Warnemünde is in what used to be East Germany. It stands at the mouth of the river Warne. It is linked to the Hanseatic trading town of Rostock, which lies a few miles away (ie it is not within walking distance and is too far away for there to be a courtesy bus).
This is a prelude to saying that Ross and I have not left the ship all day for the first time that we have had the opportunity to do so. Instead, we have had another day of doing sweet fanny adams, laying out in the sun, reading, having sex in the cabin, eating (though both of us have gone passed the point of wanting to indulge any longer).
And, for the second day in a row, we have taken no photographs.
For our final stop, we are back in Denmark, on the Western side of Zealand - Copenhagen is some forty miles away on the Eastern coast of this island. It is a Sunday. It is the first time that this ship has put in here. You mightn't expect very much as all.
However, the local folk had decided to mark the occasion with a marching band of local youngsters and a fleet of courtesy buses to welcome us. Ross stayed on board. He had booked a massage for 10am. I went ashore on my own for a bit of respite therapy.
The old part of the town is very picturesque. Plenty of stepped gables, wooden construction, shingles. Festoons of hollyhocks. Shrill swifts/swallows swooping and looping in the warm air. Church bells calling the community to prayer. It is 9:45am on a Sunday morning.
I went in. It is just under a fortnight since I went
into the church in Christiansand. Where that was stark, this was more ornate. It was
built like a basilica; four equal sides to the cross shape, four central pillars
under the central tower, rounded arches, an ornate and coloured altarpiece depicting
the central Christian stories of birth, crucifixion and resurrection. Plus there were
some extras like a magnificent model of a ship hanging above the main aisle.
I stayed for the service. I am glad that I did; it gave me some space to settle down and allow myself time for slower deeper thoughts. I gave thanks for the many joys in my life. For whatever reason, they seemed to manifest themselves in the form of our cat, Nutkin, which was exceedingly pleasant and full of purring.
I understood little of the words of the service but, somehow, I knew exactly when the Lord's prayer was being said - something about the tone of voice as much as anything else. What I was reminded of quite forcefully was why I don't go to Anglican worship - all of the forms of the service seemed to me to get in the way of the main business which, again, it seems to me, is to do with getting in touch and putting yourself at the disposal of the divine (however you define that).
Once the service had finished, there was only a little while left before departure.
I snapped this horse drawn buggy doing its touristic bit for the local Kalundborg
economy, bought some home made jam with the last of our Kronas from a bring and
buy stall in the market square and walked back to the ship through the modern
shopping street.
Ross and I lunched and then joined our dining chums on the sun deck for the sail away replete with much hooting. Ross is resting in the cabin at the moment. I'm sat on the sun deck typing this up. The sky is absolutely clear. I'm probably getting sunburnt even though I keep changing my position. The waters are hardly rippled in the mild breeze. There's a few low lying Danish islands off the starboard side of the ship. Some cargo vessels and some passenger ferries. A few yachts.
Shortly, we shall be heading out into the deeper channel with Sweden to our right and Norway ahead; the Skagerrak, then the North Sea, then the English Channel, then the Solent all lie ahead before land fall.
To fill in some time (and it really does feel like a case of filling in time now) I took myself off to the health spa for a massage with hot stones. The treatment was, in effect, an aromatherapy massage, accompanied by the laying on and use of pre-warmed stones. Oh, and by the way, these were not just any stones, you understand. The stones had special mineral components which meant that they retained heat; they were from a Mexican river bed; and they had been worn smooth by the passing waters of the ages.
Forgetting about the marketing hype, the overall experience was very enjoyable. Jonathan, my masseur from Limerick, did a very good job of palpitating my muscles with both heated hands and heated stones with an exotic brew of essences which included juniper and ylang ylang in a base oil of walnut. However, like Ross and his morning massage, I have been left feeling somewhat spaced out and in touch with a feeling of great sadness.
I have now finished off my other holiday book, The Victorians by
A N Wilson which my mum bought
for me for my birthday. It's been a very good survey of the period concentrating
not only on the political, social and military events but also giving an overview
of the crises of religious faith which characterised the era. It was also very good
at placing potted biographies of the well-known and less well-known people of the
period.
