13th March 2013

As we weren’t due to dock in Fortaleza until noon, we allowed ourselves the luxury of a late breakfast. At 9 am, we sauntered into the restaurant at the rear of the ship, smug in the knowledge that we had hours before disembarkation. According to Today (the ship’s indispensable daily newspaper), excursions and independent passengers alike could leave the vessel from 1 pm. Our plan was modest but purposeful: venture into town, shop a little, and spend the remaining R$160 burning a hole in our pockets.

On the way back to our cabin, we bought shuttle bus tickets to the city centre from one of the ship’s automated machines. Upon arrival at the cabin, we were greeted by two startled maintenance men mid–shower investigation. They leapt out as though we’d caught them red-handed, promising to return later (which, to their credit, they did). Our cabin steward had reported that our shower drained too slowly, though we’d never noticed. Regardless, we are now the proud owners of a brand-new shower unit and curtain. Nothing like a surprise bathroom refit at sea.

We spent a little time sunning ourselves on the top deck, but the heat soon drove us back to the cabin, where I checked my emails and discovered it was snowing heavily in the UK. Naturally, I couldn’t resist sending the family a smug photo of the idyllic island we’d visited yesterday.

The library then lured us in for a spot of reading before a light lunch. From there, we watched the ship dock with the excitement of children waiting for the school bell.

By 1 pm, we were poised on Deck 0, ready to disembark. By 1:40, however, we were still trapped in the corridor with a swelling crowd of fellow passengers, pressed in like sardines while the lifts continued to disgorge yet more bewildered souls into the mêlée. The heat rose, tempers frayed, and communication was non-existent until finally an announcement was made, in Italian. The reaction was theatrical: loud voices, furious gesturing, and the sort of collective hand-flapping that suggested a national sport. From my limited grasp of the language, I gathered that something was amiss at sea.

Sure enough, as we trudged back to our cabin, an English announcement finally clarified matters: sea conditions were too rough to disembark safely, excursions were cancelled, and we would be setting sail for Tenerife instead. Refunds all round. Later, we learned that while lowering the gangplank, one unfortunate crew member had been crushed and taken to the hospital. We fervently hope he makes a full recovery.

Naturally, to drown our sorrows, we did the only sensible thing: ate another meal. Shocking, isn’t it? To ease the guilt, we walked off the excess with a shuffle around the decks. By the time we collapsed back into the library, we were quite worn out with all this consoling.

Later came coffee, accompanied by a panini or three (possibly four, I lost count). At sunset, we ventured onto the deck, but the view was uninspiring: no land, no clouds, just the Atlantic stretching endlessly. A solitary yacht, tossed about by the waves, caught our binocular-assisted attention. We marvelled at how those early explorers dared to cross this endless expanse. Over the next six days, we were about to find out just how endless it is.

For dinner, we executed our plan with military precision: arrive ten minutes early, plant ourselves at the restaurant doors, and secure seats at the far end of the table. Result: Mr Old Spice was confined to the opposite end, sparing my nasal passages from another evening’s assault. Bliss.

The entertainment, happily, redeemed the day. The theatre production, The Enchanted Castle, combined Italian dance, drama, and music in a performance that would not have looked out of place in the West End. It was simply superb, one of those shows you wish you could watch again, though sadly we’ll only see it once.

The evening ended with us crossing a time zone, clocks moving forward an hour. One step closer to Tenerife, and a day further into our adventure.