Days Two and Three

I am now the owner of a very exclusive MSC Cruise Lines-embossed tape measure that will make a very fine Christmas gift for some unsuspecting family member (Note to self: check that person hasn’t been reading the blog). How did I come about such prestigious merchandise? Please refer to yesterday’s entry. The theme of the first quiz was ‘Capital Cities’. I ask you! Fish? Barrel?

After such a white-knuckle, adrenalin rush I had to disembark and allow lunchtime rush hour in central Barcelona act to calm my nerves. Little to report from ashore (as we seasoned sailors like to call it) except for my promised smuggling experiment. This is going to be my little protest at the €7 on-board pint and the sneakiness of adding so much chlorine to the tap-water that you turn green about ten minutes after brushing your teeth. The only drinking water available comes in at €2 a bottle. So, can I circumvent the very explicit prohibition of bringing any kind of beverage on board after shore leave? Before I recruit my team of camels (those with the roomiest colons, please form a line) I need to conduct a test run. Think of this like the paper dart launched through the bars of the cell window in Colditz. You just knew that Kenneth More had a bigger plan in mind, didn’t you?

So purchased, one 44cl can of Fuller’s London Pride bitter, price €1.29 from Carrefour on Las Ramblas; a careful selection for two reasons: a) because it’s just one beverage, how big a sin can that be? And b) the ship’s extensive list of international beers contains nothing darker than a Heineken three months past its sell-by date. I also purchased beer snacks and slabs of quality chocolate. These you can purchase at exorbitant prices at the on-board duty free shop, but are not specifically outlawed; this is my double-blind control test.

Anyway, it appears that the doom-laden warnings are a bluff: no intimate body search, no sniffer Spaniel and a very pleasant pre-dinner pint. Cádiz here I come! Break out the fine old sherries, because Captain Rummy’s got a thirst on.

Now, a word on our shipmates. Suffice it to say, there’s a lot of Afrikaans being spoken hereabouts. The cruise line, MSC is one of the few lines that operates heavily to-, from- and around Syth Efrican waters and hence about 500 of the 900 aboard are actually heading homewards. There are an awful lot of gold and green rugby shirts on display, so I’m keeping shtum. There’s also something particularly intimidating in the tone of voice of middle-aged, white South Africans that makes you fearful for your liberty. I’m sooo minding my Ps and Qs. No offence entendud, ma frind.

Tomorrow’s entry will be coming to you from Cádiz, where we would be singeing the King of Spain’s beard, were he not clean shaven. ¡Hasta entonces!

Three hours out from Barcelona and blog entry number one. Welcome aboard! The MSC Melody is your vessel and I am your vassal and scribe as we begin 17 days of sailing from Genoa to Cape Town and many points between. Andalublue takes a shocking photo, so don’t expect too many, but you may be regaled with the occasional vid clip, provided the two of us - 45 years of TV industry experience between us – manage to work out how to download from Milord’s new Panasonic minicam onto Anda’s creaky PowerBook. An hour or so of unsuccessful fiddling last night convinced me to rename it the ImpotencePamphlet. Not to worry. You’ll get what you get and either lump it or log off; we’re very far from the embrace of IT Support.

We got out of the UK in the nick of time, on the proverbial helicopter from the roof of the American embassy, also known as North Terminal, Gatwick. Just 20 hours after we took off the snow closed down the entire airport. Phew! That was my travelling companion Milord’s good judgement combining with great good fortune.

The downside was a full twenty-four in a grimy, town-planner-abused Genoa, backed by the Peaks of Mordor and blasted by three different directions of wind chill. I have a feeling Genoa in late spring is probably a lovely place to be. It certainly sports some pretty gorgeous architecture in a surprising variety of styles, but much of any favourable impression wears off when you’re blinded by sea fret travelling at 60kph. Never mind, this is December after all and in just a few days we’ll be casting our clouts as the North Atlantic becomes mid- and then South.

I can’t write very much about life on board yet as we’ve had just 2 meals, one big sleep, and a minor tragedy with an order for Frangelico; much too early to call. All one can say is that the Balinese waiting crew are very sweet and the coffee at breakfast is very bad. In any case, in forty minutes there will be the real test of the ship’s metal – the first of the daily quizzes! Those who know me best will have just cringed a little. I will attempt to keep Mr Competitive Pedant in check. Promise. Fat chance.

In four hours from now we’ll all pile off in Barcelona. Those on board who’ve never before visited the Catalan capital will be taking in Sagrada Familia, Camp Nou and Parc Güell. Milord will be heading for a 3pm dental appointment and Andalublue will be grabbing a taxi for the nearest Carrefour Superstore to stock up on flip-flops, cheap t-shirts and as many beverages as he can smuggle past the Booze Brigade sentries who promise to confiscate anything you couldn’t buy on board for four times the price. This may shape up into a battle of wills, cunning and ingenuity. No one keeps a Yorkshireman from his cheap sup… no one!

Tomorrow’s entry will be coming to you from somewhere in the Med, south of Ibiza. Moltes gracies!