Saturday 28st April - Our first day at the
Islands!
I woke up, rolled over and looked at our window – and saw
lights! OMG what? The Captain had promised me we wouldn’t be
arriving until 7.30am, and I had set my alarm for 7.00 – we must be a teeny bit
early! I raced to the window but it was
still dark outside so I couldn’t see much.
I pressed my nose hard against the glass and I could see, well, not much
more. Figuring I still had a few
minutes, and not wanting to miss anything once it was light, I raced off to
have the quickest shower known to mankind. I think 8 drops of water may have touched
base, and I was out again.
Yep, still lights.
Yep, still dark. Yep, boat was
still moving.
I resumed my window-side vigil and watched more lights go
by. I was trying to not wake Neil for a
few more minutes, but I heard him stir, get up, then come join me at the
window.
“…mumble mumble what are you doin babe…?”
“…mumble mumble what are you doin babe…?”
“We’re here, it’s the Isle of Pines, it’s a pacific
island, we’ve arrived!!”
“Babe it’s twenty past five.”
Sooooo… *cough*
ah, turns out we’re still two hours away from our wee island, but never
one to waste an opportunity, I decide I will now make a list of “Pacific
Islands I Have Seen In Real Life But Not Actually Been On”. Here it is:
- Long Island with Flashing White Light
- Little Island Just to the Right
- Medium Island to the Right with Green Light
- Big Island with Lots of Lights in the Background
- Little Tiny Island That Looks Like a Cupcake
- Island With Big Pine Trees and No People
This list is solely owned and operated by me – after
making some derogatory grumbles and snorts about the state of my sanity, Neil
had hopped back into bed and was asleep again in seconds.
As the Islands starting running out, so did the
dark. I was cursing the cloud cover,
begging the little ray of sunlight to try a bit harder to shine, then realised
something odd. I could see that little
ray of sunlight.
Our room is on the Port side of the ship. Last time I checked, that meant left.
And last time I checked, the sun rose in the East.
And to the very best of my knowledge, the Pacific Islands
– The Isle of Pines to be more precise – are to the North(ish) of Sydney.
Convinced I was having another “Rangitoto Island Has
Moved” episode, I watched out the window for the next two hours, with the sun
maintaining its accusatory glare, just to make sure the Commodore wasn’t
playing some sick joke and sailing us all the way back to Australia. Turns out if I’d read my “Pacific News”
properly I would have seen the bit that said “as we approach the Isle of Pines,
we’ll be turning onto a South Easterly heading
The very split second I heard the anchor splash into the
water, I gently woke Neil from his slumber.
“Get up, we’re here, we’re at the Isle of Pines, GET UP, GET OUT OF
BED!!!” I think he thought I was being
funny when I ordered him out of bed and told him that I’d had breakfast hours
ago and that he needed to shower and get dressed and have breakfast and pack
his bag and put sunblock on and get down to the disembarkation area NOW but I
didn’t find it the least bit hilarious.
FINALLY, what seemed like hours later, we were waiting in
the lounge for our number to be called.
Not in a “your number’s up” way but a much nicer “it’s time to get on
your boat to sail to a tropical island kind of way”.
We were both lost in our own thoughts about the lady we
saw at breakfast – Neil’s breakfast, not mine – who we’ve kindly labelled “Lady
With Not Disfigured Yet Oddly Shaped Jaw”.
We first noticed her because her and her husband looked alike. So much so that I swear they could have been
twins. Naughty twins because they were
wearing wedding rings. As we were
discussing the incestuous relationship that we’d decided they were having, Neil
became fascinated with her chin. Or lack
of it. It’s pretty hard to describe so
I’ve drawn a picture. I’m no artist, but
turns out this is an almost genetic clone of what she looked like:
My imaginary dabble into plastic surgery was interrupted by
the PA system.
“Those passengers holding ticket Green 8, ticket Green 8,
you are now asked to make your way down to the loading bay to board your tender”.
