Recursive Words

Bodrum

September 25, 2026

We woke up this morning surrounded by turquoise water, and the rolling green hills of southern Turkey. We had arrived in Bodrum – known in antiquity as Halicarnassus.

After a quick breakfast on my own – made unintentionally entertaining by the woman sitting adjacent to me confirming to her breakfast companion very audibly not only that she wasn’t going anywhere or doing anything (pulling the “poor me” drama to anybody that would listen), but also that the “intelligence of the staff leaves a lot to be desired”. I couldn’t believe my ears, and struggled to contain a smile. I think she noticed, and stared at me for some time while I carried on shoving yoghurt and muesli into my face while staring straight ahead.

After returning to the cabin and putting a stick of dynamite under my other half’s bed, we left the ship and set off on foot towards Bodrum, and the surrounding countryside – with plans courtesy of Google Gemini to visit as much as possible.

We walked over 16 kilometres during the day. My feet are complaining at me.

The first destination was the old theatre, overlooking the port. It’s a climb through back-streets, and across a somewhat dangerous major road, but it’s worth it. Of course when I say “theatre” I really mean “amphitheater”. Our arrival coincided with a coach-load of tourists and several tour guides – and a very pretty girl with either her photographer or boyfriend – who took no notice of the several thousand year old architecture around her, and seemed far more interested in the angle of the light, and the angle of her hips, hair, and boobs to create the most tik-tok-worthy photos.

I thought the theatre was pretty amazing, and somewhat overestimated my own bravery – climbing the circular rows of seats to the very top to take the most impressive picture I might. When I looked back down, my knees lost quite a bit of their strength and fortitude. How I clambered back down in one piece is still something of a mystery.

After departing the theatre we set towards perhaps the most famous treasure hidden within Bodrum, but in doing so had to cross the ridiculously dangerous road once again. Something I’ve noticed in Turkey is that even road crossings don’t really mean anything – if you try to cross a road, you’re essentially making a wager with any drivers heading in your general direction.

After a few minutes dodging cars, motorbikes and trucks we descended down through the labyrinthine back-streets of Bodrum, and located the Mausoleum at Halicarnassus – one of the wonders of the ancient world. As with many of these sites, it’s far less spectacular in reality than your minds eye may have imagined. All that is left of the Mausoleum of Halicarnassus is a square foundation, and lots of pieces of marble columns. Reading the inscriptions around the site, you quickly discover that the frescos, figures, and horses mostly ended up at the British Museum, and that most of the stone-work ended up in Bodrum Castle – which was built after several severe earthquakes had already levelled the Mausoleum in antiquity. It did stand for 1500 years before surrendering to nature though – which is impressive, given the drawings and accounts of the original structure that still exist.

After leaving the Mausoleum we continued on through the narrow streets and discovered a small restaurant recommended by Google – and had a wonderful light lunch accompanied by wine and beer.

Finally we descended back down to sea-level and bought tickets to visit Bodrum Castle – and immediately spotted the different coloured stones, and carved mullions stolen from the mausoleum – they were built into it’s walls everywhere – standing out like a sore thumb against the sandstone of the rest of the castle.

The castle was huge and fascinating – with endless rooms filled with private collections of artefacts – the most impressive of which was perhaps a collection of grave goods from an ancient princess who’s tomb had been discovered near Bodrum completely untouched. She has been identified almost certainly through modern reconstructive methods as Queen Ada of Caria – a 4th century ruler of Mausolus.

After the castle we made our way back through Bodrum in the general direction of the ship, got hopelessly lost, hot, and thirsty, and ended up sitting in a bar for an hour watching the Formula One qualifying in Turkish, and drinking wine and beer. Who knew that Tuborg beer would taste so nice when you’ve been cooked by the sun all day?

Finally we set off through the markets towards the cruise ship again – got hopelessly lost again – and somehow ended up buying all manner of souvenirs for our children (read: used up our remaining Turkish Lira). Once again I found myself doing awkward battle with the shopkeepers – who tend to stand in the doorways of their establishments, and accost you as you wander past.

One particularly spectacularly moustachioed shopkeeper made us both laugh;

“Are you ok?”

“Yes”

“Follow me and I’ll show you my watches”

“I’ll bet you will”

We both grinned, and he let me go on my way.

Tomorrow we are at sea, and following that we’ll arrive in Cyprus. I’ve been never been to Cyprus, but many of my friends at junior school had lived there, after their families were posted with the Royal Air Force (I grew up near RAF Brize Norton in Oxfordshire).

Right! Time to get dressed and ready for dinner! It’s “smart casual” on-board tonight. I’m working my way through the various smarter clothes I brought – mostly to get some use out of them.
Kusadasi and Ephesus

September 24, 2026

We woke this morning already in the port of Kusadasi, Turkey. After running across the ship for an early breakfast – yoghurt, fruit, and cereal today, after becoming thoroughly fed up with the novelty of cooked breakfast every day – we gathered in one of the on-board theatres to receive further instructions.

It turns out the tour bus parking at the port of Kusadasi is somewhat limited – therefore transfer buses for excursions take turns to park, and passengers are triaged by battle-hardened staff. I say this based on this mornings events, where we ended up helping direct a number of people in the right direction that either hadn’t read the ships’s newspaper, or listened to any of the PA announcements.

