Saga Ruby Captain's blog

The six days at sea across the Atlantic passed by in good weather, as we seemed to travel within the balloon of a large high-pressure system. It was really only Wednesday when the long trousers came out and those brown knees became covered.

The lights of Ponta Delgada were bright through the bridge windows when I walked through the door early on Thursday, in fact it was probably the airport that I was looking at first.

A clear morning, and a cool 57 degrees, but little wind, so we backed into the harbour and were all finished by 8:00am, secure alongside the smart new passenger terminal. The local officials were fairly relaxed, in an efficient sort of way, so the tour passengers were soon racing off down the gangway. On board, it was crew drill time again, but after, I took a quick stroll into the nearby city.

From the bridge it appeared quite busy ‘down town’, but just across from the terminal an old church stood above the road, appearing slightly superior to the hum drum of life passing by below.  There is a lovely mix of old colonial Portugal peppered with a fair few modern building that fortunately do not detract from the charm.

One cannot avoid noticing however, the dreaded motor car, racing around the black cobbled narrow streets. Most of the old buildings are constructed of a dark grey volcanic stone, while the pavements are formed with a mosaic of white and black stone pieces I believe imported from the mainland. With the greying sky, it gave the impression of a monochrome town coloured only by the illuminated interiors of the shop windows.

A little drizzle started to fall, the umbrella went up, but proved to be rather awkward when passing others on the narrow pavements, stepping out into the road was not the favourable option. Fortunately it soon stopped and I returned on board without either poking someone’s eye out or being hit up the rear by a careless driver unable to see out of his windscreen.

With everyone back on board, we left shortly after 2:30pm. A tight schedule and a fast run meant that we had to get a little speed on to arrive off Funchal in time to see the midnight New Year’s fireworks. I don’t believe anyone would be impressed if I arrived ten minutes late.

Having left Antigua after lunch on Christmas Eve, the celebrations commenced in earnest a few hours later with passengers decorating a large tree situated outside the cinema. Jonathan conducted his own special edition of a Christmas Carol after dinner and a superb variety show followed.

The following morning dawned bright and warm, the Caribbean sun still well in evidence. After a suggestion of mine, the passengers voted overwhelmingly to part with an old Saga tradition of having the Christmas dinner at lunchtime. Dressing up into formal wear during the middle of the tropical day just didn’t seem to appeal, so we had a fairly busy schedule of festive entertainment lined up, commencing with a church service at 10am.

This was swiftly followed by a passenger choir singing a number of carols and then a Christmas sing-along with Adam our resident piano player, backed by the whole cruise staff (clowns and smiles department) in the Ballroom. In between there was a few moments of minor excitement while I pulled out four winning tickets from a blind raffle we had organised, the proceeds of which will go directly to one of our Filipino Petty Officers who has had to retire on medical grounds.

A light buffet at lunchtime (I had advised the folks to have a small lunch to allow space for the grand dinner in the evening), then in the afternoon a Christmas day recital by the Greenwich String Quartet. The evening was for dressing up and an earlier than normal Cocktail Party. Timing was essential and my humorous stories had to finish in time for the big exodus down to the dining room and a punctual start to the Gala Dinner.

The folks were forewarned it was not be just any old gala dinner, but that the Master would be making a speech and then a toast, so the desert course would not be served until he had sat down. My speech was topical, and themed around spoonerisms, malaprops and other funny little things we had overheard this cruise. I even made myself smile. The waiters parading in with the Christmas Puddings at shoulder height followed the toast to Her Majesty. The whole affair was carried out splendidly, the timing exact, the service by our marvellous staff superb.

For most the evening culminated in Showtime with tenor Laurence Robinson, even though a determined minority managed to continue back up in the Preview Lounge, Party Night with the Starlight Trio. I, however, had by that time, slipped away. Enough jollity for one day.

Our arrival to St. John’s was somewhat comic, as the pilot was already occupied with another recently arrived passenger vessel. I asked the pilot office if they would like us to continue, to which I received an affirmative. So we did, almost all the way to the berth, and when the pilot eventually came alongside in their ageing tug we sent down a message suggesting he go and board the ‘iceberg’ who was trailing not far behind, and whose Captain was not best pleased at being without someone with whom to share the responsibility of navigating the shallow channel.

Fortunately most of our passengers went off on tour before the great white slab sides started to disgorge their thousands. Meanwhile I found myself in the rather envious position of being offered the one spare seat on the last helicopter tour flying over to view Montserrat. The volcano here erupted, after a very long period of dormancy, in 1995, throwing millions of tons of rock and debris into the air and then gradually engulfing the island’s capital, Plymouth.

After just under twenty minutes of flight we flew right over the south east coast where pyroclastic flows have formed a new extended coastline. The pilot took us down to see the massive boulders that had rolled down from the summit of the volcano, and then back up to just beneath the sulphurous clouds towards to the west side where we again descended towards what is left of Plymouth.

The scene of devastation is incredible, complete buildings have disappeared under up to thirty feet of new rock, what structures are left still standing have no roofs and great gulleys have been formed where heavy rains have caused rivers to flow at times washing silt and boulders before. Apparently there are still relatively minor eruptions to this day resulting in further destruction. When the winds change and bring down the poisonous gasses, new vegetation on the periphery is killed off, and yet we managed to see one or two wild goats attempting to forage in what was left at the edge of the lava field.

Our Canadian pilot enjoyed his flying, ducking and diving to get us all the best views, even at one stage flying close to the sulphur cloud so we could just get a quick whiff of the foul odour. He was an amiable chap who kept up a running commentary throughout and bringing us back in good time to make our scheduled lunchtime departure. By the time I returned, the local harbour pilot had already been down to ascertain that we didn’t require his services for departure. So we left for our long voyage back across the Atlantic, no pilot, no tug. No worries.

After what can only be described as a very busy day yesterday in San Juan, it was just such a pleasure to take the ship into Tortola, picking up the Cornish pilot on the way. Andy settled on the island quite a few years ago and rarely returns now, however his speech hasn’t entirely lost that West Country burr.

The rather laid back British Virgin Islands are a far cry from their US counterparts less than fifty miles to the west. In fact they can be probably characterised in the same way as the ‘derectly’ (correct spelling) culture that still exists in some parts of my home county. We berthed on a very narrow finger pier just twenty minutes before one of the large monster ‘icebergs’ of today pulled in alongside. For those passengers that had cabins on the starboard side, they found their view of the aquamarine bay and the surrounding hillside villas completely obscured by the sheep pen style balconies of the modern cruising mass market.

On the port side however, there was a gorgeous view of the yacht harbour, dominated by one particular large yacht, and with a constant stream of smaller boats coming in and out throughout the day. The usual island tours went off, and I was somewhat envious of the 4-wheel drive safari, however duty required me to remain on board. It did not, however, stop me from dreaming up a little one upmanship number for us to deliver as we sailed.

As the passengers prepared for departure my, perhaps unsubtle, announcement to join in the fun by proceeding to the after deck was warmly received. Jonathan had prepared the speakers, union jack flags were handed out and, as we pulled slowly away, on came the music. In great voice the passengers sang, with some degree of gusto, Land of Hope and Glory and Rule Britannia. From my position on the bridge wing I could hear them but not see them, but what I could see was that the folks on the ‘big ship’ were looking down, laughing and waving energetically at the young in heart senior citizens on board that ‘little ship’. There was huge applause as we sailed off towards the darkening eastern horizon - the ‘iceberg’ was to follow us all the way to our last Caribbean port.

By the time we had come through the Virgin Passage and started tracking along the north coast of Puerto Rico, the remnants of a large Atlantic depression were heading our way in the form of large swell waves. Fortunately the stabilisers took most of the motion away and we picked up our local pilot just after we had passed on our port side Morro Castle with old San Juan behind.

It was an operationally busy day for everyone working on board, apart from having to load over 700 tonnes of fuel, 75 pallets containing approximately 25 tons of provisions, we also had a full day visit from five members of the United States Coastguard and two representatives from the Unites States Port Health service who had apparently flown down from Atlanta to visit us. 835 passengers and crew passed through US immigration in just over two hours, we conducted an emergency fire drill, and splashed all the starboard lifeboats to the satisfaction of the Coastguard officers.

Once cleared, the tours were soon away, exploring the old city with its cobbled streets and many historical buildings that include the cathedral dating from 1521, along with the San Cristobal fortress built in 1634. One tour took in the famous Bacardi rum factory in Catano, which included part of the distillery known as the ‘Cathedral of Rum’.

With a departure not scheduled until 2300 hours, there was time for some of our guests to go along and enjoy Juan Carlos and his Flamenco Rumba Show. For those that remained on board we were able to have a deck party unhindered by inclement weather, entertainment provided first by our regular orchestra, followed by our very own crew band, ‘The Cheese Omelettes’, whose speciality was far from the gastronomic. They had everyone up dancing with their eclectic medley of old 60’s Beatles songs. The passengers loved them.

It was a ‘Hard Days Night’ for everyone so once the pilot had disembarked and the great walls of the castle had passed by our starboard side, I don’t think it was too long before most of the folks were tucked up between the sheets.

An early morning shower greeted us as we came into anchor at Charlestown, giving Chris, the Safety Officer, a good soaking on the focs’tle head. Fortunately it was a short-lived thing and the remainder of the day remained sunny and dry. Two lovely ladies from the Tourism Office came to see me during the mid morning, officially welcoming the ship for it’s maiden call and leaving a selection of Nevis literature.

I wasn’t aware that Nelson had actually married his wife Fanny Nisbet on the island in 1787 and that there was a fair amount of Nelson memorabilia in the local museum. I did, however, find on my stroll around the town during the afternoon, a plaque recognising the birthplace of Alexander Hamilton, one of the founding fathers of the USA. The town itself is quite small, in keeping with the island, which is the little sister of St. Kitts. It has a number of traditional wooden shutter board buildings mixed in with others that are obviously relatively modern, but built in a similar style.

The beauty of the island lies outside Charlestown in the surrounding countryside where lush vegetation reaches to the top of the 3232-foot Mount Nevis peak and numerous nature trails allow the visitor to explore. Various heritage sites recall the colonial days of sugar plantations and windmills. Our tours took in quite a few, including the famous Botanical gardens and Fig Tree church where Nelson was married.

Because there is no large quay to take the larger cruise ships of today, the island is still unspoilt by mass tourism, and from the anchorage it was quite evident that a few ‘ foreign rich folk’ have built their holiday houses in various places where a view of the Caribbean and a suitable amount of privacy go together.

We sailed shortly after 5pm, passing St. Kitts and Saba before the light of the day changed into the moonlit darkness of the night.

At first glance it would appear there is not much of a pier in Roseau, whereas in fact what there is will take even the Queen Mary 2. All the headlines and stern lines go out to dolphins positioned further away, but they do require a couple of chaps to go out in a small boat, take the lines and haul them up onto the bollard. So it took a little time, but not enough to delay our tours. Fortunately the rains from yesterday had cleared and we were back to a fine Caribbean sunshine morning.

With my morning ‘chores’ over, I joined the afternoon ‘Dominica Rainforest Tram Tour’, and along with eight others, plus the ample smiling Brenda, we raced out of town in a minibus. She was a great guide, reeling of the facts and figures about the island as we bumped and jolted our way up past a few small villages and into the mountains. It was a winding twisty ride, which came to a grinding halt at one stage when we came upon some obvious signs of road building and renovation.

Eventually arriving at the tramway station, we were met by our guide, Octave, (what a great name) and what a nice guy. He sat in the back of the ‘tram’ as we went higher into the rain forest, suspended sometimes as much as 350 feet above the ground. His knowledge and memory was quite amazing, the Latin names of the plants and trees we were brushing past just fell from his mouth in a steady stream in that lovely Caribbean lilt.

I was the only one who, at the top station, opted to step out and take the relatively short track down to the next station. Octave came along and we chatted away as though we had known each other for years. We took the suspension bridge across a deep gorge and eventually rejoined the rest of our party who were waiting at middle station. There was a certain amount of amiable banter from other passengers who were still on their way up, I guess they weren’t expecting to see their Captain stepping out of the forest in a pair of shorts and casual shirt. Out came the cameras!

