Saga Ruby Captain's blog

The Tagus was in ebb as we arrived, reducing our speed over the ground by over two knots, but it was a beautiful morning as we approached the new passenger pier that has been sensibly sighted just a few hundred yards from the centre of the city. My wife and I took the afternoon tour to the old town of Sintra, a charming medieval place with a labyrinth of streets and numerous steps. The scenic crown is the old Palace, the Palacio da Vila, with its painted ceilings, tiled rooms, a kitchen complete with two huge 110-foot high conical chimneys and a history that connected the various European royal houses.

These days it's one of the ‘must sees`on the tourist trail, but even so, the town wasn’t unduly busy despite the warm sunshine. After an hour being guided around the castle we crossed the road and took a typical Portuguese pastry and coffee in a local street café. Every other shop nearby seemed to sell the glazed pottery for which Portugal is well known. There was everything for the smallest thimble to the largest tureen and we managed to find a delightful bowl with a vibrant grape design in the centre.

Returning to the city, the coach stopped close to the Tower of Belem, allowing us to alight and a take a quick photo of this most recognisable Lisboa monument silhouetted against the setting sun. Just over an hour later we passed by on the other side, in the darkness and out towards the Atlantic. Our passage north to Southampton will conclude this most interesting of cruises.

We were expecting heavy fuel bunkers during our relatively short stay alongside in Gibraltar, consequently we arrived before most our folk had even flickered an eyelid. But the bay of Gibraltar does not sleep, there is always some ship or other on the move or about to hoist anchor. Ignoring the Spanish traffic a mile or so to the west, we negotiated around the shadowy vessels that lay in our path, most of whom were either bunker storage or taking fuel prior to continuing their voyage east or west from this bottleneck at the entrance to the Mediterranean.

Our pilot, and ex passenger ship master himself, chatted almost continuously as we approached the dock, mainly about colleagues we had both sailed with at some time or other over the years. Small business this. When the passengers rose for breakfast their view of the Rock was somewhat hidden by another recently arrived cruiser docked on the other side of our berth. Nothing hindered the mass exodus though, and there seemed to be plenty of local taxis to make the half-mile run into town. (Possibly the most expensive taxi ride in Europe).  

We took our fuel, completed a crew emergency drill and had everyone back in good time to leave after lunch. We departed, as we had arrived, driving through the anchored ships, which at least we could see this time. We passed the most unusual of ships, one that could submerge its hull in order for cargo to be floated in and then raised as ballast was pumped out ready for the sea voyage. The brisk westerly wind of the morning had all but disappeared after we’d passed through the Straits, and a gentle swell from the northwest was all the evidence that could be felt from a deep depression way up in the North Atlantic.

In light westerly winds and warm sunshine we approached Minorca and the small sheltered port of Mahon. Most of the folks, because it was late morning, had come on deck to watch us proceed through the narrow channel and into the bay where, two centuries ago, Nelson and his fleet would have been lying. The house that Nelson lived in is still prominent on the hillside and now kept as a museum. To starboard the great naval barracks and installations lie in a kind of desolate splendour, the sun reflecting off the long since lived in sand stone walls. To port we passed a small island in the bay where ruins of an isolation hospital are now finally being looked after by some charitable organisation.

With the season just about over, there were few yachts to hinder our passage and the pilot told me that the sailing scene had been unusually quiet, except for the very big yachts where ‘that wealth’ has been relatively unaffected by the current financial crises. We passed an old command of mine, to berth just past the main steps that lead up to the centre of this delightful town. Those few knowledgeable passengers who were not on tour, soon left to reach the shops before the afternoon siesta left the town to the café dwellers. We did likewise, wondering around the cobbled streets before coming back down to the waterfront to take tapas and some minor hydraulic refreshment.

Much later, when all were back on board, we backed off the berth and turned around, then proceeded again back down the channel, this time sounding three long blasts of the ships whistle as we passed the large water front hotel. A little advertising to finish off the day.