Our plan for the day took us first to Ephesus – the remains of an ancient Roman city – and then back to Kusadasi to explore the market and find something to eat.

The coach trip to Ephesus took about half an hour – which was filled with a wonderful local tour guide. I went into the visit almost blind, so read Wikipedia pretty much a page ahead of his story-telling for much of the journey.

Ephesus has been known about since antiquity – but earthquakes and landslides over the millennia (yes, millennia) had buried much of the city, and lost it to written history. Its re-discovery was made during the Victorian era when the wealthy hired teams to amass antiquarian collections of curiosities. Perhaps the most famous of these would be Lord Carnarvon, and his exploits in Egypt.

Following continued funding and effort over the last 130 years by sponsors and governments, the site of Ephasus has gradually re-emerged from the ground. It’s perhaps a little disingenuous to call it a “site” – it was a vast city of an estimated quarter of a million people.

The present excavations represent about 15% of the known city – with one particular marble paved road disappearing into the surrounding marshland towards what would have been the Temple of Artemis a couple of kilometres away – one of the ancient “wonders of the world”. For those interested in ancient history, Diana is the Roman equivalent of the Greek god Artemis. And yes, that is Diana the huntress, later of Themyscira in the comic books and movies.

All that remains of the Temple of Artemis now is a representative stone column made of mis-matched stones in the middle of marsh-land – the rest of it’s structure was smashed by earthquakes and repeatedly robbed in distant antiquity.

Highlights – for me – were the Library of Celsus – where Ephesus once stored the amassed knowledge of the thinkers of the day, and the Temple of Hadrian. I still find it incredible to think that the library once held original texts by Plato, Aristotle, Ptolemy, Pliny, Homer, Sophocles, and many more.

At the side of one of the exposed streets of Ephesus – inscribed into a marble paving stone – is a rather famous commercial advertisement. The marble slab has a footprint, a female face, and a heart inscribed in it – with the footprint (a left footprint) implying “turn left for the local brothel”. You know the old saying about sex being the oldest profession in the world?…

All good things come to an end, and after a few hours being fried alive by the mid-day sun, we re-boarded the tour bus, and made our way back to Kusadasi for tea and medals.

Kusadasi is unexpectedly wonderful – with countless shops offering to sell you all manner of goods from the known world. Literally anything, from anywhere – and none of it is real. One particular shop made me burst into laughter – with his main signage proclaiming “Genuine Fake Rolex” watches. The owner saw me laugh, and took it as an opportunity – half-running into the street to accost me.

We walked along the sea-front in Kusadisi to Pigeon Island, and explored the trees and museum atop the island. The museum houses a private collection of traders implements – scales and weights – from all parts of the mediterranean, Roman, and Persian empires going back through several millennia.

Back in Kusadisi we set out in search of a vegetarian restaurant my other half had researched, and found it in a quiet corner of a back-street. It is owned and run by a female chef known only to us as “Mantista”. The food was amazing – hand cooked and prepared for us by the owner. The online reviews were right, and we added to them.

The only thing that put me off Kusadisi a little bit – and it’s a purely cultural thing – is the tendency for shop owners to stand outside their shops and somewhat aggressively market to you as you walk by. It creates a tension I don’t like. I know it’s a “me” problem – not a “them” problem – and imagine I would get over it pretty quickly in time. It just pushes me a bit out of my comfort zone.

At the time of writing it’s heading towards 5pm local time – I think the boarding planks are being pulled in half an hour – then we’ll move away from the dock and manoeuvre back out into the open ocean.

Tomorrow we arrive in Bodrum, a little further along the Turkish coast. I gather it’s the first time this cruise line has ever docked in port there, so it will be interesting.
Athens, Greece

September 23, 2026

Our ship arrived in Piraeus, Athens early this morning to grey skies and rain. We kept a very British level of optimism throughout breakfast and left our raincoats in the cabin – gambling that the sun would break through at some point. One other member of our group appeared to be making the same gamble – wearing much the same outfit as me; combats, running shoes, and a t-shirt.

I got a sense of the way the day might go within moments of getting on the bus, when a middle-aged man that got on the transfer coach ahead of us remarked to anybody that might listen that he was worn out already after the mile walk from the ship (it was about 200 yards).

The coach took us on a tour of down-town Piraeus and Athens before delivering us to the foot of the Acropolis – and the guide “Nicolas” was brilliant. We wondered afterwards if he had been a teacher or university lecturer in the past.

The tour became a wonderful history, language and geography lesson – breaking down the greek language, and explaining where many of our modern words come from. Even though I already knew most of the headline stories of the Greek gods, his cross-referencing them with their Roman counterparts – and the story of why and how – was endlessly fascinating.

After arriving at the foot of the Acropolis, perhaps two thirds of the tour party trooped off to use the toilet – after being on the coach for an hour. Don’t even start. An hour and a half on-site became less than an hour because of them. It gets funnier. Several of the party didn’t make it all the way up the hill to the Parthenon, and at least one refused point blank because they were scared of heights.

Who in their right mind travels half-the way round the world to visit one of the most important and inspiring sites without knowing it’s several hundred feet above Athens? Have they never read a book, or seen a TV show about it?