This was it. 40
years in the making. My first ever visit
to a tropical island paradise. My first
visit to any kind of island actually, if you don’t count the North or the
South.
As we made our way down through the bowels of the ship, I
thought out loud about how hard it would be to find your way to any kind of
exit should the boat capsize and the power went out. I’m unsure if Neil heard me, but the little
Pilipino woman beside me needn’t have look so worried – her kids looked like
they were all old enough to hold their breath.
Stepping on to the tender reminded me of being on dive
boats when I was a kid. Minus all the
divers in wetsuits and crayfish wriggling around everywhere. And this had a roof and lots of little
seats. And a driver with a uniform. Other than that it was exactly the same and I
wondered if I was going to have to pee over the side of this as well.
Fortunately the trip over only took about 10 minutes so I
was spared the humiliation.
As we pulled up to the dock, I cursed the stupid ladies
beside me who spent the entire ten minutes discussing what would hurt most –
been eaten by sharks or stung by venomous jellyfish. This was not the same as telling Philipinos
their babies’ were going to drown – this wasn’t even slightly amusing. Assuring myself they were uneducated Tasmanians,
I thrust shoulders back, lifted my chin, told myself to HTFU, and grabbed Neil’s
hand.
Off we stepped, and within about two inches I was
crying. But you have to give me a break
here – this was a lifelong goal being achieved.
The only thing that could have made it better would have been the three
girls standing beside us arguing over which beach to go to first, how stupid
the other one’s sarong was looking, and who started the why-don’t-you-shut-your-pie-hole-and-your-arms-are-hairy
fight.
As we walked over to the little map of the area, I was
feeling a little down that it was so cloudy for my first-time-in-my-life
experience, and then suddenly became aware of how hot it was. And it dawned on me that we were it sunny, I
would have been whinging my ass off by now about the heat. Poor Mother Nature just can’t win.
We decided that our first port of call would be the
sacred rock, or as the local call it, Le Rocher. I had made a point of reading our bulletin,
after Neil’s embarrassing geographical blunder, and it informed us of the local
Dos and Don’ts. Don’t climb on the
sacred rock, don’t pick or take coconuts, don’t walk the streets in swimwear,
don’t swim or sunbathe topless, do wear reef shoes, do pick up your litter, and
do bring your towels back.
Oh and something about disturbing and touching the
poisonous water snakes, but I can’t remember if that was a Do or Don’t.
Our first stop was at a little tent filled with local
wares. I fell in love with the first
sarong that I saw, but not wanting to make a hasty purchase, I dragged Neil off
to the second stall to check what they had.
Then straight back to the first stall to buy the first sarong that I saw. On the model (two coathangers wired together)
it looked like a beautiful and elegant dress, and as the lady took it down, I
asked if she could show me how it had been tied. I don’t speak much French, and she clearly
didn’t speak much English, so when she showed me how to tie a granny knot, I
smiled, said “merci” and told myself I’d Google it later.
We walked on further in the direction of the sacred rock
and I was awestruck by the scenery. Golden sand, coconut trees, crystal clear
water. As we got off the road onto a
little path, I looked at the ground and all around me. “Oh my god babe, look – real coconuts! There’s heaps of them!!”
“Babe”, he said. “You
should stop being so racist. I think
they’d prefer to be called ‘locals’.”
Neil went to sit on a log to get the camera out, and was
back over by me before you could say ‘scary looking insect’. He described something to me that sounded
like a large ant with tribal paint on. “What
do you think it was, what did it look like, how big was it?” I asked.
Turns out it was big enough for him to not hang around and establish the
answers to my questions.
