Another day, another 5am wake up call from.. well, whatever the hell it is.
That’s not strictly true. I woke up ten minutes before that, last night’s late water demanding an exit. Instead of going back to bed I ended up lying across it, and that’s when things got interesting.
The 5am sound was different at that angle. Maybe because I was further from the wall, perhaps less interference from other sound sources. I could tell a distinct ‘start->run->stop’ cycle. This continued for around quarter of an hour until the cycle didn’t complete. Start. Run. Kept running.
I showered, dressed and before 5.30am was six decks deeper into the ship chatting to a rather lovely young lady from Guest Services. We had a conversation about these strange sounds and she’s promised action. She just doesn’t know what the action might be.
She had a deck plan that shows that above me there aren’t staterooms. It’s all air conditioning units, possibly for the whole ship. My guess is that one of these is scheduled to start at 5am and keeps failing, then automatically retrying until it succeeds. It might be fixable. She’s the one that acknowledged that it might not, and said that in that case they’d be in touch with other possible options.
So maybe I’ll actually get a night’s sleep at some point on this cruise.
By then it was past dawn so I grabbed my camera and went out on deck. We were passing a headland, the sort with a 100 foot Jesus on it. Half a mile down the coast another statue, this one halfway up a hill, probably a Buddha of some form.
The entrance to the river was crowded, unladen ships clustered around, waiting for the tide. One container ship actually reversed out of our way, the buoys marking a safe channel barely wider than our ship. As the headland faded I saw the sun over an industrial city and took some photographs that struggled to capture its iridescent red.
Entering the river we found it lined with commercial docks, cranes as far as the eye can see. We’ve stopped at one of them, the next vessel unloading grain or some other loose cargo. Or maybe loading, I’m not sure. Another ship at right-angles was sat idle, the crew lounging on the gangway by the bridge, one of them swinging in a hammock.
Beyond the port is exactly what we’d been promised: Nothing. Bare scrubland, no hills or trees, not even signs of agriculture.
The other side of the ship had a mangrove forest. I have no idea if they’re actually mangroves but they were definitely trees growing on land only visible at low tide, the roots the only thing holding the mud in place. That would be interesting to visit, for the first 50 yards until you get lost and realise how filthy you’re getting and will get trying to get back out. The option isn’t there, a river is in the way and not one I fancy swimming.
At breakfast I found one of last night’s singers serving freshly made waffles. I waved an upraised thumb at him, confessed that I’d enjoyed it and asked him to thank his friends for me. He seemed taken aback and delighted, surprised perhaps that I’d even watched. An old lady asked him how it had gone, clearly engaged enough to know it was happening and that he was taking part but not enough to actually see it. I think I did it the better way around.
An Irishman sat with me at breakfast, started discussing his work. Something to do with plastics, his meandering conversation assuming a level of materials science and interest that I perhaps lacked. It devolved into the usual tale of communication breakdowns between management and staff, and a sizeable court award that I couldn’t tell went for or against his company.
Back in the stateroom I looked at the ship’s location to see what the map showed. It showed that we’re grounded some way from water, which was a bit of a surprise.
I think the map is wrong, with the main river channel shown not stopping above the text ‘Itinerary is Subject to Change’ but instead continuing in that loop down and to the Southwest, and that our ship is on the edge of the river directly above the word ‘Change’. In which case there’s a town about 3-5km to the North which is further than I’m intending to walk today.
I did get 2km from the gate into the port. By then I’d reached the far end of the port on one side of the road, and the far end of the same construction site on the other. Nothing else in sight, except a bridge being built in the distance. Looks like it’s reclaimed land, everything flat, no previous land use or buildings.
I did see two new businesses, set up under ragged tarpaulin by the road. They had hammocks slung that the construction workers could hire for a break, a chance to lie down off the ground in the heat. Both had a couple of customers when I walked past.
A third cluster of tarpaulin had people living in it, a whole family with a three year old boy, his pet dog, the dog’s puppies (still feeding from their mother) and numerous chickens running loose on the verge, pecking away at the rough grass and sand there. It didn’t look a good place to bring up a child, no food or water sources anywhere in sight and the only company the vehicles passing on the port road.