Thankfully – after agreeing a meeting point, we were allowed to explore on our own, and raced to the top of the Acropolis – or rather, shuffled along with several thousand other tourists.

One of the gods must have been smiling on us – because the clouds finally broke as we reached the top – flooding the towering marble columns of the Parthenon with sunshine and transforming it into quite the majestic spectacle.

I probably shouldn’t say this, but I was more impressed with a small building on the far side of the Acropolis called the Erechtheion. Each of the columns on its south side resemble women – the Caryatids.

Don’t get me wrong – the Parthenon is spectacularly huge and imposing, but the row of women looking out over Athens has something about it that the Parthenon doesn’t have.

After using our remaining hour on the hill wisely (read: running between puddles taking hundreds of photos), we returned to the meeting point and climbed back aboard the coach.

Or rather most of us did.

It turned out both coaches that left the ship for the Acropolis ended up with two missing passengers – meaning we were half an hour late leaving the Acropolis, and therefore lost half an hour in central Athens.

To be honest, it didn’t really matter – we still had several hours to wander the city streets near Hadrian’s gate, buy souvenirs (my other half bought our granddaughter more clothes), and find somewhere for lunch.

We lucked out on a wonderful street cafe/restaurant serving traditional Greek food – I ordered a salad and ended up with a mountain of the most wonderful fresh tomatoes, chillis, olives, rocket, carrots, lettuce and capers – drenched in olive oil and accompanied by a large glass of white wine.

We both agreed that Athens was the best destination so far – despite the weather – and would make a perfect city break at some point in the future – to properly explore the museums, historic sites, and galleries.

After Nicolas took us on a further narrated tour of the city back towards Piraeus, we left with smiles and shook his hand while thanking him for being by far the best tour guide we have ever encountered over the years – not that we’ve done many tours. We typically find our own way when visiting places – and will in the future, given recent experience. It’s funny how quickly forget why you don’t do certain things.

We would have left the bus quite quickly, but as soon as it stopped a herd of “people of a certain age” moved more quickly than they had all day – not affording us the chance to even get out of our seats. The same thing had happened in the morning – we were among the last off – finally escaping when a couple made pointed remarks about manners that almost certainly fell on deaf ears all around us. We thanked them, and shook our heads towards each other in quiet disbelief.

Anyway!

We are back on the ship now – killing time before dinner – and waiting for the boarding ramps to be raised. I will admit to smiling while boarding when I went through the security checks with no issues – and heard the alarms going off for those carrying inordinate quantities of duty-free alcohol and cigarettes behind us.

I do wonder what happened to the members of the tour party that were left behind though – we heard they had been found – I expect they would have had to get a taxi back? At least they’ll have something to complain about over dinner though – which will probably cheer them up no end.

Let’s finish with one more picture of the Parthenon – because it is amazing:
At Sea

September 22, 2026

After departing Valletta, Malta yesterday evening we set out for the open ocean. We’re on-route to Piraeus – near Athens, Greece.

Early this morning I dropped our passports off in reception – a part of the process required to gain entrance to Egypt later in the cruise. I gather their immigration processes are somewhat laborious. While navigating the ship, I was struck by the number of staff on every stair-well (there are many) directing passengers to and from the passport drop-off. Many of them either didn’t seem to know the way to reception, or back to their own rooms. It beggars belief really – we’ve been on board for a week now.

I wish I had brought my noise cancelling headphones from the cabin.

Ever since arriving in the bar this morning, I’ve been unable to ignore a table circled by several older people who are systematically complaining about anything and everything on board the ship. For the last half hour they have had nothing positive to say about anything. The most vocal is an elderly mansplainer who seems to have very strong opinions about everything, and doesn’t mind lecturing anybody that will listen.

One of the main sources of their ire this morning seems to be the repeated changes of time-zone we are passing through. After several days, several of them have not figured out how to change the time on their phone or watch. I know exactly how to solve the issues they are complaining about, but I’m keeping my mouth shut. I’m here for a holiday – not here to become a free service desk for everybody on-board.

Oh my word – the ring-leader is driving me round the twist. He’s now complaining about being bracketed with people (in his view) older than him that are “on their last legs”. At least he’s straightforward – he’s prejudiced against everybody equally.

Deep breaths.

Huge positive for the day – the coffee machine has been repaired in the Crows Nest. I can now get a cappuccino without walking half the length of the ship. It’s something of a revelation. The other places with coffee machines are more cafes than lounges – you can only get away with sitting around for so long before the staff get twitchy about you nursing a half-empty cup. I guess it makes sense – there are several thousand people on-board, and only so many tables.

I guess the challenge for the rest of today is to actually slow down – to stop going from one thing to the next all day – to stop trying to figure out what I might get done. I’m supposed to be on holiday.
Valletta, Malta

September 21, 2026

Early this morning I woke to the sight of a ragged coastline slowly scrolling past – becoming closer with each minute that passed. I nudged my other half awake and pointed over her.

“We’re here!”

“Where?”

“I can’t remember”

We had arrived at Valletta, Malta.

After scraping ourselves out of bed, and fighting the good fight through the increasingly battle-worn buffet area, we made our way off the ship, and into the heart of the city.