The voyage back through the Sea of Marmara and the Dardanelles was in fine weather, and timed so that the sights could be seen at a convenient hour after breakfast. Our arrival in the port of Heraklion a day later was right on schedule, despite having to wait for a ‘leviathan’ to berth before us.

The weather was far more temperate than it had been in the Black Sea ports and we managed to get on a coach going up to the Palace of Knossos. This place was excavated and partly restored by Sir Arthur Evans at the turn of the last century and is reputed to have belonged to the Kings and Queens of the Minoan people over 3000 years ago. Needless to say, a certain degree of imagination needs to be used to visualise what must have existed during that period, even though one or two buildings had been partly re-constructed by Evans and those that have followed in his footsteps.

Back in town we had free time to wander, take a coffee and watch the world go by around the Venetian fountain. A few young ladies were trying to sell their helium filled balloons and one or two mothers were keeping a close eye on their youngsters who were getting ever nearer to the waters edge.  A little further a few traders were open, selling not so original well known brand bags, leather goods, locally made olive soaps, plaster copies of old Greek statues and pottery, and just about anything else that a tourist may be tempted to buy.

It was an early start, picking up the Bosphorus pilot around 0530. In a somewhat casual fashion he guided us through the narrow channel that separates Europe from Asia, and then, as we approached the busiest section, asked if it was OK to leave, as another pilot would shortly be arriving. Once on board he waxed lyrically about the new day and kindly let me get on with the job of gingerly berthing the ship against two carefully positioned pontoons, which kept us far enough from the quay wall to ensure we would still remain afloat throughout the day.

Istanbul is a fantastic city that never fails to impress, in one way or another, as it is incredibly busy and has some great sights to see. Our berth was below the Topkapi Museum and just half a mile from the bustling Galata Bridge. Numerous ferries came racing in and out, seemingly continuously, adding to the feeling of ‘rush’. My wife and I took the shuttle bus for the ten-minute ride to a central drop off, not far away from the Blue Mosque and within a short walk of our destination, the Grand Bazaar. With over 4000 shops this was the place to buy souvenirs, whether it might have been spices, jewellery, decorated porcelain, silk scarves or even an oriental rug. There are so many shops in the numerous little alleys that the place has a special colourful feel of it’s own and one which almost makes you want to buy something just to offset the effects of returning empty handed. We came back on board with a ‘modest’ few purchases.

The sun had risen over Asia and as the evening came, it slowly descended in a golden coppery glow over Europe, leaving the domes and minarets outlined on the near horizon. And still the ferries came and went, giving a magical atmosphere to a scene illuminated by millions of city lights. We left after a rather splendid belly dancer had given an energetic performance in the show lounge, our pilot departing before we found ourselves in a general sort of maritime free for all on our journey into the Sea of Marmara.

We arrived off Yalta with the wind racing down off the mountains and reaching almost 50 knots. It crossed the sea in great gusts that whipped the water into a white-topped frenzy. Even so, we managed to get the two pilots aboard and they assured me that all was much calmer inside the small harbour.

As we approached, the wind drift angle gradually reduced to zero as we passed the breakwater. Two aged and underpowered tugs stood by, for what good they would be, but fortunately the gusts had reduced in intensity and the docking was made without drama.

Numerous ferries had been lifted clear from the water and were stored on the dockside for the winter. Our gangway was landed between them creating an unusual scene and one that the passengers had to negotiate, in a biting wind, to get to the passport control and the gate that led to the attractive small town and the promenade surrounding the harbour.

We ventured off after lunch and took a ride to Livadia Palace, the ex Czar’s summer palace that Stalin had decided would be the venue for the Yalta Conference in 1945. Inside the rooms were basically furnished, but many photographs around the ground floor recalled the scene where the post war future of Europe was decided. Upstairs the rooms were used to display many artefacts from the Romanoff family, along with uniforms, medals and other paraphernalia from the period before the Revolution.

A quick tour of the world famous Massandra winery followed, and an enthusiastic company guide explained to ours, in rapid Russian, the complete history, which then had to be translated into English. Some of the million plus bottles were over 150 years old and worth a fortune. Below ground, seven tunnels, each at least several hundred meters long, held thousands of great barrels.

Back outside the clouds still poured off the mountains in what seemed to be some giant meteorological experiment. The conclusion of which would be a smothering of the town in a complete fog, but the lower it came, the thinner it became until it disappeared completely, leaving the town bathed in the crystal clear glow of early evening sunlight.     

We entered Sevastopol in the late afternoon as the strong northeasterly wind was beginning to abate. We had cruised around the south of Crimea during the day, a fairly barren landscape, but in Soviet times the Black Sea submarine squadron had a base hidden away deep within the cliffs surrounding the small sheltered harbour of Balaklava.

The following day dawned with just a little too much rain and a heavy grey overcast. By early afternoon however, blue sky returned and we took the opportunity to look at a few of the highlights. Needless to say, the Crimean Campaign of the mid 1800’s is a major part of local history and we visited one the most spectacular art displays I have ever seen at ‘The Panorama’, a magnificent building constructed to commemorate the 50th anniversary of the defence of Sevastopol. Inside a circular painting, almost destroyed during the Second World War, has been renovated. The work is 14 meters high and 115 meters long, incredibly detailed and portrays the battlefield scene on June 6th 1855 from the Russian positions on Malakhov Hill. It is a truly amazing piece.

Later, we took a drive to Balaklava, past the valley where the charge of the light brigade took place, now there are acre after acre of vines planted over this tragic land. The secret submarine base closed after the break up of the Soviet Union is now a museum and open to the public, but we were the only visitors on this chilly afternoon. A uniformed security guard with a prominent gold tooth smiled, almost mischievously, as we disappeared into the depths, along a long concrete lined, dusty white washed tunnel, passing two pairs of massive nuclear bomb proof doors on the way. After ten minutes or so, passing various smaller cross tunnels, locked up with strong padlocks, we came out into a cavernous area where the underground canal became visible along with a dry-dock to one side. This was like something out of a James Bond movie without the actors and the fake sub. Apparently our friends in North America were not aware of this ‘facility’ for many years due to the fact that it had been built where a quarry and cement works disguised the covert activities during the period of it’s building in the early 60’s. The base could apparently be closed from the world within 20 minutes and life sustained for three years if the need had arisen. All rather chilling, what a fascinating part of the world this area is.

‘Stop your engines and continue with inertia’. An instruction, not advice, from the deep guttural voice emanating over the airwaves from Odessa vessel traffic management. A new one on me, so we did, but of course deadweight won and I had to use the engines again just to maintain steerage way, needless to say, keeping it secret from ‘the voice’. The two pilots were friendly, but just as reluctant to take over the con as the ones in the last two ports.

Once alongside it seemed that the forecast was right and the northerly wind was being distinctly ‘steppe’ like, but our brave adventurers had learned the lesson from the day before and were, in the main, adequately insulated for their excursions. The local agent kindly took four of us off for a few hours in the afternoon to see for ourselves what a delightful city old Odessa is, with its 19th century mansions surrounding well designed boulevards. Not far from the ship rose the Potemkin Steps, up to Primorsky Boulevard, which in turn led towards Pushkin Square, the Palace of Count Vorontsov, the lovely Londonskaya hotel and the beautiful Opera and Ballet Theatre. Sergei Eisentein made the steps famous in his film ‘The Battleship Potemkin’, which celebrated the uprising of 1905 and where dozens of local citizens were reputed as being murdered. Now they provide a great view of the harbour and a focal point for the local traders selling imitation Soviet era paraphernalia. We also passed a number of wedding parties, with bride in overflowing white dress being celebrated by guests outside a suitable photographic venue, and over the top stretched limo waiting near by.

