13th August  2021

A wayward journey to Liverpool.

With our bags packed the night before and all essentials accounted for, we enjoyed a leisurely breakfast and shower before loading the suitcases into the car, setting the house alarm, and heading northeast. The previous afternoon, I had entered the address of our hotel (Campanile) into the TomTom and saved it under Favourites. Just before departure, I tapped the name on the satnav screen, watched the route load, and off we went.

Also saved in my list of Favourites is Caergwrle, inconveniently located directly beneath the Campanile. A valuable lesson was learnt: always wear your reading glasses when dealing with important details and tapping away on a screen! Yes, you’ve guessed it, we ended up near my mother’s bench, beautifully situated beneath the castle in Caergwrle.

We had both expressed mild surprise at the route, but we didn’t question it too much as it was taking us northeast and generally towards Liverpool. After a few bemused shrugs and a little head-shaking, I tapped the correct Favourite, and we were finally en route to our actual destination. You have to laugh!

Our revised journey took us under the Mersey via the tunnel. What a delight it was to plunge steeply down into the bowels of the Earth, travel smoothly beneath the riverbed, and then emerge sharply into the daylight once more. An absolute bargain at £1.80, and I was sorely tempted to do a U-turn and enjoy it all over again! Those commuting from Birkenhead to Liverpool are truly fortunate to have such an experience as part of their daily routine.

We found our hotel without too much difficulty and, although it was too early to check in, we parked the car and went for a wander. To our relief, we discovered that from the hotel we could clearly see the location where we were due to park up the following afternoon for our Covid test, it was just a couple of minutes away. No need for the TomTom this time!

We spent a couple of hours mingling with the bustling crowd of tourists along the waterfront, strolling all the way down to the Cruise Terminal, where, with any luck, the Borealis will be docked tomorrow, and we’ll be allowed to board.

Back at the Campanile, we relaxed with a coffee in our room until early evening, then crossed the road for a meal at the KFC. Afterwards, we took another stroll along the Mersey, this time heading upstream through a more residential area, before returning to the hotel and settling in for the night.

14th August 2021  A Tortuous Bolearis Boarding.

A full English breakfast is the only sensible way to begin a busy day of travelling, especially when you’re unsure when the next meal might appear, and the hotel delivered a very substantial spread, setting us up perfectly for what turned out to be a day of queueing.

The second task of the day was to log in to the Icelandic Immigration website: we had to create an account, prove we were double vaccinated, verify our identity by text message, receive a barcode by email, and save it. Surprisingly, the whole process went smoothly, helped no doubt by the hotel’s impressively fast internet connection.

Our check-in for the ship had been scheduled for 2.30 pm, so we had the morning to make use of, and with Liverpool Cathedral clearly visible from our hotel window, it seemed the obvious choice for a visit. A 20-minute meander up a steep hillside, through a mix of residential streets and light industrial buildings, brought us face to face with what, on first impression, looked like an enormous monstrosity, grime-darkened and architecturally somehow ‘not quite right’.

As if to echo our thoughts, we spotted a family of Harry Potter enthusiasts posing outside for photos, clearly recognising something of Hogwarts in its dramatic, if slightly foreboding, presence.

It just goes to show, first impressions can sometimes be wrong! Entrance to the cathedral was free, and on emerging from the gloomy drizzle outside, we were greeted by a shaft of brilliance that stretched from the lofty roof almost to the floor. It was created by a myriad of white streamers, suspended and illuminated by spotlights, utterly inspired. Nicely done, Mr Architect, the interior of your building is quite something. I imagine the aim was to evoke a sense of space and awe, and it achieves that in bucketloads.

Sue had visited the cathedral in her teenage years and was keen to explore every nook and cranny, sharing her memories with me along the way. She even persuaded one of the ecclesiastical staff on duty to check the ‘Big Book’ of war remembrances to see if a relative of hers was listed; sadly, no luck there.

It was still drizzling as we made our way back to the hotel. After checking out, we joined the throng of Saturday day-trippers down by the waterfront until it was time to return to the car and drive the short distance to the cruise car park. With the porters kindly taking care of our luggage, we parked up and took a short stroll to the Liverpool Arena, where we joined the first of many queues that would mark the start of our embarkation process.

Our first wait involved showing and verifying all the documents we’d painstakingly gathered over the past couple of weeks. Once through, we took a Lateral Flow Test, followed by just over an hour of sitting in orderly rows, waiting to be medically cleared to board. Not all in the vast room made it further. A gentleman who sat nervously a couple of metres away from me was approached by a couple of crew members who quietly requested that he take another test, then escorted him away. A few moments later, another crew member wearing gloves took his chair away. We did not see him again.

The predicted 10-minute bus ride to the ship turned into a 40-minute crawl, thanks to the joys of 5 pm Scouse traffic. Fortunately, we were at the front of the next queue and, after another round of paperwork checks, were finally issued with our cabin cards and Track & Trace bands. At long last, at 6 pm, we boarded. Hoorah!

Our cases were already waiting for us in the cabin, and we were keen to grab a coffee and begin exploring the ship’s facilities. Hot refreshments were soon found in one of the restaurants, and after locating the theatre, shops and other key landmarks, we returned to the cabin to do the necessary unpacking and to work through the various pieces of literature provided to ensure a safe and enjoyable voyage.