The main attraction within the city – for us at least – the Cathedral – was of course closed, so we improvised a new plan on the spot, and set off in search of the museum of archeology, the nunnery, and the monastery.

It struck me while wandering the walled gardens and rooms of the austere nunnery that different people take entirely different things from the same recorded histories. I read a panel in one of the more secluded rooms that “wayward girls” were sometimes handed over “kicking and screaming” to the nunnery, so they might be taught the error of their ways. They were essentially imprisoned within the nunnery until they had “seen the light”. One in particular – the daughter of an aristocrat – was celebrated by her conversion.

If only takes a very small shift of perspective to see a state sponsored cult meeting out horrific brain-washing abuse to unwilling participants.

It got worse when we visited the monastery and church – which reminded me in many ways of St Peters in Rome – where the display of power and wealth seemed totally at odds with any sort of message about helping anybody at all.

There was an air of massive corruption on display – right under our noses – and the disparity between the resources available to the nuns (nothing), and that available to the monks (unbelievable wealth and influence) was stark. I switched off half-way around the church, wondering how anybody can support such organisations in the modern world.

After leaving the churches, we walked the streets of Valletta for miles – stopping at occasional bars along the way for drinks, food, and ice-creams.

While my other half wrote cards home I spent a few minutes with a bottle of Sol in my hand – people watching once again. There were a LOT of Americans in-among the passing herd – notable by their label clothes and predisposition for men of a certain age to wear polo shirts, and their trophy wives to have had surgery.

It was pretty obvious the trophy wives were in charge.

Late in the afternoon we made our way back to the ship and dumped our bags in the cabin. We’re now slumped next to one of the pools after swimming an inordinate number of very-short-lengths, and will no doubt be vanishing soon to get ready for dinner. A few minutes ago I tried out a hot-tub for the first time in my life. I won’t lie – it was mildly entertaining – but I very much doubt I’ll buy one for the back garden.

Now sitting, drying out, with a Pinacolada and the iPad – writing this.

It’s surprisingly hard work – this doing nothing business. I’m still getting told off for racing from one thing to the next all day.

Tomorrow we’re back at sea before three ports in three days. Turkey and Greece are out ahead.
Palermo, Sicily

September 20, 2026

We woke this morning to find the ship docked in the port of Palermo, Sicily, Italy – with shafts of sunshine splitting thunderclouds surrounding Monte Pellegrino to the north.

After fighting the good fight in the breakfast buffet we left the ship and boarded a tour bus to take us towards the wine country in the middle of Sicily, and the family winery Alessandro di Camporeale.

The rolling hills of inland Sicily were beautiful – bathed in sunshine, and striped with vineyards, olives, and endless fruit trees. Palermo itself was equally interesting – crammed with the evidence of multiple cultures over the millennia – having been invaded by the Romans, the moors, the Spanish, and more over the years.

I remember my grandad talking about watching a harbour being bombed from a hilltop during the Second World War – he was in the Eighth Army – it could well have been Palermo – and would have placed him near Pellegrino. It’s a small world.

The winery was straight out of The Godfather – with a long driveway lined with tall trees, and an old Tuscan farmhouse. A tabby cat sat in the shadows watching us assemble, while chickens gathered on the near-side of their run.

The tour of the workings of the winery with the youngest daughter of the Alessandro family was wonderful – and ended with our group sitting in the sun for an hour trying out (and buying) various wines. Perhaps the most interesting part for me was that each wine had a story attached to it – when it was first made, who it was named after, and so on. Everything was connected, and had history wrapped up in it.

To accompany the wine, the winery served focaccia bread, olives, and tomatoes – all grown in the grounds of the winery too.

Worth noting – buying a couple of the bottles of wine from the winery cost far less than buying it from home. We found it listed in several supermarkets at home for triple the cost from the winery. I guess everybody makes their cut – from the transport company, to the importer, to the government, and the eventual shop you purchase it from.

We eventually re-boarded the coach a little after lunch. I felt sorry for the driver – a typically handsome young Italian man – who only got to drink water all day. I spotted the tour guide – a pretty Italian lady – sneaking a small glass of wine in-between looking after everybody.

On the way back towards Palermo a few passengers on the coach asked if we might be dropped in the middle of the city, rather than back to the port – that we might have a few hours exploring before returning to the ship. We took our chance to escape for a few hours, and dove into down-town Palermo together.

While Cadiz was wonderful in its own way, Palermo was chaotic, busy, noisy, and incredibly beautiful – but beautiful in the way only ancient European cities seem to be able to be – with crumbling facades, narrow streets, and precarious balconies stretching out over the rivers of people below.

The main market street running through the middle of the city smelled of every fruit you could imagine – and the restaurants – all spilling out onto the streets – all claimed to have the best arancini. We walked perhaps a mile into the mayhem before choosing a bar, and ordering. All I can say is we chose well.

While my other half wrote postcards home, I sat watching people pass by in an endless torrent of cultures and colours. Guessing nationalities became a game of sorts – settling on the vague assumption that nearly all Sicilian women are beautiful, and nearly all of their boyfriends are really quite sinister.

