24th February 2023

Although already familiar with the routine of sea days aboard the Crown Princess, we still woke early and joined the other early birds for breakfast.

The sea was fairly rough, and the ship moved unpredictably at times. While walking around the decks posed no real difficulty, using the stairways required a firm grip on the handrails. During the morning, we managed a couple of blustery laps around Deck 7, but by the afternoon, the bow section had been cordoned off due to a fierce crosswind.

Meanwhile, on the US mainland, a winter storm was sweeping across California and several Midwestern states, bringing heavy snowfall, and we were heading straight into it.

That evening was a formal night, and for the first time in a couple of days, we chose to dine in the Da Vinci restaurant. Afterwards, we attended a performance in the theatre by one of the ship’s instrumentalists.

25th February 2023: Sea Day

Yesterday, Sue complained of a sore throat, and today she woke with a headache. I, too, had a tickly throat and a blocked nose. We decided it was best to have a quiet day.

After a very late breakfast, we attended a lecture on volcanoes in the theatre, followed by coffee, and then returned to the cabin for a nap. We woke at 2.30 p.m., had lunch at the buffet, and once again headed back to the cabin for another rest.

Both feeling much better by the evening, we dressed for dinner at 7 p.m., then sat in one of the lounges playing cards before returning to the buffet for a light meal.

On our way to the theatre for the evening show, we stopped by the casino so that Sue could gamble the two quarters she had in loose change on the Baccarat machine.
Amazingly, she won $7.50 and declared she would return the following day, convinced she was on the verge of making her fortune.

The show itself was a colourful song-and-dance affair, though the main entertainment came from the couple seated in front of us, clearly on the brink of divorce and likely to file the moment we dock in LA.

26th February 2023:  Sea Day

We woke late again, feeling much better and refreshed after our lazy, sleep-filled day. Emerging onto the deck, we were greeted by a bright but noticeably chillier day than those before.

After breakfast, Sue attended a lecture on Hula dancing, while I opted to stay in the cabin and watch France versus Scotland on TV, a brilliant match, with the Scots unfortunate not to come out on top.

The afternoon followed our now-familiar routine: brisk walks around the deck, card and board games, and a film. On previous cruises, we’ve often joined organised quizzes and clubs, but this time we’re content with a more relaxed pace; perhaps it’s an age thing.

We’ve not yet reached the level of those who seem to alternate between sun loungers, meals, and naps in an endless cycle, but we can see how easy it would be to slip into that rhythm.

The evening show was a wonderfully clever and genuinely funny performance by Canadian ventriloquist Don Bryan. He had me, and much of the audience, in tears of laughter at times.

27th February 2023: Sea Day

Rising late for breakfast is becoming something of a habit.
The sea was calm, the sun shone from a clear sky, and although there was a chill in the wind, we were glad of our decision to wear fleeces.

During each circuit of the deck, we paused to watch a solitary seabird making use of the ship’s updraft, swooping and hovering alongside before arrowing down into the waves, creating a flash of froth and bubbles as it snapped up its unsuspecting prey. Each time, bar once, it surfaced with a fish in its beak, threw back its head, and swallowed it whole.

According to the captain’s morning announcement, we were still 700 miles from the coast of Mexico, quite a distance to travel just for breakfast!

The rest of the day passed with our usual preferred activities. There’s something comforting about slipping into a routine, free from decisions or demands. That said, when one’s brain isn’t fully engaged, and on a ship of this size, it’s easy to end up retracing your steps after mistakenly going up instead of down, or aft instead of forward. Mildly annoying, perhaps, but a good way to burn a few extra calories.

Lunch became unexpectedly engaging when we were joined by an American mother and daughter. The mother, a sprightly 94-year-old, explained that both had long been ardent Republicans, until Trump’s election. His handling of the pandemic, misogynistic rhetoric, and disdain for democratic principles had prompted them to switch allegiances, and now, proudly, they vote Democrat. They were keen to hear our thoughts on US politics, and we found ourselves in agreement on many points.

The evening’s formal dinner had a distinctly British feel, as all six of us at the table were from England. One couple we’d dined with the previous evening, and the other we’d met on our very first night. For once, conversation didn’t begin with the usual round of questions, who we are, where we’re from, and which countries we’ve visited. Normally, we’re seated with a mix of Americans and Brits, and occasionally just Americans.

There is a sizeable Korean group on board, though they tend to avoid the formal dining rooms, preferring the buffet where they can seat themselves in lively groups of eight or more. The strength of their group identity is noticeable, evidenced by the excited, animated conversations that can be heard from a distance.

The show in the theatre was titled Magic to Do.
A blend of magic, dance, and an original song written especially for Princess Cruise Line by Broadway legend Stephen Schwartz, it was spectacularly colourful, but both Sue and I left feeling rather confused.

There was simply too much happening on stage. We weren’t sure where to focus: should we watch the magic tricks, the dancers, the singers, or, at times, even those not actually on the stage? If there was an overarching story or theme, it certainly wasn’t clear to us.

That said, it was undoubtedly a highly polished production. A great deal of work had clearly gone into the performance, and the talent on display was impressive. But despite this, we walked away feeling we hadn’t fully grasped what we had just watched, perhaps due to being overwhelmed by so many competing elements.

28th February 2023: Sea Day

The clocks went forward an hour overnight, so we didn’t make it to breakfast until 9 a.m., which we then followed with a brisk mile around the deck.

While walking along the accommodation corridors, we’d noticed an increasing number of food trays left outside cabin doors, placed on small tables. More recently, these had been joined by large red plastic sacks, a sign from previous cruises that the occupants are likely in isolation.

At breakfast, we saw that all staff and crew were now wearing masks. It seems Covid has found its way on board.

As a break from our usual afternoon routine, we attended a performance by fellow passengers from the Hula and Ukulele groups, who had been practising each sea day to showcase their newfound skills. Most cruises we’ve been on tend to conclude with a performance that draws on the talents of passengers, and, if not them, then certainly the hidden talents among the crew. While these shows may not be the most polished or professional, they’re invariably entertaining, and this one was no exception.

In essence, the Hula dancers performed to the accompaniment of the ukuleles, and they did a perfectly respectable job.

Later, while relaxing in our cabin and watching the National Geographic channel on the TV, the captain made an announcement: due to poor weather conditions in Ensenada, passengers would no longer be disembarking. We will arrive at 6 a.m. for immigration clearance, but will depart again by 10 a.m., heading straight to Los Angeles.

Although we hadn’t booked an excursion, we had made loose plans for the day, hoping to see the resident sea lions, visit the historic Riviera del Pacífico (once one of Mexico’s most prestigious and luxurious hotels), and, of course, pick up a few souvenirs. A shame, but one of those things you have to accept when travelling by sea.

1st March 2023: Ensenada

Keen to photograph the sea lions that are said to bask on the rocks beside the berth, I rose early and was out on deck soon after we arrived in the Mexican port of Ensenada, located in the state of Baja California and often referred to as the wine capital of Mexico.

To my dismay, as I emerged from the bowels of the Crown Princess, I was met with rain. Peering down from the upper decks, I could see no sign of any sea lions. Our expected berth was already occupied by another cruise ship, and, rather annoyingly, we were docked instead at a more convenient location, ideal for anyone keen to disembark quickly and indulge in some retail therapy.

Being told that we could not leave the ship felt distinctly unfair, especially as I watched, somewhat enviously, passengers from the Carnival cruiser streaming onto waiting coaches, while a few hardy souls in rain gear splashed past, heading for a line of taxis or making their way into town on foot.

In resignation, I drowned my sorrows in a heartier breakfast than usual, and was joined by Sue half an hour later. A little while afterwards, as we were circumnavigating Deck 7, peering desperately through the mist and rain in the hope of glimpsing a distant sea lion, an announcement came over the tannoy.

The sea conditions were deemed too rough to leave until 5 pm, and tomorrow’s arrival into Los Angeles would be delayed until 9 am instead of the originally scheduled 6 am, and we would be allowed to go ashore. This was bound to cause problems for passengers with onward travel plans, and they were advised to contact the Ship’s Services Desk. At the end of the announcement, we were reminded that all passengers and crew must be back on board by 4 pm. I could only imagine the frustration of those who had booked excursions, had them cancelled the day before, and were now hearing this new update.

We returned quickly to our cabin, changed into rain gear, and left the ship in a heavy downpour. We were going to carry out Plan A, whatever the weather threw at us!

Pushing through the deluge, we exited the port and made our way to the Riviera Del Pacifico, ignoring the hopeful waves of despondent taxi drivers as we crossed the busy, near-flooded six-lane highway that lay between us and our destination.

Soaked and with squelching feet, we eventually found the large, ancient wooden entrance, which, at first, appeared locked. After trying the handle a few times, we heard the rattle of a bolt, followed by the reluctant creak of hinges. A moustachioed gentleman appeared and beckoned us inside.