It was interesting to walk through a working container port. house sized tractors picking up shipping containers and moving them past. The locals seemed to love having visitors, I was happily greeted by the people running the hammocks, the poeple in the hammocks, the port security team, the dock workers, the family with the chickens and a fireman who hung out of the window of the firetruck to ‘hello’ me as it drove past. Unlike Morocco and China nobody harassed me or tried to sell me anything, even the taxi drivers at the port gate inquiring if I wanted their services then stepping away after I declined.
Back on the ship I ended up taking a hot shower to cool down, followed by an unscheduled batch of laundry. It wasn’t just the heat, a wind had blown the sand from the construction site across me as I walked leaving me covered in, well, sand.
Lying in my dark cabin feeling terrible I tried to make up for the 5am start but too much caffeine in the morning had left me too chemically imbalanced to claw back the lost sleep. So some pizza and a crap film felt appropriate.
Checking the news and apparently the big thing going on is a football match in, erm, Milton Keynes. Because of course that’s where Brazil and Cameroon would hold an international. Hmm.
Hmm. Milton Keynes. Of course.
Late afternoon a knock at the door. I opened it to find a short smiling chap called Albert. He’d come to discuss the noise that was waking me at 5am. It’s a steam pipe and they must have failed to silence it because an hour later I’m ensconced in a new stateroom on the floor below. Slightly further aft too, but not so much to cause distress.
The room is very similar to the previous one. The main differences are a connecting door to presumably the next stateroom (that I can’t lock) and the coat hooks I was using on the wall in the other room missing from this one. I used my hook magnets instead, and they’re doing sterling service. I’ve also re-rigged the washing line in the bathroom, not least because I had to transfer my still wet clothes to the new cabin. This was easily done by dropping them into the big blue laundry bag I brought with me, as it’s waterproof and indeed was explicitly brought for this type of thing.
The other curious difference is that I didn’t get provided with beach towels in this room. I hadn’t used the ones in the other room either (the other three cruises will get good use from them, rather than this one) but it could lead to awkward conversations if they decide that a lack of towels means I’ve chosen to take them home with me, and seek to charge me.
Albert also raised the subject of compensation for my disturbed sleep through the first half of the cruise. Having raised it he pushed the question to me, to see what I thought would be appropriate. Generously I allowed him to open by asking what he would normally offer in this situation. Apparently he didn’t want to offer me a dinner in the Pinacle Grill ($35 supplement for a steak) because I’m a solo traveller and it would be inappropriate to expect me to dine alone, so did I perhaps drink wine? Rather than negotiate the wine into vodka I have instead (during a sea day) complimentary internet access, so I’ll finally be able to update the travelogue and get some proper news regarding the cricket.
The only outstanding issues are the utter certainty that I’m going to forget which cabin I’m in, and I have no idea who is looking after me in this new cabin. I’m fairly sure Alex and Acep do a corridor on a deck so wont also be doing this corridor on this deck. I also have new neighbours but didn’t know who the last lot were anyway, and a new lifeboat station if it all goes wrong. The new one is easier to get to than the old one and I start a deck closer, so survival rates are now slightly higher.
The consistent factor in all of this is that I’m still tired. Well, that and the admittedly excellent customer service that’s been ever present throughout the cruise. While I greatly resent the $13.50/day service charge, the service itself gives no grounds at all to challenge it.
Dinner choices this evening were terribly uninspiring so a simple steak in the Lido had to suffice.
After dinner I spent three hours determined not to fall asleep. I think in practice that ended up meaning not falling asleep for more than 2-3 minutes at a time, a dozen times. A quick walk and some water at 10pm and I retired back to the cabin instead of watching us cast off. I’d just looked out at the river and it’s dark, the bright lights of the port (and the ship) overwhelming and making it impossible to see anything, unless you include happy little bats flitting through the night picking off the insects attracted by those bright lights.
Having lost the evening to tiredness that brief stroll didn’t wake me up at all. Over 8km walked didn’t feel so much so it’s the lack of sleep overnight that’s done me in. Time to rectify that, see if I can sleep past 5am for the first time all cruise.
Bonus picture: The Lido dinner menu:
