Back on the ship I stood on the aft deck a while, watching boats enter and leave the harbour, birds sitting watching them too. I found coffee, retrieved my camera and book from my cabin and went to the deck below the aft deck, a secluded balcony, shade and solitude. I read little, my camera getting a good workout, boats and birds and paragliders.

Above were large birds, my brain demands I call them frigate birds but also kept telling me they’re not. I’ll find out when I get home and look at the pictures on a large screen. (I found out at the next port, courtesy of the Internets. They are.) Below the pelicans were sat preening, more arriving from time to time, their flight a gentle low level flap followed by a wave top glide, elegance belying their chubby chins.

Puerto Vallarta is relaxed for a tourist town, although 8am tends to be quite relaxed in most places. The flat sea, deep bay, annual humpack whale visits, constant sunshine and cheap food make it unsurprising that it’s a popular holiday destination. It does though continue that strange duality I encountered on my previous visit to Mexico, a sordid facade for American tourists hiding a nice country that’s worth searching out.

Dinner in the main dining room, no queue to get in but we were put on the last available table and they seemed to have run out of waiters. It took half an hour to even take our orders and seven of the nine people on the table skipped dessert as two hours was already quite long enough for dinner. I had the Carne Asada, the ‘regionally influenced’ dish. It seems regional influences extend as far as ‘add a quarter of a folded taco to last night’s beef’.

I skipped the evening performance, some bloke doing Lionel Richie impressions. If Lionel himself had boarded the ship I’d have skipped him, happy to have a quiet night in. It became a long night, well past 1.30am when I went to find some water, found the ship deserted, had every open air decks entirely to myself. I used them to watch the dark waves churning by the side of the ship, white froth strangely only starting a third of the way from the bow to the stern, on both sides. Small birds, silver in the reflected light pollution, flew alongside, slowly overtaking the ship then dropping back 40 yards, starting again. Two on the left, occasionally meeting up in the air before separating again, but I could only see one on the other side.

It’s easy to see why people jump overboard. The water is very alluring, the darkness hiding imperfections, just the languid waves mesmerising and inviting. I resisted them, the lights in Mexico too many miles away for a night time swim and anyway, there are probably sharks. I quite like sharks, when I’m not in water.

At 2.30am I was ready for bed, 10km of wear on my knees needing recovery, would already be under the covers and reading my book if I hadn’t stopped to share the joyful emptiness of the ship. I should sleep, need to get my body off New Zealand time.