The building had once been a hotel during Prohibition in the United States, offering wealthy Americans a place to drink and gamble beyond the reach of their law. Unfortunately for its investors, Prohibition ended shortly after construction was completed, and Mexico, in turn, outlawed gambling. Today, it is used by the city for civic functions, with the rooms preserved as a tourist attraction.

It was a relief to be out of the rain, and we took our time browsing the many photographs displayed along the walls. Sue then wandered off to investigate the various stalls set up around the inner plaza. The building itself, along with its fittings and furnishings, had been imported from Spain and must, in its heyday, have been a splendid place to lose both time and money.

Eventually, we ventured back out into the miserable weather. We followed the new and attractive shoreline walkway, which began with a wooden bridge spanning a rather filthy river, one that spewed muddy water and debris into the harbour. Soon we passed a towering flagpole, famous for once flying the largest Mexican flag in the country. Sadly, during winter, the flag is removed and sent to Mexico City for cleaning, leaving the pole bare.

Lining the path were restaurants, shops, and boat hire kiosks, all deserted in today’s conditions. The mile-long route ended at the far end of the marina, where fishing boats and pleasure yachts were berthed side by side. Here, a series of statues marked the approach to a wooden ramp that led up to a viewpoint overlooking the harbour.

Climbing the structure, we were surprised to see a pelican and its mate perched unconcernedly atop a couple of fishing boats, perhaps waiting for a lift out to the fishing grounds. They seemed to enjoy posing for our photographs, but we soon lost interest when we spotted two sea lions hunting among the tightly packed boats.

They flipped and dived into the murky, browny-green water, only to surface moments later with a fish clenched in their jaws. With a violent flick, they would toss their catch high into the air before swallowing it whole, mid-fall, before it could even hit the surface. Only once did we see them emerge empty-mouthed from a dive.

It served as a timely reminder that Sue and I ought to return to the ship for lunch. Back in our cabin, we draped our wet clothes over any available protuberance to dry, changed into something less soggy, and headed for the buffet.

Earlier that morning, we had spotted from the ship a small sandy bay, about half a mile away, which looked like an ideal spot for sea lions to flop and doze. We had resolved to explore it in the afternoon, and despite the continuing rain, that’s exactly what we did.

Water now rushed down the streets, vying with traffic for dominance. The pavements were no better; large puddles formed and spilled over to join the street-bound streams. We were soon soaked. The Mexican authorities, it seems, don’t fully grasp the concept of drainage. Holes in the ground there are aplenty, and deep ones at that, but they appear to have formed more through neglect than by design.

Bedraggled, we reached the flooded dirt track that should have led to our beach, only to find our way barred by a high wire fence. We assumed this was to keep nosy tourists from disturbing the sea lions’ rest. Disappointed but undeterred, we turned back towards the warmth of the ship. We would have to be content with having seen just two Mexican sea lions, but that’s all right. Sea lions are now officially ticked off the bucket list.

After yet another change of clothes, we settled down with coffee on one of the upper decks. From there, we could just make out the beach, Alcatraz Beach, we’d been told, through the drizzle and mist. With the help of binoculars, we fancied we could see five sea lions sprawled contentedly on the rocks.

During our evening meal in the Da Vinci dining room, the captain made another announcement. We had expected to depart at 5 pm, but by 8 pm, we had yet to move. The reason: 15-metre waves beyond the breakwater, which were not expected to subside until midnight. This would delay disembarkation in Los Angeles until at least 9 am, likely creating further chaos for passengers with early flights.

Eventually, we left Ensenada at midnight. The first few hours were decidedly lumpy, but the sea gradually calmed, and at last, sleep crept up on us.

We had changed our disembarkation procedure, opting to walk off the ship with our cases rather than collect them portside from the crew. We felt this would give us more flexibility, particularly as we had an 11 am taxi booked to LAX, and, as it turned out, we were right. We were portside in good time, ready and waiting to meet our transfer.

However, there was a small hitch. Although our driver was able to text us with instructions, my mobile stubbornly refused to send any replies. Thankfully, a kindly American lady standing in the queue with us came to the rescue, contacting the driver on her phone. Thanks to her, we caught our ride without further drama.

It was a beautiful day in Los Angeles, warm and sunny, and the only sign of the recent foul weather was the breathtaking backdrop of snowcapped mountains.