Eventually time marched on and we needed to get back to the boat. Thankfully we gave ourselves an hour longer than we really needed to get back – and we needed some of it; there were no signs to the ferry port, and it was only too easy to take a wrong turn, and find yourself a hundred yards from the ship, but with no way to reach it – which we did. I’m half tempted to visit the promenade deck just to watch the panicked passengers that don’t make it back in time after making the same mistake.

While walking around to the ship I found myself wondering how many people miss cruise ships when they are in port – and how they catch them up? Presumably it requires a day sitting in an embassy somewhere awaiting a temporary passport, and then a plane flight to a further port along the way.

Fingers crossed that doesn’t happen – although I can see how it might, given the speed (or rather lack of it) among a huge number of the passengers on the ship. It was brought into stark focus today – and reminded both of us why we generally avoid guided tours of anything, ever. Getting on the coach this morning was delayed while waiting for passengers. Getting off the coach was delayed while waiting for passengers – who then held everybody up again by going to the toilet en-mass (because of course they can’t last an hour without going to the toilet). While walking around the winery there were a couple of stairways that caused another huge delay – waiting for people to make their way up or down them in the same manner you might if blindfold, with your legs tied together.

On the way both to and from the winery, an elderly man behind me managed to bugger his coach seat up while fiddling with the recliner buttons – he wasn’t the only one – and then spent the entire journey clinging to the back of my seat – shaking it back and forth as a toddler might. When he did it on the way back too, I couldn’t quite believe it.

Escaping the group on our return to Palermo was more of a relief than we’re willing to admit.

You find me now safely back on the ship, emptying my head into this blog post. An empty cup of cappuccino sits next to the keyboard. I’m debating another coffee, or a move to a bar that sells tall drinks. Scratch that – I just got told off for making a certain person move every ten minutes. Looks like we’re here for the duration.

Tomorrow we arrive in Valletta, Malta.
Running, Rowing, and Crew to Flight Stations

September 19, 2026

After scraping myself out of bed at perhaps 8am this morning, the idiotic thought entered my head to visit the on-board gym once again. I’ll blame guilt more than anything. Thankfully the gym was relatively quiet, so I got to pick whichever running machine I wanted.

Although the gym has big signs everywhere warning not to open windows or doors – because it supposedly has air conditioning – I’m still wondered where this mythical air conditioning is. It certainly wasn’t anywhere to be seen while I was on the treadmill – slowly dying. I managed three sets of five minutes running, with a few minutes in-between each walking. It doesn’t sound like much, but when you factor in the floor slowly moving beneath you, it’s pretty mentally taxing.

I’m wondering if it might be better to run laps of the ship on the promenade deck early in the morning – before the rest of the passengers appear. I’ll have to check the rules – nobody want’s a runner thumping overhead every few minutes while pretending to “get up in a minute” (we all know we do it).

After the running machines I blew through a few minutes on the rowing machines before giving in to the oppressive heat. Given my frame (long limbed, fairly stocky, over 6ft tall), I should be good at rowing – and it was kind of demonstrated by my form while pounding out a kilometre next to an older gentleman. He seemed to be making life incredibly hard for himself with short, staccato pulls – I focused on long, powerful, economic strokes. I’ve always fancied getting a rowing machine at home, but we don’t have the room for one.

I cycled to work for the better part of 20 years – until the pandemic – my legs seem to remember how to work when forced back to work.

After the gym I wandered back to the cabin – a suitably sweaty mess – and jumped in the shower. The bath now has my gym kit hanging across it on a temporary washing line – hand washed with soap. I need to get some detergent from the on-board shop.

No sooner had I got out of the shower and sat down, then we were on our way across the ship to visit the on-board photographer – to choose photos from the photo-shoot the night before last. Carlie – the photographer – took us through hundreds of shots on her iPad, and we ear-marked the ones we want printed (and might have bought all of them as digital downloads – expect a deluge of photographs at some point in the future).

You now find me sitting with a cup of Earle Grey (hot), writing this email while the crew run around outside like headless chickens, strapping everything down – clearing the decks.

Earlier this morning a notice went out that we had changed course – an unwell passenger was being transferred to the mainland by helicopter. A second message went out a few moments ago from the captain – calling all crew to flight stations, and asking all passengers to remain indoors, retrieve any loose items from their balconies, close all doors, and so on. Apparently there is a strict ban on photography of the helicopter’s approach or departure – no doubt they’ve had problems in the past with idiots either getting in their way, being blown over by the down-draft, and so on.

I’ve been present at the arrival of an air ambulance in the past – the noise of the engines, and force of the down-wash is pretty spectacular. You need to know what each other are doing, and what you’re going to be doing, before the helicopter arrives.

After the mayhem dies down we’re headed off to take part in our first “quiz” on-board – a music quiz being held in one of the theatres. I would like to think I’ll be helpful, but the reality is somewhat closer to an observation a friend made some time ago – the key to doing well in any quiz is to have my other half on your team.

Tonight is another formal night – and another photo with the ship’s photographer. Normally we wouldn’t go for all the studio photos, but given this sort of holiday only comes along once in a lifetime, it would seem a bit silly to say no to anything. Of course this means you end up running from one thing to the next all day long – and then laugh at your own “fear of missing out” idiocy.

