9th January 2020

It has always seemed best to start a New Year as you mean to go on, and this one is no exception. In previous years, too many to count, we have embarked on one travel adventure or another in January. Last year, it was a cruise to Australia via the Panama Canal, and this year, we are attempting to make up for a missed opportunity from two years ago when we had to abandon a trip to the Amazon due to Sue’s illness.

So, on the 8th of January, we caught the 8:45 am train to St Pancras Station, London, followed by a taxi to the cruise terminal at Tilbury Docks. Apart from a minor issue locating the pick-up point with our driver, the journey to our ship for the 42-day round trip to the Brazilian rainforest went smoothly. At the usually lengthy and thorough check-in, for some reason, we were waved through security and document checks without having to join the long queue of fellow case-laden passengers. Slightly bemused and wondering whether we had been mistaken for Harry and Meghan (easily done), we were even more surprised to find that the luggage whisked away from us as we stepped out of the taxi had already been delivered to our cabin. Perhaps I had misjudged who the crew thought we were, surely not Elizabeth and Philip (do we really look that old?)

As seasoned cruisers, we made our first stop at the buffet restaurant to take on some essential calories before heading to the ship’s library, where Sue wasted no time in grabbing a pile of the best novels before the less fleet of foot could find them. Afterwards, we explored the ship, prioritising those areas essential for our enjoyment of the voyage. We were pleased to find that the main theatre was well designed, offering good views from every seat. This had not been the case on our last ship, where securing a decent spot required strategic positioning well before showtime. No such issue here, we could arrive late without worry. That evening’s entertainment was a medley of songs and dances performed by the resident singers and dance troupe, supported by the ship’s orchestra. Not a bad start.

We prefer to dine formally in the evening and had opted for the second sitting on a table of eight, though we were quite happy to be allocated a table of six, especially as everyone actually turned up (which isn’t always the case). Our fellow diners are Barry and June from Bicester and Ken and Chris, British ex-pats living in Spain. As usual, everyone was keen to get to know each other, and on the whole, it seemed like a good mix, though Barry appeared a little eccentric. Hopefully, he won’t put my diplomatic skills to the test too much; it’s early days yet.

After a quiet and stable night’s sleep, we awoke in the drizzly Dutch port of Rotterdam, Europe’s largest. After breakfast, we made our way onto the first complimentary shuttle bus into the city centre. Keen to see the famous ‘Cube Houses’ situated next to the impressive indoor market, we discovered that the one house open to visitors didn’t admit guests until 11 am. To pass the time, we wandered around the market, its vast internal arched ceiling covered in a striking mural. The roof itself housed apartments, with small internal windows peeking through the surreal scene of shrubbery and fruit. From the outside, apart from their sloped and elevated position, the apartments appeared more traditional, but I imagine they offer stunning views over the city.

We continued passing the time by meandering through the surrounding shopping district in search of a bow tie, which I had forgotten to bring, and my dinner jacket wouldn’t look the same without it. Eventually, just as the clock struck 11, we found one.

Returning to the ‘Cube House’, we climbed the ridiculously steep stairs and paid our two euros each to a rather bored-looking young woman sitting at a desk in the corner of what I suppose was the lounge. A few other visitors had arrived that morning, but with only one bedroom, this tilted, dice-shaped house perched on a concrete trunk was not large and probably couldn’t accommodate more than half a dozen tourists at a time. Built in 1982, there are 38 houses in total, with an asking price of 320,000 euros. The place is unique, looks absurd, is architecturally cutting-edge, and would be an intriguingly fascinating place to live. You have to mind your head on the sloping walls and accept that there’s no way to clean the crazily angled windows; you simply have to wait for a storm to wash away the city grime. If I had to live in the Netherlands, I couldn’t think of a more perfect place!

Our next port of call was the city’s oldest harbour, home to the Maritime Museum. This area still retains a touch of its historic character, with remnants of old ships now converted into waterside hotels and restaurants, permanently moored alongside the cobbled dock.

After paying the entrance fee (with no reduction for the aged), we first tackled the interactive Oil Rig experience. As authentically as possible, we were whisked onto the deck of a North Sea oil rig, where we had to perform several simulated tasks to illustrate life in such a hazardous environment. It was absolutely absorbing, an innovative exhibition, loads of fun, and highly educational.

Next, we took a simulated elevator ride to the bottom of the sea to witness the work carried out beneath the platforms. The 3D holographic displays were the most surreal and believable I have ever seen, utterly convincing, from a little crab crawling over a tool kit to a deep-sea diver welding a pipe. Not to mention the sudden appearance of a shark or whale. It truly has to be seen to be believed!

After leaving the museum, we explored a few of the dockside exhibits before stopping at a nearby supermarket to pick up several Dutch beers for later consumption on the ship.

Returning to the Magellan by shuttle bus, we quickly slipped back into routine: eat, rest, watch a show (an ABBA tribute), eat, sleep.

We left the port a couple of hours later than scheduled due to a late bulk delivery of essential food supplies. We wouldn’t want to starve, would we? Especially with two sea days ahead!