I was worried that we might not recognise the sacred
rock, or get confused which one it might be and accidentally sunbathe on it or
something. Surely there’d be a sign, I think. We walk through a clearing in the coconut
trees and I see a beautiful little islet and wonder if the rock is on
there? Um, nope. We discover that the beautiful little islet
IS the rock. I’m not sure if the locals
use Webster or Collins, but by my definition a rock is a little brown thing
with jagged edges. Not something with
trees growing on it like this:
We found a little spot to sit on to prepare ourselves for
our adventure. For Neil that meant
applying sunblock so thick he gained a couple of kilos, for me it meant
checking the waxing was up to date.
While I waited for him, two families with a total of four
girls came and sat beside us. The Mums
had never used masks and snorkels before, and the dad had already thrown
himself off the edge into the water and was off looking for mermaids. The girls were a bit wary about getting in
and the Mums were too busy smoking and checking their hair, so I jumped in
and coaxed them in the water. The girls, not
the Mums.
After the first unsuccessful attempts at breathing
underwater, I had to attach all their snorkels to their masks, and tell them to
try again; assuring them that this time, I PROMISE their snorkels won’t flop in
the water and they won’t breathe in a lung full of sea. Mission achieved, I walked the girls out to the
Dad and felt pleased that I’d done my good deed for the day. When I got back to the shore, the Mums
thanked me, saying they had no idea how to put the gear together and I said “that’s
OK, I spent my childhood on a boat.”
In hindsight, I probably should have elaborated a little
and saved Australian Immigration all that unnecessary paperwork.
Finally, Neil was ready to get in the water. I donned my goggles (he had intended to buy
me a mask and snorkel but the shop had run out), made sure I knew which rock to
avoid, made a note of where our stuff was, and mentally looked forward to the
next two hours in the water.
My first ever experience of swimming in crystal clear
waters, looking like a beach goddess, mingling with the sealife lasted about 43
seconds when Neil spotted a stingray; at which point I became less beach
goddess and more god as I sprinted on water to the nearest sandbar leaving all
the nearby mothers and young children to fend for themselves.
Asking him if he was sure, and where exactly had he seen
it, hearing “right underneath you and I saw it’s little stinger tail” made me
thank the Karma Gods that I wasn’t a Zoo owner with a penchant for excitement.
I wallowed on my little sandspit for about five minutes,
too scared to get back in the danger-infested waters, but too reluctant to end
my exploring so soon. I wandered over to
the rock where people were snorkelling around the edge, and peered down at some
fish. There. Now I could go.
We decided to wander over to the beach on the other side
of the spit, assuring each other than stingrays wouldn’t DARE go there and we’d
be quite safe. On the walk, we passed a
stall run by the locals. They were
selling coconuts, raw fish salad, crayfish, fish fillets, cold drinks, chicken
kebabs, roast veges, and Arnotts Pizza shapes.
On the other side we had a beautiful beach to swim at,
the clouds had disappeared and it was scorching hot so we didn’t waste any
time. Well, I didn’t. Neil reapplied sunblock.
Not one stingray in sight, and there were fish everywhere
to be seen, it was amazing. Again I
thought how cool it would be to have the girls here, right up until Briar
yelled “shark” and Ty would leave the water never ever wanting to get wet
again.
While we played at being Jacques Cousteau, we noticed
that someone had taken a seat right by our bag.
Not beside it. Not in front of it
so we couldn’t see it. Right behind our
bag so that our bag was sitting between their legs. I tried to convince Neil to go and grab it
and make the person feel stink for encroaching our bag’s personal space, but he
was having too much fun looking for Nemo.
The last tender left for the boat at 4pm, and worried that
we might get caught in a crowd at the wharf and get left behind, we reluctantly
decided to head back a bit early. 2.30pm
was being slightly pessimistic, but at least we got back in time to still get a
BBQ lunch. After eating it in loungers
beside the barside pool we decided to take our first dip – I’m ashamed to admit
it was only to get all the salt water off us, but it was a lovely swim.
It meant we now had plenty of time to get ready for out
big night out.
