23rd March 2016

This morning, through our window on the world, we gazed out at a flat, calm sea. A few hundred metres away, a misty desert landscape slowly passed by, along with lane markers drifting aft. A variety of commercial ships lay at anchor, sliding into view as we readied ourselves for breakfast. We appear to be a special case, as a small tug accompanies us, busily attending to a task beyond my comprehension. It refuses to leave us, so someone must be footing the bill.

Breakfast was as bustling as the tug, with half-awake passengers keen to take on the first rations of the day before heading up on deck, cameras in hand, ready to capture more holiday snaps. I was no exception.

Up on deck, a serene atmosphere enveloped us as we glided down our channel of marker buoys, flanked by ships ahead and behind. I couldn’t help but wonder where we ranked in this crocodile of craft. The haze obscured any distant views, disappointing for amateur photographers, but I took a few shots anyway, just in case.

Satisfied with my camera work, I turned my attention to my fellow travellers. They too seemed at peace in this tranquil setting. For once, the usual noisy Tannoy blaring music for keep-fit classes was silent, no rhythmic bouncing to Adele today. The gentle drift along this warm and misty morning seemed to have calmed everyone’s soul.

It feels strange, then, that we are quietly navigating through a region of ongoing conflict. Perhaps the protagonists should take a sail?

Being British, of course, means we are born with a strong sense of responsibility and a moral understanding of right and wrong. This morning, Jessica, the English rep from Reading, was hosting a seminar below decks on the workings of our ship. Dutifully, we left the sunshine and magnificent scenery to spend twenty minutes in a darkened room, watching a video about how the ship operates. Unsurprisingly, when she asked for questions, there were none. With our British loyalty and character suitably demonstrated, we all made a quick dash back into the light.

By then, the haze had lifted, so out came the cameras, and more pixels were snapped. The scenery sliding past was full of surprises: fishermen in small boats frantically rowing for their lives as we passed within metres of them, trucks laden with sand honking their horns, and JCBs waving their hydraulic arms like mechanical cheerleaders.

The desert sands gradually gave way to lush, verdant farmland, which in turn led to villages and towns. Mosques, their minarets piercing the sky, were ever-present, ensuring that the call to Allah was never far from reach.

For the first time this trip, we joined the seals and walruses basking on the sun deck. Settling into two wicker chairs, we idled away the time in comfort, watching the Arabian theatre unfold before our eyes. We couldn’t help but feel a little dismayed at our fellow passengers, many of whom chose to bury their heads in books or simply doze.

We were joined by Aylo, brimming with news from Brussels and the atrocities perpetrated by a few misguided Islamists. Sadly, this beautiful country we are quietly sliding through faces similar problems.

Aylo also had an update on yesterday’s medical incident. It turns out the patient was indeed a 71-year-old from Brighton who had undergone a triple heart bypass just eight weeks ago. However, he isn’t a Brit. Born in Norway, he lived in Belgium before spending the last 16 years in the UK, likely for the NHS. A shame, really. I would have liked to pin this episode on the French.

We sat by the window for lunch, continuing to enjoy the ever-changing scenery. At one point, we passed beneath a bridge, and later, a railway line ran parallel to us. The highlight came when two trains sped past, providing a brief moment of excitement.

Back in the cabin, I noticed a pick-up truck keeping pace with us along the bank, some 100 metres away. A closer inspection through the binoculars revealed soldiers, armed with a heavy machine gun mounted on top and flying the Egyptian flag. Clearly, their presence was meant to deter anyone from attempting to attack the ship from the desert. That was a relief, none of us wants to encounter the dreaded black pennant of ISIS. It’s reassuring to know that the Egyptian authorities are actively protecting this tin can packed with European bait.

I spent the first part of the afternoon working out in the gym, which offered a spectacular view from the front of the ship, just beneath the first-class suites. We were travelling in a convoy of four vessels: the cruise ship ‘Aida’ led the way, followed by us in second position, with two container ships bringing up the rear. Meanwhile, Sue watched from on deck and later enjoyed another performance by last night’s South African singer, this time by the pool.

Our journey through the Suez Canal concluded as we reached Alexandria, where the ‘NeoRomantica’ emerged into the Mediterranean. The city itself lay too far in the distance for photographs, and the canal exit was marked only by a small lighthouse and a military encampment. The Mediterranean was flat calm, dotted with anchored ships patiently waiting their turn to join the southbound convoy.

I joined the afternoon quiz (on shadows) alone, as Sue was still on deck enjoying the entertainment. Afterwards, I went for tea, expecting to find her there. Disappointed at not seeing her, I consoled myself with a plateful of sandwiches. When I returned to the cabin, I found her there, sleeping peacefully.

Later, we received a letter, clearly linked to the shocking news from Brussels, informing us that we would no longer be stopping at Marmaris. Instead, we would dock in Rhodes. As we hadn’t booked any excursions in Turkey, this change wouldn’t disrupt our plans.

During our evening meal, we observed a minute’s silence for those killed in Brussels. As a further mark of respect, all entertainment on the ship was cancelled. It was a small gesture, but one that seemed fitting to support the Belgian passengers on board, some of whom may have had relatives affected by the events. I imagine the few Muslim passengers among us are feeling awkward, themselves victims of the ruthless and evil organisation that holds so little regard for life.

After a sombre meal, we took our now-customary turn around the deck. Unusually, we found ourselves entirely alone tonight. Back in the cabin, we finished off last night’s game of Scrabble before retiring to bed. Sadly, not everyone will be so lucky this evening.