It has some good big ideas too. One of these was to note how the overall prosperity of the many was bought at the expense of the plight of the many more; and how this would lead in the end to the ultimate decline of the aristocracy. I find myself musing that there is an analagous process going on today between the Old World and the Third World.
All in all, a well deserved four stars, I feel.
![[Four Stars - Excellent]](4.gif){kind=small}
We took ourselves off to the evening Trattoria to have some time to ourselves and to escape from another formal evening. The first end was accomplished; the second no. Most of the other diners in the Trattoria were also wearing formal attire. Why I do not know but it seems as though it was de rigeur for the whole ship. Luckily we were not debarred from partaking of the food, which, I have to say, was not exceptional.
I was glad to get to bed and continue listening to Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, our current talking book.
Today, I have been feeling queezy, out of sorts, sad, dehydrated.
There is little or nothing to do that would suit my temperament and I feel trapped. We have to pack our bags by 6pm this evening. We have to try an order some form of tips for our servants (it feels like that scene at the end of Gosford Park when Maggie Smith is bemoaning the expense - except that in our case, much as we resent what is, in effect, a service tax brought on through low wages, we would like to oblige Melwin, Inacio and Dolphe but can't because the ship is not set up to make cash advances against a debit card). So we are stumped really.
For me, really, the holiday finished after we had left Stockholm four days ago. In retrospect, I would have been better off leaving the ship and catching a flight home at that point. I would have had better memories of the whole experience.
I used to have this feeling that a dream holiday for me would be to fly to New York, have a few days imbibing the culture and then come back on the QEII. Now, I feel differently. Now matter how excellent the facilities are on that ship, I know that I should hate to have five days on the open seas with no shore visits to break the monotony.
Like everyone else on the ship, Ross and I have been completing service satisfaction questionnaires. Those who have been on numerous cruises are darkly muttering about the shortcomings in the service and the lack of variety in the menus. We can't make those comparisons. However, we don't feel that the company policies and information with regards to people with impaired mobility are up to scratch. Mostly our ratings for the categories offered have been fair to good rather than good to excellent.
The afternoon passed by doing very little; reading (I'm now reading The Vesuvius
Club by Mark Gatiss which is a bit of a romp), waiting, staring at the sea, watching
other people relax, attending a very poor lecture on Catherine the Great's art
treasures. Then washing, shaving, dressing and packing. Everything has to be packed up
and placed outside the door of the cabin so that the military operation that is
disembarkation can be masterminded overnight.
Our dinner table was festooned and festive. I took the opportunity of grabbing a
shot of Ross and Inacio our waiter. Ross rather took a shine to this young man.
The reason for the festivities was an early celebration of Avis's 60th birthday.
As well as the balloons above our table, this involved the waiters singing happy
birthday and a rather sugary cake.
All that was left after that was bed.
I got out of bed in Southampton.
Already, I felt that I was disengaging with the experience of being on holiday and I just wanted to be home.
As it was really, it could not have gone more smoothly.
We assembled with the rest of the lame and the halt and, way before our scheduled time, they had us down the gangplank and off the ship. There was a small delay in finding our bags but by 9:45am we were re-united with our car and out on the motorway system with a full tank of petrol. We were only supposed to be leaving the ship by 9:20am.
Thereafter, everything continued to go smoothly. We had a coffee by Winchester and a break for lunch at Stafford. M3, M25, M40, M6 (toll), M6, M65. There were no major roadworks to contend with and blistering heat seemed to keep all but the most intrepid off the roads. By pressing on before lunch and by using the M6 (toll), we really broke the back of the journey in the first session. I'd originally estimated that we should be back home by 5pm. We were through the front door by 3pm.
The cats loved us. There was none of the expected standoffishness. By night-time we had two loads of washing done and dried. Ross watched Eastenders and Holby City as his way of linking back to normalcy. I had a glass of wine in the garden.