The Voyage of the Marco Polo. Part 1-to Amsterdam

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Our trip on the Marco Polo started at Tilbury on a Sunday. Ady and I had booked to go on this five day jaunt round the fleshpots of Europe, Amsterdam, Rouen and Antwerp for 500 quid each. Not a lot of money by cruise ship cost standards but a sizeable sum for an impoverished pensioner with two publicans and a bookmaker to support.
There were a few hiccoughs before the holiday.
The itinerary was changed to stop at Zeebrugge (for Bruges) instead of Antwerp which was a shame as I had never been to Antwerp. The change was for "operational reasons" whatever that meant.
The well publicised death of an elderly passenger when a freak wave smashed a window in the ship's Waldorf Restaurant just after Christmas caused some consternation. The degree of freakishness was apparent when seeing the ship for the first time and realising the restaurant is some six or seven storeys high! It must have been a hell of a wave. I decided that one "operational reason" might be the double glazers of Zeebrugge were more competitive than those of Antwerp.....

The only other blip was that we had booked a twin bedded standard outside cabin. With about a week to go we were upgraded. Marvellous. To a De luxe Cabin with much more space, a complimentary bottle of wine and a bowl of fruit.Super. It was pointed out that the picture showed a King Size Double Bed. Surely it split into a twin.
I told Ady that much as I loved him I wasn't sleeping in the same bed and he made enquiries. A couple of days later we were downgraded though only one class so still finished up with a very nice twin bedded cabin but no free wine and no bowl of fruit. Given that we were setting off on the weekend when Gay Marriages (a contradiction in terms in my opinion) were  first conducted legally in the UK I expect the people that organise the cabin allocation thought we were on honeymoon.

Our cabin. Very comfortable and spacious with the assuring presence of lifejackets inside and the lifeboats outside the window.

Just in case we run into one of these buggers in the Thames Estuary

The other matter that exercised the mind before sailing was the question of alcohol. Marco Polo, along with many other liners, have a policy of not allowing passengers to bring booze on board,either on embarkation from Tilbury or at any of the stops along the way. If, say, you bought some wine in Rouen the policy is that they unburden you of it and let you have it back on the last day. Now I know most people like to have a snifter in the cabin whilst getting changed but took the view that if that was the policy then fair enough.

It was there to be broken

Discussions with various self styled experts in smuggling came up with a variety of options involving the use of different bits of equipment, some of it medical, secreted in various orifices. All ingenious but all leaving one of a nervous disposition wondering whether, if successful, one really fancied a whisky that had been stored in a cholostomy bag and  if unsuccessful,  could one bear the embarrassment of being paraded before the Purser to explain.
My idea was simple. A Piz Buin bottle emptied, cleaned, sterilised and filled with whisky. The only technical draw back I could see was how to stop the liquid from coming out of the little hole as at the same time as giving the game away would also mean one's clothes smelling of an indifferent blended for the whole five days. A simple solution appeared to be cling film over the hole and hidden by the covering flap. Tests were conducted with water and the bottle was stood upside down in the laboratory for two days. Not a sign of any leak so on to Stage Two.
Same procedure as for the water. The nght before departure I examined the container before packing. Disaster. If that is what whisky does to cling film I dread to think what it does to your liver! No time to think of an alternative I tried the whisky. Yuk. Suntan lotion- tainted Scotch will not catch on. Experiment abandoned.
The day of embarkation went well till we got to Tilbury. Parking chaos. Apparently the ship had docked late that morning and was still trying to send the last passengers home when we arrived. Usual scenario...queues everywhere of people and traffic, people stood around wondering what to do and where their loved ones had got to, general lack of info on what was happening. All those things we English do so well. What I would have given for a shot of Piz Buin whisky.

This one was a "selfie" of the honeymoon couple outside ASDA in Tilbury. We had gone there to get a coffee whilst the ship company worked out how to get 800 passengers on board at the same time as getting 800 off.
It was a very nice coffee.

Eventually got on board about two hours after arriving and having slung our bags in the very nice cabin headed for one of the bars. A quiet beer as we slipped our moorings and headed down the Thames estuary and pointed towards Amsterdam
There now follows loads of boring photos. So many I can't remember why I took them

J

Before we sailed there was boat drill. I made three holes in the cabin wall with mine.
After a good dinner and a comprehensive survey of the ships' bars I discovered we were well out to sea. At dinner we found ourselves seated with Rosemary and Ray who it transpired had the cabin from which we'd been downgraded. I opined that because we weren't afficionadoes of the pink oboe we had been prejudiced against to the tune of a complimentary bottle of wine and a bowl of fruit.The lovely Rosemary said as they didn't drink we could have the wine but they were keeping the fruit, Marvellous.Also on our table were Tom and Marion and the six of us seemed to get along well. A pleasant evening. Went to bed so as to wake and photograph our arrival early morning in Amsterdam. First I knew was we were moored up and shuffling ashore. A very comfy bed, obviously.

The Marco Polo moors very near to the Grand Centraal Station in Amsterdam-about a 20 minute walk.
We had the option of a 50 quid excursion involving a coach from ship to where the trip boats left and a coach back. We walked and had already pre-booked the boat tour for 13 euro. Result!