Tomorrow we will awake in Palermo, Italy. We have a vineyard tour booked. Expect lots of photos.
Breakfast in Bed

September 18, 2026

Part of the “package” we booked for our holiday included breakfast in bed for a couple of the mornings en-route. Today was one of those mornings. So guess who was up at 7am, tidying the cabin so the porter delivering breakfast wouldn’t think badly of us?

The breakfast was ridiculously huge – with a stack of plates containing every kind of continental breakfast you might possibly imagine – fruit, yoghurt, pastries, cold meats, cheese, coffee, tea, orange juice, and rather strangely a bottle of champagne. Who on earth drinks champagne at breakfast? Perhaps I’m too much of an amateur at all of this. I was quite happy with a croissant and a mug of coffee.

So. Today is another sea day, as will be tomorrow – as we head east across the Mediterranean towards Palermo, Italy. I’m sitting in the “Raffles” coffee bar – having arrived early enough to bag a seat. Later arrivals are grumpily surveying the tables filled with battleship-haired dreadnoughts, and stomping off towards other lounges. It’s unexpectedly entertaining.

The fiery East Asian lady that barked orders from the cocktail bar the other evening now finds herself wearing khakis and a striped shirt – churning out speciality coffees here in much the same manner. She never stops moving.

I’ll make my escape soon – I’ve finished my coffee – before the Sauron glare of those looking for tables focuses upon me.

Back at home it’s my daughter’s birthday today – twenty six years old. The first birthday we’ve not been there for. She’s heading out on the town this evening with friends. In my head she will always be seven years old, browsing the pens, pencils and novelty erasers in our local stationery store.
Cadiz

September 18, 2026

We arrived in the Spanish port of Cadiz overnight – waking up to sunshine, and the sounds of the busy port around us. After a quick breakfast we set off on foot across the old part of the city – exploring endless narrow streets and squares along the way.

The cathedral was spectacular – but also much newer than you might think – commissioned in the 1720s, and finished just over a hundred years later. It’s mostly built of rough sandstone blocks, finished with a skin of mouldings (many of which seem to be disintegrating inside – hence why the roof is covered in netting everywhere – to catch the falling plaster.

The climb up the bell tower wasn’t too difficult at all – although a German tourist ahead of us seemed to be making very heavy weather of it. The views from the top were definitely worth it though.

We stopped in the square in front of the cathedral for a drink before heading off across the city. Along the way we wrote postcards, posted them, and I stopped at just about every sculpture, statue, or art installation to take photos. Kind of my thing.

At lunchtime we stopped at an eclectic little cafe where nobody spoke any English, and somehow muddled through – sprinkling our awful pronunciation of menu items with “por favour” and “gracias”.

Later we discovered the market in the middle of the city, where all of the tapas bars were hiding. The market was a chaotic mixture of fruit, vegetables, olives, meat, and every type of fish you could imagine – including an enormous blue shark on one of the stalls.

Later in the afternoon we set off across the city towards the Parque Genoves – a wonderful network of footpaths through olive and fruit trees bordering the ocean. We found a small bar within the gardens and stopped for “dos cerevesas” (two beers) before making our way back to the ship.

Among the trees we spotted a butterfly sharing the sap from a tree with a number of beetles…

So. You find us back at the ship right now – dressed up with nowhere to go. We were supposed to be doing a photo-shoot on the decks at 6pm – organised with the ship’s photographer – but the blazing sun has caused a reshedule for an hour or so – to avoid too many squinting frowns.

Here’s one last picture – spotted while wandering along one of the back-streets – a quite wonderful collection of 1950s commercial advertisements for Cadiz:

Oh – I nearly forgot – while exploring the streets, we also (after several tries) found the old roman amphitheater – hidden between the buildings, and part of a major restoration project:

Much of the original theatre is now buried beneath the city, but perhaps two thirds of the seating area remains. Unfortunately you’re not allowed near it at the moment due to the restoration project.

Anyway. Time is marching on.

I suspect we may cave in a minute and go for a drink ahead of the photos.
The first formal night

September 17, 2026

This afternoon you find me sitting in the “Crows Nest” once again – the lounge area overlooking the bow of the ship. According the numerous announcements throughout the day we’re nearing 900 nautical miles into the journey, averaging 20 knots – anticipating a little weather this evening, and arrive into Cadiz in the early hours.

After (finally) making it down for breakfast this morning – or rather brunch – we returned to the cabin to find invitations for drinks with the captain before dinner this evening. Tonight is the first formal night, so I’ll have the dinner jacket on for the first time. It’s going to be fun.

While everybody else trundled off to fight over lunch earlier we headed to the pool – where I can boast about swimming twenty or thirty lengths (the pool is about 5 metres long).

Afterwards – while stretched out on a recently abandoned lounger, I pulled out a book I discovered while searching for any novels about Cadiz – our first port of call. “Candide” is apparently famous for being banned, so I naturally asumed all sorts of debauchery, and was quite disappointed to discover it hasn’t aged well. Quite apart from being translated from French – which never helps – it seems fragmented, broken, and lacks any sort of character development apart from the protagonist claiming she has been “ravaged” in the opening chapters by a swarthy cast of characters on an almost daily basis.

I’m not sure I care enough about the characters described so far to continue reading about them.