It was a great ride, sometimes through the middle, sometimes at treetop height, but peaceful except for the birds and the hardly noticeable operation of the wire operating system, which brought us to a halt from time to time as more travellers boarded back down below. And for this day at least, it did not rain in the rain forest.    

I had a sneaking suspicion that this day was not going to be all golden sunshine when I arrived on the bridge prior to arrival. Big heavy showers were falling out of some very grey clouds above Castries as we approached. It was perhaps fortunate that I had actually put the ship alongside and it was just Staff Captain Simon on the bridge wing when the heavens opened above us. He wasn’t over amused, but I did suggest it was good character building stuff, not that he needs much ‘building up’.

The ‘full on’ showers then came down at regular intervals during the morning, but with some very bright hot spells between. Until after lunch that was, when it just tipped down for about four hours. In the main, the passengers took it all in good stead, but there were one or two who became just a tad disgruntled even though they had been forewarned. ‘I know you said it would rain, but you didn’t say it would rain this hard,’ was one comment….and they were on the ‘Rain Forest Tour’.

Despite the weather we had a large group of guests from Saga’s own hotel, the Bel Jou come down from the hills above Castries to sample our hospitality, and the hotel reciprocated for some of ours. A deck barbecue and steel band had been planned for the evening, but it would have been a wash out, so the locals performed inside the Grand Ballroom. They were superb, played very typical Caribbean music, and a few Christmas carols as well. All thoughts of rain were dispelled and when I poked my nose in to see how things were going there were a considerable number of passengers on the dance floor swinging their hips and about to form a Conga line. I discreetly left before it came anywhere near.

Back on the bridge the rain had eased by the time it came for our later departure. Across the harbour a very large private yacht was looking like something from a Bond novel. Apparently, so the pilot told me, it was owned by some Russian oligarch who had flown into Barbados the other day in his own Airbus with over 150 guests. Needless to say, I backed the ship off the berth, keeping well clear.

We docked on a relatively new finger pier in St. George's and not on the cargo berth in the Careenage where the cruise ships used to go. Not quite as scenic perhaps, but very handy for ‘downtown’ and a large slightly brash shopping complex that passengers had to go through when they left the ship, cunning planning I thought. I ventured ashore for an hour in order to take a few photos and reacquaint myself to this lovely harbour town that I hadn’t visited for probably ten years.

Hurricane Ivan, eight years ago, did some serious damage to the island and even today there is clear evidence of the destruction. I counted three churches that still had their roofs missing, plus a number of older houses in the same sorry state, and apparently even the Parliament building is waiting for funds to make the necessary repairs.

The town, however, was bustling with activity and the usual traffic problems that occur these days in small communities with an infrastructure quite inadequate for the increasing number of cars. Somehow, however, it all added to the slightly chaotic flavour of the place and as I walked everyone appeared to be quite happily putting up with it all, greeting each with smiles and a casual slap of the hand.

After clambering up a few hills, I came back down to sea level and took a walk through Sendal Tunnel to get to the Carenage. This narrow tunnel, somewhat gothic in appearance and less than eight foot high in the centre, was built in 1894, no doubt for horse drawn traffic.

Now it takes one-way traffic and any courageous pedestrians who are prepared to brave the traffic by hugging the side. There is no pavement, but at least there are lights, even so, in our EU world of health and safety it would have probably been bricked up a long time ago.

On the other side, the Carenage was busy with small inter island coastal vessels and water taxi drivers touting for business, four dollars for a fast ride over to Grand Anse beach, possibly the most famous in the Caribbean.  The famous waterside ‘Nutmeg’, home of the real Rum Punch, was back open for business, and I was tempted, but it was far to early in the morning.

The folks went off on their tours, ‘Rain Forest and Grand Etang’, ‘Sunnyside Gardens’ and ‘Highlights of St. George’s, and they all returned much later, worn out but happy enough. As the sun changed colour to a shade of burnt gold behind the distant clouds, we took our pilot and left the berth.

Down in the main lounge, as we pulled on the astern power, our newly arrived Archdeacon gave a service of Christmas readings and carols. The festive mood is building up.

We have been watching your weather news back in the UK, and I believe I can safely say that it is not the cold we are struggling with here. The long relaxing sea days have been forgotten now we are in Caribbean mood and our second call, to the island of Tobago, was superb.

