7th July 2022

No icebergs, whales or dolphins were spotted today. We’ve long since left the Arctic Circle behind, with only a handful of birds making use of the airflow from Ambience to help them on their way to who knows where. The sea is choppy, dotted with white horses, plenty to keep the dedicated naturalists guessing as they stand resolutely on Deck 14, gazing devotedly out to sea. A heavy mist and intermittent drizzle lingered all day.

News reached us that Boris has resigned as Prime Minister, yet it passed by almost unnoticed on board. There was no announcement to the largely British passenger list regarding this rather significant development. While BBC and Sky News are available in the cabins, we’ve heard no conversations among passengers about the resignation or its implications. The daily rhythm of entertainment, lectures, activities, and the steady intake of food and drink continues undisturbed. We are cocooned in a floating shell of steel, affected only by the weather and the swell. There’s no shipboard newspaper, just a single, double-sided sheet delivered nightly to the cabin, listing the next day’s activities, restaurant and bar opening times, and the evening dress code. The rest of the world may as well not exist.

A thought: In democracies, when leaders and politicians lie and mislead, they are eventually held to account by the people. When they are not, it is called Russia.

Yesterday, another case of COVID-19 emerged in our corridor, marked by the familiar red sterile bag of untouched food and cutlery placed outside a cabin door. One might assume that the prospect of isolation in a windowless room, with no balcony and only one film and two news channels on TV, would serve as a strong deterrent. Yet complacency appears to have set in. Fewer than half the passengers are now wearing masks. If they do catch the virus, like Boris, they will have no one to blame but themselves.

8th July 2022: Sea Day

Last night, the clocks went forward an hour once again, setting the tone for the day. Sea conditions were the calmest we’ve had in days, and on a few occasions, the sun even made a brief appearance through the clouds. I sleepily dragged myself to breakfast at 9 a.m., with Sue joining me a quarter of an hour later. Cruising isn’t for everyone; it can be surprisingly hard on both body and soul! We managed a couple of sluggish games of table tennis before settling into two back-to-back lectures. We returned to our cabin around noon and, instead of heading for lunch, opted for a much-needed nap (which, truth be told, lasted a bit longer than planned).

Over recent weeks, our guest polar explorers have recounted in vivid detail the many dangers and hardships they’ve endured: frostbite, encounters with polar bears, dramatic weight loss, and more. I’m sure by now they have developed a new understanding, and perhaps a quiet sympathy, for the trials of their fellow passengers: COVID-19, persistent seagulls, and the opposite problem of uncontrollable weight gain.

We eventually sat down to lunch at 1:30 p.m., followed by several guilty laps of the ship in the company of Dave and Sue, a couple we’ve shared a dining table with on several occasions, and whose names, for some reason, we’ve always managed to remember. With exercise complete and conscience eased, my Sue curled up with her book in a window seat while I returned to the cabin, cracked open a Greenlandic beer, and staved off sleep with an afternoon dose of Sky Sports.

Dinner brought a welcome reunion with two ladies we’d previously met during our Amazon trip in 2019. Like many on Ambience, they’ve cruised for years and rarely seem to spend much time back in the UK, save for their brief transitions between ships in Tilbury, Southampton or Liverpool.

As usual, we rounded off the evening with a show, a spirited take on My Fair Lady. Sue recalled, with some amusement, a memory from when she was eight years old: stuck at a dinner party and bored to tears as one of her parents’ friends insisted on playing the entire score. Now, in her sixties, she seemed far more appreciative of the performance.

9th July 2022: Sea Day

Today began with a leisurely breakfast followed by a gentle stroll around the deck before diving once again into the ship’s entertainment offerings. Sea and wind conditions were calm; the only motion came from a subtle starboard swell, occasionally catching the unwary on the stairs.

A thought: In light of the assassination of Japan’s former Prime Minister, one has to wonder why it is that national leaders who genuinely strive to improve the lives of their people, boost the economy, and are broadly seen as humanitarian figures, so often fall victim to assassination by their own citizens? Meanwhile, the tyrants and despots of this world seem to live out their days unscathed.

Catching Sky Sports in the cabin, I was pleased to see that England, Ireland, and Wales had all levelled their three-match Test series against southern hemisphere opposition, setting up what promises to be a superb weekend of rugby viewing at home next Saturday.

By late afternoon, a chilly drizzle had set in, accompanied by a dense mist that reduced visibility to under 100 metres. On a brief foray onto the aft sundeck, just outside our cabin, I was startled to find a lone, large, elderly lady reading a book while submerged in one of the two hot tubs. She appeared entirely unbothered by the weather. A truly gripping novel, or someone in need of a good psychiatrist? I opted not to exchange pleasantries and quickly retreated to the comparative sanity of the ship’s interior.

That evening was formal dress, dinner jackets required, for the gala meal. As is customary towards the end of a longer voyage, the evening concluded with the ‘International Crew Show’. Those crew members both willing and brave enough to share their talents were given a stage in the Theatre, with passengers as their audience. It proved to be a thoroughly entertaining evening, with most of the acts hailing from India, perhaps a reflection of the ship’s staffing profile. It was after midnight by the time we returned to our cabin, and for the first time in 18 days, our short visit to the aft deck took place in darkness. What happened to the midnight sun?