But first Ady went ashore to take some pictures of the ship. His enthusiasm got him a reprimand from some uniformed oik about not being allowed to walk around the dock. He paid no heed. Bloody foreigners.

Loadsabikes.

Our trip boat awaits

But first a tincture by the canal in the originally named Van Gogh cafe so called because every time the waiter asks if you need a drink you say "No, I got one ear"

Now lots of canal pictures but before you skip those the trip on the canals was excellent and never having been to Amsterdam before I was very impressed.

It was a lovely sunny day and after Ady had managed to upset the Port Official  we walked to the Centraal Station aand caaught a boat. (I've sussed out this Dutchish Laanguage-just shove an extra voowel in wherever you faancy) In fact I don't know why they have their own language cos they all speak English better than what the English does.

There was a crooked house

Miles of canals lined with boats. The guide explained that you could only add a boat to Amsterdam's waters if you took one away. How about it CaRT?

The dog lovers among you will enjoy this boat dog

By a crooked church

Don't ask-you can't afford it.

We spent a very pleasant hour afloat passsing the many churches, museums and whorehouses for which the city is famed. There was one window with a beauty sat gazing out. Ady tapped on the glass and enquired "How much?" to which she replied "A Thousand euro"
He said he thought that was expensive but she explained it was double glazing.

Past a coffee house where one could get quite taken by the atmosphere. Not to be sniffed at.

Past the Anthrax Museum

A boat made of onion skins

Trees made from green bottles

And back to base

Time for a cup of choocolaate

More bikes. This is just outside Centraal Station. They have another bike park that holds 3000 bikes!

It's Ady's turn with the red trousers

Time for another wander round the deockside

 and old misery tells him off again. The obvious problem is Ady looks so like a terrorist he would strike fear into the heart of any border guard

Back Here Ady.

We're off back down the canal to the sea. We'd missed all this on the way in cos we were akip.I was daark anyway

A shipshape design

OK-Boo!

Bloomin fishermen get everywhere

The sun is out and so are the passengers.

It's a race!

Back down the canal to the sea lock

Lock ahead. Get the windlass Ady.

Right a bit....

More cyclists

We've got company

The crew watch the lock fill

Now does the gate go up, swing out, split in two?

It slides into the side!

Brilliant-and we slept through all this on the way in!

And out to sea

The next post which will follow shortly will cover the second half including Rouen and Bruges. Then time must be found to publish a post on our St George's Party. Busy busy busy.

Busy busy bust

This could be a long blog post. If you get bored easily go now and do something useful. You'll feel all the better for doing something worthwhile.  I have had a busy few weeks as have those around me so I have to cover odds and sods from last time, the launch of Caz's book, my trip to Europe on the Marco Polo and a wonderful weekend in the Cotswolds. Plus Pam and gang have been skiing and Florence had a birthday. I think I'll make the Marco Polo a separate post. It'll be along very soon so be patient.

First a few oddments.

Tony Benn  (3 April 1925 – 14 March 2014) was a British Labour politician who was a Member of Parliament (MP) for 47 years between 1950 and 2001 and a Cabinet minister under Harold Wilson and James Callaghan in the 1960s and 1970s.

I know he's been dead a few weeks now but I met Tony Benn once years ago when I was gainfully employed. To put it in context in Harrow, Stanmore to be exact, there was a house called Heywood. It's now a block of flats. Heywood has three claims to fame as far as I'm concerned. Firstly it was the home of Clement Attleee, post war Labour Prime Minister whose raft of legislation included setting up the NHS. Secondly it was subsequently turned into a Nursing Home and is where my Grandfather Wall died. Thirdly it was used illegally in the 60s as an abortion clinic and was the subject of my first  successful planning enforcement notice. I'd have been about 18.It was the Attlee connection that brought me into contact with Tony Benn. The Harrow Heritage Committee decided that a plaque should be put up on the flats to commemmorate the former Prime Minister and Tony Benn with Attlee's Grand daughter (then Liberal Mayor of Beaconsfield) were invited to unveil the plaque. As the bloke that organised such things I rang the contact number to agree fine details such as transport and catering. Normally the phone is answered by a secretary or similar and they deal with the oiks. When the phone was answered I asked to speak to Mr Benn's secretary and the great man said "You've got him" He wanted no special arrangements other than a big pot of tea. He arrived spot on time at Heywood, made a speech of 20 minutes exactly, without notes but with many anecdotes of his personal dealings with Attlee. He carried out the unveiling, thanked me very much for the tea and off he went. Believe me in 35 years of dealing with politicians and others from the great and good he was the most down to earth, sincere,and entertaining one I met.

Caz's Book
While I was away I missed the Launch of the book although I made sure everyone on board knew about it.It sounds as though it was a great success and the book has been generally well received.
AND I got a signed copy as a present so well happy.

Well done Caz!

It had been a busy few days for the Nicklin gang; the previous weekend Pam, Nat and Caz had visited Ollie in Chamonix for a long ski weekend. Sounds like they had a good time and Ollie is now running down as he finishes work and returns to Bristol this week .