As soon as you leave the pier and pass through the small passenger terminal, the main street of Scarborough, the island’s capital, is right in front,complete with traffic, taxis and colourful characters who don’t even take a second glance at the rather pale tourists stepping into their world.

I was fortunate to join the afternoon tour that took the winding Windward coast road, alongside the Atlantic shoreline, to the rainforest and Argyle Waterfalls. The drive itself was an adventure, somewhat similar to navigating the narrow Cornish lanes, but at twice the speed and with the driver giving a running commentary whilst holding a microphone in one hand and the steering wheel in the other.

A delightful local lady guide, took us on a slow amble once we had arrived, up towards the falls, stopping every few yards to show us this or that on the way. Cocoa pods on the tree, edible fruits, tropical shrubs, Teak, Mahogany, colourful birds and even some sort of crocodile looking mammal resting in the sunshine were all pointed out in a very casual relaxed style, just so typical of this part of the world.

This lady had the wisdom that comes with age, and an infectious laugh whenever anyone said something remotely amusing.

Perhaps not surprisingly, once we reached the small lake by the lower falls, there was a mad dash to remove the outer garments and take a plunge. I, however, not wishing to sit in soggy shorts a little later back in the mini bus, decided to clamber further up by the side of the three-tiered falls to take a few photos. It was indeed a lovely spot, and obviously a draw for many tourists as there was more than just our group ‘taking the waters’.

We returned back to town, most of the journey being directly towards the late afternoon sun.  As the sun set the town became illuminated, not only from the Christmas lights, but also the glaring and varied illumination that came from the several waterside clubs and bars that seemed to be competing with the decibels and their own brand of Caribbean music that is now, no doubt, popular with the local youth.

We slipped away into the peace and darkness of a Caribbean night.

Our relaxing days of cruising down into the Trades has come to an end, but in just the special way our guests would have imagined. The sun rose in a gold magnificence over the low island hills as we sailed down the tranquil waters just a few miles off the west coast of Barbados.

In true Caribbean style Bridgetown signal station eventually responded to our call in that lovely relaxed lilt that more than anything, reminded me that we had, after ten long sea days, arrived.

The port was relatively empty, perhaps unusual in these big cruise ship days; in fact we were the only one, except for a very large and expensive looking yacht on the other side of the harbour. Just off the bow was a very old tired looking ex US Navy tug, still with its original name no doubt, ‘American Patriot’, lying alongside a tank barge recently towed up from Guyana.

Now that Barbados grows very little sugar cane there is a regular trade for molasses in order to supply the essentials for the rum trade.
 
For some of our passengers it seemed that as they stepped ashore, it was like a swimmer testing the water with a big toe. As I greeted and watched their slow progress onto terra firma it was almost as though some had to convince themselves the ground was solid and would not give way beneath their feet.

Most amusing. The first tour off was going to ‘Discover Barbados’ in less than four hours, while the second disappeared below ground to have a ‘Harrison’s Cave Experience’. According to Carol (the So Ho) they all had a jolly time nipping around in an electric tram to marvel at the illuminated limestone stalactites and stalagmites. (Best not look up)

The crew, however, had a busy morning scheduled before they could ashore. Board of Trade Sports organised by the Safety Officer in order to test their knowledge and skills prior to an inspection by the US Coast Guard next week in San Juan.

All in all it was a lovely hot and sunny day, right up until an hour before sailing time, when it bucketed down with a typical Caribbean shower, one of the ones that you can see for some time before, making it’s slow inevitable progress towards you. It passed over and cleared just before I had to step out onto the bridge wing for departure. How convenient is that?

As might be expected, for these long relaxing days at sea, we have some excellent lecturers and guest acts to keep our passengers both educated and entertained if they so wish. The delightful Chilli Gold (yes, real name) has sung her heart out with a style very much leaning towards country and western, but with some popular show tunes also.

Sarah Chandler is a great saxophonist who has played many of the cool jazzy numbers that I like, as did all of her audience, and Simon Sands, the ‘cheeky but clean’ comedian has kept us smiling. 