I found myself quietly people watching around the pool – amusing myself with the performance put on by so many – and wondering who it is for. Perhaps people get so used to their act, the no longer know they’re doing it – the behaviours, affectations, and ticks.

An elderly man behind us struck up conversation with another lady wearing a bikini – I’m pretty sure because she was wearing a bikini. She seemed happy with the attention, but I couldn’t help grinning into my book.

(Fast forward an hour)

After arriving back at the cabin this afternoon a steward arrived with a silver tray bedecked with what looked like glasses of champagne on it. We accepted it, then started worrying. I called reception, and questioned the delivery – and was assured it was a planned gift – part of our package.

I then started wondering – why did the champagne include spoons?

It wasn’t champagne. It was champagne jelly – served in fluted glasses – with fake foam – that looked exactly like champagne. I ate it immediately – because I’ll eat most things if given them – my other half ate perhaps half of hers.

We chalked it up as one other stranger things to happen so far.

(Fast forward several hours)

We just got home from our first formal evening on-board – which entailed an hour of flapping in the cabin before heading down to first meet the captain at an arranged “meet and greet”, and then on to the restaurants.

Formal means “black tie” for men (read: black or white dinner jacket), and sparkly dresses for ladies. I got ready an hour before we needed to leave, and gradually became more stressed as my other half dived this way and that around the cabin – changing her mind about this dress, or that dress, or this necklace, or that necklace, and so on, and so forth.

There’s a moment – then you leave the cabin – particularly for the men, I think – where you think “if nobody else is wearing a white waistcoat and dinner jack, I’m going to look a bit of a knob”. Thankfully as we neared the Captain’s reception, we ran into lots of other couples decked out in similar clown outfits.

Perhaps clown outfits is a bit disingenuous – a time portal to 1920 is probably more apt.

We bumped into some new friends along the way, and joined them for the Captain’s reception – then on to dinner together, and a show. The dinner was incredible – and while I’m usually the least appreciative of “fine dining”, even I had to admit it was good.

The show after dinner took place in the main theatre on board – with a live orchestra backing a gorgeous female singer called Scarlett Baxter – who worked through an incredible repertoire of show tunes. I was fine until she started singing “I dreamed a dream” from Les Miserables, and knocked it out of the park – then started worrying about tears or snot staining my dinner jacket.

After the show we retreated to Andersons – once again crossing paths with one of the service staff that has become an unlikely friend, before heading up to the Crows Nest, and meeting back up with the rest of our dinner table companions – rapidly becoming the loudest, and probably most problematic table on the boat.

Anyway.

Tomorrow we arrive in Cadiz – a port in southern Spain. I need to remember to take a the proper camera. Here’s to adventures yet to come!
Life on Board

September 16, 2026

We are currently traversing the “Bay of Biscay” – a legendarily treacherous body of water off the west coast of France that is moving the boat around a fair bit. I’ve already seen a couple of people stagger in the corridors – somewhat surprising given I can only just feel the boat moving.

It turns out the boat is moving around just enough to make my other half feel fairly off-colour – she’s retreated to our room for the afternoon to hopefully sleep it off – and is moving our celebratory dinner reservations to later in the cruise. Given I grew up on boats, I seem to be more or less impervious to the shifting nature of the floor beneath us as we make our way south.

Lunch alone in the buffet restaurant was more trouble than it was worth – if I end up eating alone again, I’ll go for one of the proper restaurants. I hit the classic “table for one” problem – aided and abetted by over-eager table waiting staff that spirit anything used away within moments of it being pushed to one side. I lost the seat I was sitting at while pouring myself a coffee at the machine five yards away. While thinking about perhaps grabbing a pastry to go with the coffee, I gave up – given an elderly gentleman was hovering nearby not unlike the Jack Nicholson character in “As Good At It Gets”. The moment I got up to leave, he almost ran for the table (if he could have run, which he couldn’t).

I wandered back to the cabin to retrieve the iPad (using it now), and went off in search of somewhere quiet to sit for the afternoon.

I sat in a restaurant for a short time – the “Glass House” – thinking I might get a little writing done. The waiter didn’t look too impressed with my ordering just a coffee. Don’t get me wrong – he was professional, and courteous, but he also looked like he might have a trap-door button that could cause my table to flip over and eject me from the restaurant. I left pretty quickly.

Ever since I’ve been sitting in a wonderful cafe bar called “Raffles” (no doubt named after the hotel). As long as you have a cup of tea or coffee in front of you, they leave you alone. Perfect. Although I might add that drinking several cups of tea back-to-back probably isn’t the best idea in the world. I can feel my insides sloshing around like a Tom and Jerry cartoon.

All the excitement just happened. Some of the security staff on-board the boat just passed by in full military inform – looking suspiciously like Gurkhas. The amount of rubber-necking among the passengers watching them pass by was pretty comical.

I wonder if the service staff have different outfits for different restaurants ? I hadn’t considered it before. I think they might. The staff in raffles have khaki trousers and blue striped linen shirts.

Anyway… I’m rambling. I’ll write more later.

(Cut to the next morning)

We lost an hour overnight. It’s currently 9am – my other half is pretending to still be asleep – I’ve been awake for hours. I have no idea why.