 Before skiing and cruising and book launching there was Florence's Birthday!!

Joe visits his cousin

 To Chiswick with Pam and Joseph for the unveiling of the new Wendy House and a very fine house it is with all mod cons. I took a toaster as a house warming present and we had yummy tea and cake and dancing and all had a jolly time.
Happy Birthday Florence!

Happy Birthday to you....

 After the birthday came the skiing at Chamonix where Pam, Nat and Caz met up with Ollie. While they were there I was cruising round the NorthSea(see next post).


 On our return from foreign parts Pam and I went to the Cotswolds, to the village of Swinbrook nr Burford to stay with our friends from Canada.

And this humble abode is where we aboded.
With Daphne (with whom Pam trained a few year back) is husband Duane, who is Canadian and bloody nice bloke. Daphnes' children Chris (another bnb) and Victoria with her husband Rod (bnb). Daphne's brother  Graham (bnb) and sister in law Verena and daughter, Emma with Brian (bnb) and Grandaughter Shannon. and niece Katherine.

The main reason for the gathering was a Memorial Service for Daphne and Graham's father Monty who died last year.It was a beautiful service with a very fine address given by Chris ,who apart from being a bnb is also a Pastor back in Canada.
 (Pastor back? Didn't he write Doctor Zhivago?)

The church was at Emsfield (St Thomas More), a beautiful church in a beautiful setting. Not a bad place to finish your days.I only met Monty once so my knowledge of him is mainly from what Pam has told me.
Later when thanking Daphne and family for their hospitality Pam referred to him as a gentleman who was a gentle man. He also had taught various trainee nurses including Pam to drink sherry. The evidence of his prowess as a teacher is all too clear. Patently a good man much loved.

Another Wendy house Cotswold style.

Pam and Daphne compare fruit juices

Pam and Shannon duet on the piano.

Daphne, Shannon and Rod with Victoria doing her sheep impersonation

Pam chills out

It's mandolin time

After the Memorial service Pam and I checked out the local pub in Swinbrook-The Swan-very nice too though Cotswold prices, before adjourning to the cottage for grub and gossip. Our hosts had stocked a bar to satisfy all needs and even the most powerful thirsts were sated. Some of them twice.
The evening passed quickly and despite the worst cold any man ever had-I suspect it was in fact TB-I slept well. Too well apparently.

The following day (Sunday) I was nearly first up and headed into Burford for church and papers. A leisurely breakfast d then David, Tricia, Caitlin and Ewan arrived. They are friends of Duane and Daphne whom they met in Canada but now live in th UK.

A walk was suggested and despite having the worst cold any man etc I went along. A glorious sunny day, a clear head and the prospect of an evening of fun and frolics. Deep joy. On my return from the walk I thought I should contribute to the bar stocks and drove into Witney to raid the local Sainsburys. Unbeknown to me the younger contingent were heading into Burford to do the same thing so a bar of great quality was our reward.



An evening of good food, copious libations and home made entertainment ensued with those under 40 composing and presenting a musical tribute to Swinbrook. I thought it was very good and the more I had to drink the better it sounded. Lovely people, great company.

The morning brought further entertainment in that already suffering from the worst cold anybody ever had (did I mention that?) I came downstairs feeling like death and because of a combination of polished floors and stairs in matching woods, varifocal lenses and my delicate feet encased in socks I missed the bottom stair, hit the wall opposite, cannoned into the piano and took the piano stool a few feet up the hallway before landing on my back like a beached whale on Tenby Beach. I was lucky in that as I lay there waiting to die the cream of the Hillingdon Student Nurse intake mid 70s arrived in the form of Pam and Daphne to mnister to my wounds and utter sympatheteic comforting words such as "Silly old sod', Pissed again" and " that piano will need retuning"

Much shaken I was only restored to near full health by a good breakfast and the fact that apparently five others had nearly or actually done a base over apex on the same stair during the weekend though none had managed to play the opening chord of the Warsaw Concerto on their way past the piano.

A good weekend, with good company.
Daphne, Duane, Rod and Victoria  are off to Paris before returning to Canada. Chris returns home earlier.
Graham and Verena, Emma, Brian and Shannon return to Scotland

Cheers Monty. Thanks everybody.

Cabaret time!

And more food

Followed by cards

The Moorings are preparing for the start of the Social Year with our annual St George's Party on Sat 26th April. My days running up to this great event are preoccupied with getting ready for my 4 yearly Safety Inspection on Independence which takes [place on St George's Day, 23rd. I wont be there as I am at the quacks at the same time getting some attention to the leg I damaged in Swinbrook. I am not looking forward to either event.

But first I must get something blogged up about the trip to the continent. It's the Tuesday after a very enjoyable Easter which included a beautiful service on Good Friday,a lovely walk through Wendover woods on Saturday, a visit by Pam's brother for two days. (You would not believe the heat that can be generated by two Yorkshireites arguing over making Yorkshire pudding. The cat and I hid under the table.
Plenty of sunshine, plenty to eat and the boat nearly ready for Wednesday's inspection


Bye bye