A great number of our guests went off to see the ballet ‘Giselle’ and once they had returned we made ready to sail. The wind was ‘fresh’ to say the least and our departure pilot, a ‘class act’ if ever I have seen one, gave me positive and rather nervous advice as to the manoeuvre, and how he would be ‘jumping’ before the most hazardous part. Indeed he did, but it was somewhat of a relief to have him leave so that I could concentrate in relative peace. We left unscathed, into the blackness.

Our overnight passage up the coast continued through the cold dark waters, and the next harbour pilot, somewhat more enthusiastic than the last, boarded once we were inside the four mile long breakwater. The chilly wind continued to blow from the north so those of us off on the long coach journey to Bucharest were well wrapped up when we departed at 0730.

Before 11 we were driving past numerous boring blocks of flats built during the Communist period, and this is what I had expected to see throughout. These were not entirely typical however, and with the coming of democracy many changes, most for the better according to our charming and well educated lady guide, could be seen. The Palace of Parliament, commenced during the rule of Ceausescu, and the world’s second largest building after the Pentagon, is impressive, although he apparently destroyed much of the old city in order to build his dream. Wide tree lined boulevards cover the city and fortunately many old classical buildings built in the French style still exist and are gradually being renovated. We stopped at the Church of the Patriarchs, and then later walked through the Village Museum, completed in 1936, and where the essence of Romania’s rural heritage has been preserved. There were over 50 buildings, consisting of houses, barns, churches and watermills, all surrounding a city centre lake. Lunch followed at an idyllic restaurant on the opposite side of the lake and was accompanied by musicians and traditional dancers. Our final stop was in Revolution Square outside the Royal palace, home of the Communist Party, and where Ceausescu made his final speech in 1989, escaping from the roof by helicopter, but soon after captured, tried and executed.

The drive back through the vast flat farming land was somewhat more peaceful than our morning journey, and we arrived back after dark, with just sufficient time for me to change and get onto the bridge for the scheduled departure time. The Ukraine beckons, but with an even chillier wind according to the forecast. 

The run through the Dardanelles and the Sea of Marmara was calm, warm and clear enough to be able to see the several monuments recalling the campaigns of the First World War. By sunset we were approaching the narrow Bosphorus at Istanbul, its western entrance, and as we made our approach the radar was just a mass of echoes, sufficient to make navigation a challenge. We took a compulsory pilot for the few hours of our passage, a fascinating journey through a darkness illuminated by millions of lights on the land of Europe to port and Asia to starboard. By nine p.m. the darkness had taken over as we entered the Black Sea and headed northwest towards Varna, the first of many east European ports we expect to visit.

Still in the blackness we picked up our port pilot, who seemed friendly enough, but rather reluctant to accept any responsibility. The warm temperature of the day before had disappeared, to be replaced by a distinct chill and a wind from the north. The forecast suggested it would not be warming up to much for the next few days, winter woollies were coming out. However, as the day dawned the blue sky appeared and remained throughout.

We took the tour to the city, then along the coast to Balchik, and the former summer residence of Queen Marie of Romania. It was quite charming and the 85-acre grounds are now run by the State as a botanical garden. Even though the season had of course ended there was an obvious beauty, looked after by a host of gardeners who were busy cutting back and digging up a large cactus collection to place under glass for the winter. A few traders were still open and managed to extract the odd surplus Euro from our fellow tourists. Lunch was held in a pleasant country restaurant geared up for the summer season, and gave the impression that the doors would be locked for the next six months after we had left. Even so the food and liquid refreshment were excellent. (I had to forgo the latter of course due to a later driving commitment) Local folk dancers performed, and once the alcohol had had a chance to react, they managed to get a few of our more ‘relaxed’ folk onto the floor. After returning to the city we made a stop at the cathedral where the handsome local priest stood by, smiling and offering a quick anointing with his holy oil. He even, with little encouragement, broke out into religious song, which had all of our ladies captivated.