Yesterday it was my turn to be ‘volunteered’ to assist with the ‘clowns and smiles’ department, along with Jonathan the Cruise Director. Guest act Kevin Woodford, the celebrity chef, was going to prove a point with something more than just a simple cooking demonstration. His show, ‘Can’t cook, Won’t cook’ was brought to the floor of the Grand Lounge to a packed audience at eleven in the morning.

He was quite adamant that we were not to know what we had to do until we came onto the floor, and having previously taken a stab at judging his style, I realised that he was most likely going to use what he thought to be his gullible assistants as subjects of his particular sharp wit.

Within minutes of his disappearing out onto the floor, I had changed into a boiler suit, white galley wellingtons and a hard safety helmet, along with the standard high visibility vest that is seen in any area where dangerous work takes place. I think that set the scene with the audience and Kevin perhaps then realised that this particular contestant would be slightly more ‘combative’ than he bargained for.

Apart from the cooking, which surprisingly enough went quite well, it was more like a jousting competition where the audience laughter was almost drowning out his culinary instruction. I suppose it came to a head when, at the great moment of flambéing the brandy, I said the code word and an announcement was made from the bridge, ‘Code barbecue, Code barbecue’. Kevin’s face was a picture of dawning recognition, klaxons sounded and two of my suitably primed officers came rushing in, wearing full breathing apparatus, fire suits and brandishing a couple of CO2 extinguishers.

The audience went wild, Kevin shook his head and smiled, while I endeavoured to keep dead pan with a ‘nothing to do with me’ look. It was great fun, only added to some minutes later when Kevin’s microphone went silent as the bridge announced Noon. The striking of eight bells and the enormous sound of the ships whistle then came blaring out the through the lounge speakers leaving Kevin in soundless speech for almost a minute. Not my fault he was just at his peroration.

And so we continue, all in good spirit and with just two days to go before Barbados. Outside it is pleasantly warm, the sea temperature is up and a few sub tropical showers are falling from the fluffy cumulus clouds that follow us on the northeasterly breeze.

Staff Captain Andy Boyd took command of Saga Ruby between Tenerife and Southampton, as I had to return briefly back to Cornwall. A very cold Southampton greeted us all on Monday the 6th; fortunately I had had a few days to acclimatise.

The leaving passengers however, had only just a short day or so to do so, and I can only imagine that they are now probably wishing they were back where they were a few weeks ago in the 92 degree West African heat.

We left the same afternoon for our voyage to the Caribbean, being delayed just a couple of hours by one or two passengers who had travel problems. It allowed the ‘Ham Jam and Spam Department’ to continue taking necessary stores. We passed down through Southampton Water and into the western Solent, for the first time, as far as I can recall, I saw what is referred to as Arctic Sea Smoke lifting off the dark waters. A surreal swirling mist rising from the relatively warm water into the bitter cold air above.

For a while, after passing through the Needles channel, it rose cloud like in banks around the ship like some Hammer horror movie. The lights of distant ships, first crystal clear, suddenly disappeared from view, then reappeared just as suddenly.

The following morning dawned clear and bright, with a northeasterly breeze increasing during the day, the ship rolled gently in the swell that increased just a touch as we passed through the Western Approaches into the vast North Atlantic. The forecast for the next few days however, was not great, and a deep low was hovering over the Azores, our initial destination.

That evening, at the welcome cocktail party, I had to advise passengers that our arrival there was in no way certain and that I was watching the forecasts carefully.

And so it has developed, the low has just sat there, being blocked by the Atlantic high and we, in turn, picked up increasing northeasterly winds during that night. They have remained with us, force 7 or so, with a 5-meter swell, but all of this weather is following us so that the movement on the ship has been rather comfortable. A gentle roll, suitably reduced by the stabilisers, but with the odd ‘lurch’ now again to let us know that there really is a near gale out there. Ponta Delgada was a no no, and we have just passed the islands of Corvo and Flores.

At our initial destination it is lashing down with rain and the wind is howling apparently. Funnily enough our passengers have settled down to the long lazy days at sea and seem quite content, between the numerous daytime activities available, to watch the sun glistening off the Montague Dawson like sea from the comfort of their Britannia Lounge arm chairs.

Calmer and warmer seas beckon. Can’t wait.