11th February 2019

On our second sea day, we had crossed yet another time zone, granting us an extra hour in bed, our eleventh change so far. From the comfort of our cabin, we could see on the bow camera that water was streaming across the lens, a sure sign of heavy rain. Up until now, we had been blessed with excellent sea and weather conditions, so I suppose a downpour was inevitable at some point. However, by the time we emerged from breakfast, the sky had brightened, the rain had vanished, and the only lingering effect was a rather clammy atmosphere on deck.

With this in mind, we decided to shake up our usual routine and head up to Deck 13 for a game of table tennis in what was possibly the coolest room on the ship. That was the plan, at least, but it was soon scuppered by what appears to be an inbred national trait, one that I suspect has, on occasion, led to full-scale conflict.

We first checked that the room was empty, then went to reception to collect the bats and balls. However, they had already been taken. No matter, we returned to the table tennis room, expecting to find it occupied. It was still deserted. Puzzled, we waited a while before heading back to reception, where we were informed that the equipment had been signed out at 9 am, just before we had arrived. A series of repeated visits between reception and the playing area ensued, along with phone calls by the staff to the rooms of the miscreants. Yet still, no one appeared to play.

At 11:20 am, we finally found the culprits. There were seven of them, four engaged in a game of doubles, with three waiting their turn. As seasoned Brits, well-acquainted with the sight of hotel pools lined with sun loungers “reserved” by towels since the night before, it was no great shock to discover that they were German. To be fair, I hadn’t realised they had branched out into this particular brand of petty territorialism, but that did not stop me from offering them the benefit of what I consider to be good, sound advice.

We left in silence, a point made.

We had noticed during the morning news update from the bridge a certain hesitancy in the weather report, which suggested that all might not be well. That evening, during a formal dinner, our meal was interrupted by an announcement over the PA system from the captain, informing us that a storm lay in our path to Tonga, making docking at the port too dangerous. Instead, we would continue to New Zealand, calling at the Bay of Islands as an alternative. It’s a very picturesque part of the country, Jamie and I visited it on our road trip to the North Island, so we shall wait and see whether any excursions are organised or if it will be a ‘DIY’ stop.

From the information displayed on our cabin TV, we could see our revised course to avoid the weather system, and it looks as though we have quite a few more sea days ahead before reaching New Zealand. Overnight, there was a noticeable increase in the swell, causing the ship to roll, though not enough to make walking on deck difficult. Thankfully, Sue has not suffered from the usual seasickness of past cruises; she finally seems to have found her sea legs! Missing out on Nuku Hiva was disappointing, and so was skipping Tonga, but as the captain rightly said, our safety is paramount, and we can always return another time. That Tongan rugby shirt I had hoped to buy will just have to wait; there are greater hardships in life than missing a shopping trip!

The sun is shining, the sea is a deep blue, the entertainment team are top-notch, and the food is first-class, so really, what’s to complain about?