There must have been at least 300,000 gross tonnes all heading for the same spot at about the same time, plus numerous local ferries racing past everything. Six passenger ships were due to berth in Piraeus before breakfast and knowing what the ‘system’ was likely to be we angled out into clearer water and waited our turn. In fact our mature pilot, one year from his retirement, boarded around about 0620, and apart from the constant finger fidgeting with the traditional beads, seemed pretty relaxed about this much maritime real estate all within rather close proximity.

One of the largest cruise ships around today berthed just before us and consequently blocked our entire view of downtown Piraeus for just about the whole day. Our agent came aboard and was still not quite certain of which mini-strike was going to affect our passengers land based activities. One gate was going to be closed for three hours, and the shuttle bus drivers that were to take passengers to within sight of the town were also having their political moment. Eventually everything returned to what is often referred to as being normal, the tours went off near enough to schedule and the sun rose to bring delightful warmth. The afternoon was very relaxing and passengers returning sat out on deck to read, sunbathe or watch one of the world’s busiest ports from the terrific vantage point of the after deck, less than a hundred meters from the entrance.

The ‘big one’ eventually left and at long last we could see Greece, but then proceeded to almost block our sunset by turning just outside the harbour, right in our line of sight. Our departure pilot, a much younger man with a distinct look of a rather well fed freedom fighter, boarded right on time and we actually departed a little ahead of schedule, off into the black night and towards a Black Sea.

We have had a somewhat turbulent ride since passing thru the Straits of Gibraltar, chasing a low-pressure system that is heading east before us. Even so life has gone on in the normal cruise like fashion. The entry in Grand Harbour was made even more grand by the near blue sky gale that was coming down from our starboard beam as we crabbed our way through the entrance at a suitable speed to ensure positive steering.

Inside conditions were somewhat calmer, with the high walled medieval city acting, to some extent, as a great wind barrier. Even so, with a tug not yet available, docking was…..interesting. In fact we berthed ahead of time and it wasn’t long before our terra firma hungry guests were off down the gangway to adjust to their regained land legs. It was a very warm afternoon and those who didn’t take a tour ambled through the narrow streets, with their numerous well worn steps, up towards the centre, where café’s and shops beckoned. Here the wind sometimes gusted between the sandstone buildings, picking up the remnants off outside tables and sending the scavenging pigeons back into low level flight mode.

I really like this city that must have witnessed so many happenings. I like the somewhat shabbiness and the patina of age that seems to cover everything, and the folk who have made these tired but characterful buildings their home. Every corner you go around has another interesting vista, whether it be down towards the busy waters of the harbour, up towards the characterful balconies, often with the washing hung out to dry, or along to some biblical looking little shop set back in the shadows, behind weathered wooden shutters where the remnants of paint are faded with sun and time.

We sailed in the early evening, the sun having just set behind the old hospital and the wind moderated to a gentle zephyr, well, in the harbour at least.

We had an excellent and comfortable run out from Southampton and across the Bay of Biscay down to Galicia, that suitably rugged and mountainous part of Spain that has Vigo as the regional capital. We entered the bay, large enough apparently, to take the combined fleets of the world, through its northern channel, meeting many fishing boats as we did so. The sun, rising over the city some five or six miles ahead, brought light to an amazing scene of seemingly millions of sea birds, following the boats for whatever scraps they could scavenge.

My wife and I joined the excursion that was to take the road down towards the Portuguese border and the historic town of Tui, which faces Valenca across the River Mino. Here the old iron railway and road bridge designed by Gustav Eiffel still carries traffic across the border today. We were dropped off close to the city centre and made our way on foot, passed the charming Thursday street market and up through the narrow streets to 12th century cathedral. Built of local granite the imposing building, from the outside at least, looks more like a castle than a church. Battlements were added after several invasions in order to protect the local folk who retreated there for protection.

