!!” I turned to ask Neil why these people had bags as well, but the look on his face said it all – we were going on a freaking CRUISE!!  I nearly sexually assaulted him there and then, but then realised I had a ship to board – which right at that moment was a little more enticing.  I cried, and we walked into the check-in area.

Check-in complete, we were given two cruise cards and told to carry them at all times – they were our room keys, our IDs, our credit card for any onboard purchases, and effectively our passports.  As she handed me mine, I cried.

Walking over to wait for our turn to board (they gave us a ticket with a group number on it which would get called through) it’s fair to say I was a little pleased.  Although I get the distinct impression that the lady behind me was completely nonplussed and has done this before… either that or she thought Neil was taking photos of her for his own private collection.

 

Once they called our group number, I again bowled several pensioners out of the way to be first in line.  I’m not proud, but it saved me a precious 11 seconds waiting in line.  We walked through an exact replica of border control at airports, the lady checked our passports, and told us to have fun.  I may have cried.

After an agonising wait at the gangway (that’s what we experienced Cruiser’s call it…) we finally stepped on board, to be greeted with this view.  I cried.

Neil had been given a handy tip – or a survival tip as I like to think of it - once on board, rush straight to the restaurant to start eating as soon as you can.  So we took off to our room to drop our bags off, and were greeted with this view.  I cried.

We even had a window, which apparently costs a fair bit more, but I’m worth it.

My cheeks were so sore from smiling I was sceptical about being able to eat, but turns out I needn’t have worried.  The buffet laid out before us was to die for – I ate like it was my last meal.  Which, if you recall, it might very well have been if the zombies were still after me.  We started as we meant to go on, and true to my word, I did nothing much but eat for the next ten days.

After lunch we waddled up on to the deck for the sail-away party.  The music started, the entertainers got on stage, the bar ladies walked around with cocktails.  The feeling seemed unanimous as we sailed out of Sydney, all the passengers were excited, ready to party and overwhelmed by the views.  We had a countdown as we sailed under the Sydney Harbour Bridge – once we were there we were officially on our way to the Islands!  Next stop, Vanuatu.  Oh, and I cried.

After celebrating with a cocktail, we went to make a reservation for dinner and explore the boat.  I can’t begin to describe how big it is, and compared to HMNZS Te Kaha, a floating paradise.  We found a theatre, a nightclub, a casino, an outside pool with a bar, three restaurants, a café, a BBQ café, three bars, a kids’s pool, duty free shops, and several lounge areas.

Once we’d finished exploring, we went back to our room to get ready for dinner.  The novelty of having a bathroom on a ship was too much to resist so I had to have a shower, then when I noticed we had a little clothes lines in our shower, I had to wash something.  While waiting for Neil to get ready, I put all our stuff away, utilising every single drawer and novel hiding place our room had to offer.  It was fun at the time, but we spent hours looking for the sunblock over the next week.

When we arrived at dinner, I felt so glamorous, like Rose on Titanic.  Except I’d already decided I’d definitely share my door with Neil if anything happened.  We were escorted through the beautiful décor of the tasteful restaurant to what soon became the norm for us – a shared table.  When making a booking, if you’re happy to share, they’ll pair you up with similar people.  As we were shown to our seats, I was a little disappointed to find we’d been led to a table with a somewhat quiet-looking middle-aged couple.  Where were Brad and Angelina, and what did we have in common with these people, I wondered?

Polite conversation about the dinner menu and wine soon turned into stunned silence from me (albeit only for a nanosecond) when she casually mentioned that she’d been married before, had three children including one with some behavioural/mental disorders, they’d been through Court proceedings for custody issues, her partner was the stepdad and had no children of his own.  Oh, and they liked wine.

Two hours later, Brangelina were all but forgotten and I’d bonded with two complete strangers.  The only reason we reluctantly left dinner was to head to The Marquee theatre to catch a show – because after all, we were posh now and that’s what posh people do. 

Before leaving we were coerced into attending a Wine Tasting event the next morning.  When I say “coerced” I guess it would be more correct to say I gave the waiter my name and room number before he’d finished his sentence, but it was a very convincing sentence. 

He was the first of several to ask us if we were on our Honeymoon, and looked a little alarmed when I had to give Neil the Heimlich manoeuvre.  He went on to tell us he was engaged to be married to a beautiful lady, which I found a little strange because he’s the most flagrantly gay Thai man I’ve ever met.  Perhaps someone should tell him what married people have to do.

Heading into the Marquee we found what we considered to be the best seats in the house, and what would become our regular spot.  Three rows back, so out of reach for the participative shows, but close enough to still see everything.  The opening show was a small taste of all things to come over the next week, and the performances were impressive.  Not quite Michael Crawford or Elaine Paige, but pretty damn close.  The comedian-slash-juggler proceeded to put the fear of life into Neil for the remainder of the week, merely by dragging a guy out of the audience and ending up in a position a Russian gymnast would be envious of, feet in the air, head nestled in the guys lap, juggling some balls. 

Luckily we had our next round of cocktails onboard which was enough to prevent him fleeing the theatre altogether.   His was a Toblerone cocktail too, which I was totally jealous of even though mine was a delicious Island Affair, and I have to admit I briefly contemplated volunteering him for the stage just so I could steal it.

After an exhausting day of excitement, spending, sunning, and not least, running from zombies; we retired to our luxuriously soft king size bed, and let the boat rock us to sleep like babies in excited anticipation of our next ten days’ adventures.