I was a little alarmed when I saw the night’s show was called “Pirates”… I’ve heard about this from some guys at work, but guessed that maybe they’ve toned it down a little.
After showering and making myself beautiful, I donned my
sarong and was ready to go.
OK, that’s a lie.
After showering and making myself beautiful, I spent 35
minutes trying to work out how that stupid French-speaking lady had made the
sarong look so awesome on two coat hangers, yet I only managed to make it look like
a tablecloth gone bad.
When I finally rustled up something worthy of going public
in, we headed off to the Marquee for the Pirates show. Unfortunately we had a repeat of the “Liar”
show – all the good seats taken and there were only seats at the end of the rows by the
side of stage. Not happy with this – and
the amount of children in the audience given the show’s content – we decided we
should go and eat first, and come back for the later show. In a more suitable time slot…
So off to dinner we went without a reservation. Luckily there was room for us at a shared
table, and we followed our waiter to meet our
prospective dinner-mates.
I found myself sitting between two lovely looking couples
who started off to be rather quiet.
Using my gift of the gab I tried to elicit conversation out of them
while Neil sat there daydreaming about his chicken wings. The couple to my left were parents of a 14
month old whom they’d left with the in-laws while they were cruising.
“Wow!” I said. “You’re
very brave leaving her for ten days! Is
this the first time you’ve been away from her?”
“Yep” said the Mum.
“Not really. We’ve got another
two weeks of holidaying when we get back from this, she’ll be fine!” as she
gulps down another mouthful of wine.
“Yeah… I miss her..” the husband says while looking
wistfully into his glass. “But I’m gonna
get to go DIVING!!”
I think he meant scuba diving.
The couple to my right were ball-park in their 60’s, the
hubby was Caucasian the lady Indian, and they were grandparents; so this opened
up the discussion to them as well.
And then I kinda wish I’d stayed quiet. I’m not normally one to stereotype, but
something that I can only guess was curry was OOOZING from her pores. I don’t know how this was even possible given
that this was our fourth night at sea.
From that point on, dinner became a game to me. Not a fun game, where you have some wines
then try and draw something for your partner to guess in under a minute; or
where you roll the dice, dress up, and eat lots of chocolate.
This was more like Hunger Games. I had to devise several different discrete
ways of hiding my nose from her breath without repeating one too often or giving
away my game plan. If I put my tissue up
to my face too often I’d end up being quarantined in the hospital room with
suspicion of SARS; if I put my hand over my face too often they might think I
was playing peek-a-boo (and again I’d get sent to the hospital room); and turning
my back on her was just too rude.
Burying my face in my glass of wine turned out to be the
most effective way of relieving my nostrils but even that was fraught with
risks. Drink it, and have to be carried
to the Pirate show by Neil; or not drink it and look like I’m using my
newly-found wine-tasting skills to be a fuckwit.
Finally, the torturous meal was over and I whisked Neil
away before you could say “lovely to meet you!”. I ran out of there with so much enthusiasm he
must have thought we were off to make our own version of Pirates.
We arrived at the theatre in
plenty of time to secure our usual seats.
We were joined by another couple we’d never met, and the standard “is
this your first cruise?” conversation began.
Neil was starting to get a bit of a reputation amongst the ladies for
the way he surprised me; once word had got
out what he’d done he had several pairs of eyes following him longfully around
the ship.
That’s right bitches, I saw
you.
I’ve named this particular
lady “Dumb Stupid Indiscreet Lady” for what is about to follow.
“Oh, really, he surprised
you?! Wow, that’s so romantic.”
Nice words but she’s frowning.
“Yes, yes, I was quite
surprised too. The most romantic thing
he’s done before this was paint my toenails ha-ha-ha-ha-laugh-laugh-laugh”
Funny look.
“I’m kidding. He’s taken me out to dinner before, but not
ever ten nights in a row, ha-ha-ha-ha-laugh-some-more”
“Are you not married?”