We got dressed up last night, had our photo taken by the ship’s photographer, then went for dinner on our own at an Indian restaurant on-board – one owned by a celebrity chef that has a restaurant near where we live. It seemed a bit backwards to me – coming all this way to go to a restaurant we could go to at home – but here we are.

The dinner was lovely, but again it was strange – only three tables were filled in the entire restaurant – yet earlier we saw a queue a mile long for one of the on-board restaurants. Quite WHY there was a queue is a mystery, because everybody has an assigned seat. Given the average demographic on-board, I’m tempted to say “old habits die hard” – I’ve lost count of the times on trains and planes where the older people get to the door first, and then hold everybody else up. It appears when brought together they become absolutely ruthless – queueing for quite some time just to walk through a doorway first to a chair and table that were waiting for them anyway.

Madness.

We finished the night in Andersons once more, and sat at the bar. The industrious Philippine bar lady took our order while marching back and forth and barking orders at members of the waiting staff. One of the younger men recognised us from a previous night and came over for a chat during a quiet moment – telling us about his career so far, and the corners of the world he had so far seen. If I see him again, I’ll try to spot his name badge.

Anyway. Breakfast. Better go get something before the rest of the passengers attempt to pig everything – you know – because there isn’t an army of chefs working round the clock for them – and they might run out.

I wonder where I might find some dynamite from to wake a certain person up? We just missed a fairly lengthy announcement on the ship.
Departure

September 15, 2026

After a morning being put through the ringer by our eldest daughter (another story for another day), a taxi arrived at our house early yesterday afternoon – to transport us, and far more bags than you would ever expect – to the port at Southampton.

Arriving at the terminal was perhaps the strangest part of the journey – finding ourselves walking through check-in, security, and up the boarding planks completely alone – surrounded by staff joking about our belated arrival (we were actually early) – apparently many of our fellow passengers had arrived hours before.

After finding our way to first our “muster station” and then to our room, we met our steward – a lovely middle-aged East Asian man, who’s name we’re still not entirely sure how to pronounce.

Soon after we set out on foot to explore the boat – wandering through the central rotunda – populated with shops staffed by pretty people, and filled with nice things – and stopped at the central pool complex – where we got the distinct impression that we might be the youngest couple on the entire ship.

An old man was swimming lengths in the pool (if you can call them lengths – the pool is tiny) so slowly we wondered how he stayed afloat.

After making our way slowly to the aft of the ship, we happened upon the entertainment staff singing the “departure song” – which while fun was somehow spectacularly less striking than the band and streamers that accompanied our departure 25 years ago.

The rest of the evening was spent wandering from bar to bar – figuring out where we might frequent in the days and weeks ahead. We settled – for the night at least – in “Andersons” – named after Arthur Anderson – one of the co-founders of the Peninsula and Orient Steam Navigation Company (the forebear of P&O).

I should probably have mentioned – we’re aboard the cruise ship “Aurora” – which was the flagship of the P&O fleet some years ago – now overtaken by the floating cities that traverse the globe. We passed one of them on departure – one of the colossal Disney cruise ships. Our ship seems to have a little more character, and a little more history wound into it’s bars, cafes and restaurants.

While sitting in Andersons wearing a blazer and an open-neck shirt, a waiter made the point of approaching me to offer a martini – to complete the James Bond look.

Finally dinner arrived, and our greatest gamble unfolded – who we would be sitting with. We had intentionally opted for the biggest table possible – with hopes of perhaps making new friends, and having co-conspirators to share the weeks ahead with.

The gamble paid off – although not everybody arrived for dinner, which apparently isn’t unusual on the first night of a voyage. We ended up being one of the last tables to leave, and also made friends with our server for the weeks ahead – a wonderful East Asian gentleman called “Edberg”.

Given that we had all been enjoying ourselves quite a bit more than we normally would (read: drinking gin in Andersons), most of us opted for hearty, filling food. My other half joked that I didn’t read the menu any further than the steak pie.

After dinner we wandered back through the ship, and somehow found ourselves the only people on the dance-floor in the night-club on-board. After making utter fools of ourselves for a few numbers we thanked the DJ, and went on our way.

It’s interesting – wandering the halls of a cruise ship late at night – when the vast majority of people are already back in their cabins. It doesn’t feel real.

We finished the evening in the Crows Nest bar – listening to a cocktail pianist hammering out a medley of show tunes in the manner a mechanic might while fixing a car. I did wonder if he had anger issues. Unexpectedly entertaining.

This morning I dragged myself out of bed bright and early – 8am – or so I thought, to visit the gym. It turned out my phone and watch had moved an hour ahead, whereas the rest of the ship had not.

Guess how difficult it is to keep pace on a running machine, when the running machine is mounted aboard a boat that is gently moving beneath your feet? I withstood it for a couple of kilometres before retreating to the bicycles and stepping machines.

After grabbing a quick breakfast, we’re back in the Crows Nest this morning – watching the sea scroll past below. The ship is off the west coast of France – heading south towards the Bay of Biscay – towards our first port of call, Cadiz – arriving the day after tomorrow. After a cloudy fog-filled night, the skies are clearing overhead. It’s funny how a little sunshine raises everybody’s mood.

I will admit – slowing down is proving difficult. I’m not used to not running from one thing to the next all day.