A short foray out onto the decks proved interesting, despite the increasingly murky and wet weather as we left the Mersey estuary and entered the Irish Sea. Unsurprisingly, very few souls were braving the elements out there. We came across a lone elderly gentleman deep in conversation with a crew member. Sue suddenly stopped and said to the man that she recognised him, and she did! Although he couldn’t place us, he had indeed been aboard the Magellan with us nearly two years ago, steaming down the Amazon. Sue does have an exceptional memory for faces.

By pure good fortune, the crew member with him happened to be in charge of the lifeboat drill for our muster station, and checked us off his list there and then. We hadn’t even realised we were standing at our designated lifeboat station!

Later, casually dressed for our 8.30 pm dinner sitting, we were shown to Table 60 in the Aurora Restaurant, located at the stern of the ship. We sat as a pair, socially distanced from other guests, necessary, if a little sad. Terrifyingly, partway through the meal, Sue’s Track & Trace band began to flash intermittently. A little while later, mine did too.

We were suddenly gripped by concern. What did this mean? Were we about to be summoned? Had something gone wrong? Determined to finish our meal before reporting ourselves, we discreetly hid our wrists under the table. But then, glancing around, I noticed the same flashing on several other diners’ bands. With palpable relief, we realised it was normal after all. Phew!

Our evening entertainment was courtesy of a Yorkshire comedian performing in the Jupiter Theatre, very amusing, though we discovered an unexpected drawback to those randomly flashing Track & Trace bands: in a darkened theatre, they’re quite the distraction. I spent most of the show with one hand discreetly covering my wrist like some sort of covert agent.

The ship normally accommodates around 1,600 passengers and 600 crew, but we were told there were only about 700 cruisers on board for this inaugural foreign sailing to Iceland. It certainly showed in the number of empty seats and restaurant tables, plenty of space to stretch out. Being the first cruise ship allowed back into Iceland since the pandemic, the authorities were understandably cautious. The rules were strict:

• You could only disembark the ship if on an organised excursion.

• Masks were mandatory throughout the tour.

• No purchases could be made ashore.

• Leaving a tour group for any reason meant 10 days of isolation, either in your cabin or onshore.

It was clear Iceland had experienced significant disruption to its tourist industry. Many workers had moved on to other jobs or were simply reluctant to mix with foreign visitors again. Fair enough. We were fortunate to have arranged our excursions the previous week; many passengers who’d planned to book once on board were left disappointed.

15th August 2021 – A Welcome Day at Sea (Our First in 18 Months)

We took breakfast in one of the buffet restaurants and were immediately impressed by the clever setup. After passing through a nifty automatic hand-washing machine, we followed a strict one-way system along the buffet, pointing to our selections as staff plated them up for us. Hopefully, this will help prevent me from overindulging, especially since I’d already ruled out visiting the gym on this trip. COVID-19 precautions, of course… not laziness at all.

We spent our first full day at sea indulging in the activities we enjoy most: informative lectures in the theatre, quizzes in the bars, and long stints at the windows, hoping for a glimpse of wildlife. At lunchtime, we found ourselves in cheerful conversation with a couple from Scotland seated nearby. It was heartening to discover that, even with a bit of raised volume for social distancing, Covid still hasn’t robbed us of the simple pleasure of a good chat.

The evening dress code was formal. It felt a little strange donning proper glad rags again; it’s been such a long while. But there we were, all suited and booted. As I reached into my jacket pocket, I pulled out an old bar bill from the Magellan. That crumpled slip of paper made us both smile, triggering a happy flurry of memories from our last cruise.

Normally, the first formal night includes the ritual photo with the Captain before dinner, but the pandemic had seen to the end of that tradition. Instead, we were offered a glass of champagne at our table and a brief speech from the Captain delivered from the far end of the dining room. Not quite the same, but appreciated nonetheless.

We rounded off the night well after midnight in the theatre, watching the ship’s resident singers and dancers perform a lively medley of popular musicals. It was polished, energetic, and left us humming tunes all the way back to our cabin.

16th August 2021 – A Rather Choppy Sea Day

We were at breakfast by 7.30 am, then out braving the elements on a blustery, undulating deck 3 by 8.30. A mile, we’d learned, was just 3.5 laps of the deck, so with arms linked and a determined pace, we marched four times around. We passed a hardy cluster of birdwatchers near the bow, peering through binoculars and scanning for skuas darting low over the cold, grey North Atlantic swell.

With our ears thoroughly chilled and a few calories respectably burned, we retreated into the warmth and set about the day’s real business: lectures, quizzes, and the blissful cocoon of shipboard life.

Further laps of the Bolearis took place in between the activities that kept us busy throughout the day, on each foray onto the decks, the sea and sky seemed darker and more turbulent; there was a bitterly cold gale, whistling along the decks. Annoyingly, there were reports and photos taken of a breaching sperm whale seen on the port side, unfortunately, not during one of our ‘refreshing’ trips to the deck.

The evening’s entertainment was provided by an amazing magician, one of those rare performers who blends sleight of hand with just the right amount of wit. We spent the entire show half-laughing, half-trying to figure out how on earth he did it. It was the perfect end to a blustery day, and once again, we found ourselves heading back to the cabin well after midnight for another satisfying pillow squash.

Despite all the buzz of activity on board, it’s hard to shake the eerie sense that we might have accidentally boarded the Mary Celeste. With so few passengers, empty seats abound in the theatre, the restaurants have entire sections closed off, and there’s never a queue at the lifts. Great for comfort, a little strange for atmosphere. Still, there’s a certain charm in having the run of the ship; it feels like a very well-staffed private yacht at times.