I glance down at my bare
fingers.
“Um, no, nope, no we’re not. How about you?”
“Um, no, nope, no we’re not. How about you?”
“Yes, this is my husband. So you didn’t know anything about this trip?”
“No. Complete surprise.”
“Not even a clue or a hint
that you might be coming..?”
“Nope. Even when we got on the train I thought we
were flying to Rarotonga or somewhere like that”.
I wasn’t going to waste the
Zombie story on this lady.
She’s looking at me suspiciously now, like for some reason I’m lying to her in the biggest conspiracy known to mankind since the moon landing.
“It’s expensive you know.”
“Um, well, yes, I didn’t think
it was cheap.”
“Like, quite expensive. Especially for two of you.”
Cough. “Um, yes, well, I don’t really know how much
given that it was a surprise. I think
there’s a reason he hasn’t told me, and I don't really want to know. “
“It’s over $1,000 you know.”
Neil is oblivious to this
whole exchange, I think his head may have been buried in another Toblerone
cocktail, but I’m desperately looking for a way out. Making our own version of Pirates was
starting to look like a way more discreet option that this conversation.
Thankfully at this moment the
lights went down and the show began. Dumb
Stupid Indiscreet Lady quickly became a forgotten pest as I got into the show –
I have not laughed so much since the comedian juggler two nights before. And then in ages before that.
The cast were a crew of
pirates, and the 2IC lady decided she was going to – mutiny? mutinise? mutiney?
– against the captain to get her share of the treasure. The rest of the pirates divided their
alliances evenly and two teams were formed.
As well as singing and performing, they played several games that
involved participation from the audience.
I don’t mind admitting that it
was at this point that I developed a huge crush on the gay male lead of the
show. He. Was. Hilarious. Pee-my-pants hilarious.
One game was a question/buzz-in-for-the-answer
set. Each team had three contestants,
he had the only girl. Him and the 2IC
had turns at asking questions. Her
questions: “what is the name of this ship?” and “how many pools are there on
the ship?”
His questions?
“What is your bra size?”
Only woman buzzes in. “12B!”
“Correct!! One point to my team. Next question. What is your name?”
Everyone buzzes, he picks
another member of his team.
“Michael!”
“Correct!! Another point to my team. Mmmmm… 12B. Next question. What is your
favourite food?”.
Needless to say, his team
won. At the very end, after they get
attacked by circus-performing Ninjas and decide to work together as a team
again, he came out in a Sumo suit to fight the Ninjas. Watching him sing and wave his arms around in
the suit nearly killed me, especially at the end when he fell over and couldn’t
get up. Everyone left the stage and he
was calling them.
“Guys? Uh.. guys?
A little help here? Uh.. I can’t
get up. I need help. Guys?”
He’s waving his little arms
and legs around to no avail, so he starts bouncing up and down.
“Guys? OK this isn’t funny you guys. I’ve fallen and I can’t get up”
His bouncing is getting higher
and HE BOUNCES OFF THE STAGE!! In a
warped-looking caterpillar type motion, but still manages to get all the way
off the stage. As he disappears from
sight, his final mumblings..
“I hate you guys. Hate you all…”
If we had been allowed to
video anything, this would have gone viral on Youtube.
Although probably not as much
as the original Pirates show.
After the show, we went to the
Orient for a quiz called “Majority Rules”.
The idea is not to answer what you think is correct, it’s to answer what
you think the majority of people would say.
I can’t believe the majority
answer to “what is the average bra size in this room?” was 14D. We also answered “what celebrity would
Australians most like to be their Prime Minister?” with Matthew Newton but
turns out we were alone on that one too.
After nearly derobing myself every
time I got up to give them an answer – remember I’m wearing a sarong that I don’t
know how to tie – and losing the quiz by a very long margin, we decided to
gracefully call it a night.
I wanted to get back to our
room and see what this “Pirates” fuss was all about.