Inside the cathedral is not only large, but has several chapels, all with their own heavily decorated altars, carved from wood, hand painted and gilded with gold leaf. To the side, cloisters surround a charming garden, while facing the river another small garden with two ancient orange trees looks out over the water towards Portugal. We made our way back through the market, where local ladies were still picking their way through minor mountains of everything from shoes to undergarments, and moved on to a local Parador to enjoy, after a little sales talk of course, a little local wine tasting.

By two in the afternoon we were back on board, the passengers no doubt off for a little sustenance before a few moments of repose while I returned to monitor a crew emergency drill. (Endeavouring, of course, to keep announcements and alarms to a minimum) We sailed on schedule, heading south and on towards the furthest reaches of the Mediterranean.

Leaving Tarragona and heading south towards the Straits of Gibraltar, the Saga Ruby continued to enjoy the sunshine as she ran before the wind. With force six winds prominent from astern and rough sea, the Saga Ruby made good time remaining steady throughout, leaving passengers largely unaware of the true condition of the sea. With relative wind speed effectively reduced to a force three due to the ships course, speed and no significant swell to cause the vessel to move, it was only the white horses upon the water’s surface that gave away any indication that it was anything other than a calm sunny day.

In the late afternoon, several hours before we reached the Straits of Gibraltar, we past the Saga Pearl II on her way to Civitavecchia. Passing less than half a mile away we sounded the whistle in salute. During our brief encounter, the passengers and crew filled the decks of each ship to wave to one another.

On the second sea day, after the nighttime transit through the Straits back out into the Atlantic Ocean, we saw a change to the sea state. The sea, now calmer, looked more in keeping with the sunny sky. Our passengers got to enjoy another day of the nice weather that had been with us since we’d entered the Mediterranean Sea over a week ago.

We arrived in Vigo Bay at 6am on the morning of the October 2. The Saga Ruby approached the pilot station under a star-filled sky. The sun wasn’t due to make an appearance until just after half-past eight. Once the pilot had boarded, the approach to the berth was straightforward and the ship was all tied up in good time ready for our passengers to proceed ashore to explore the city of Vigo.

The Galician city of Vigo, with its Moorish architecture, has rich history to capture the imagination and interest of our passengers.

During the Middle Ages, the small village of Vigo was part of the territory of Portuguese speaking neighbouring towns. Tui in particular suffered several Viking attacks. However, the number of inhabitants was so small that Vigo was not considered to be a real village until around the 15th century, when the earliest records began.

During the 16th and 17th centuries the city was attacked several times. In 1585 and 1589 Francis Drake raided the city and temporarily occupied it, leaving many buildings burnt. Several decades later a Turkish fleet tried to attack the city. As a result the walls of the city were built in 1656 during the reign of Philip IV of Spain. They are still partially preserved.

In 1702 the Battle of Vigo Bay occurred. In 1719, because a Spanish fleet which departed from Vigo attempted to invade Scotland in support of the Jacobites, the city was occupied for ten days by a British force.

In 1808 the French Army annexed Spain to the Napoleonic Empire, although Vigo remained unconquered until January 1809. Vigo was also the first city of Galicia to be freed from French rule in what is now celebrated as the Reconquista (reconquest from French in the context of the Peninsular War) on March 28, each year.

The Saga Ruby made ready to sail at 2 pm and she sounded the whistle in salute as we departed Vigo. The temperature was hotter than forecast and had risen to 28 degrees Celsius, providing perfect conditions for sailing through the bay of Vigo. Many passengers took the opportunity to enjoy a Sunday afternoon out in the un-seasonal October sunshine.

Entering the Atlantic between Cape Home and the Isle of Monte Agudo, the good weather looked to continue and provide a smooth crossing across the Bay of Biscay to conclude our cruise.