Tuesday and Wednesday – Ferry Days

The questions have followed me along this journey, the questions of leaving England, of leaving my family and of leaving my friends, the emotional tie was dragging me back, and I agonised over the thought, piece of cake for some, difficult for me. In the words of Freddie Mercury “This is a tricky situation, and I only have myself to blame”!

The question of Why? Why am I doing this alone? Maybe I should only tour with mates on their bikes, maybe I should stay with my family, concentrate on life in Carlisle, I have so much there! Salamanca was a turning point, or as it turned out, not. Salamanca is a beautiful city, but it was my most difficult time, I wanted to come home, but yet again I clung to the reasons for continuing the trip. The sign pointing to ‘Comfort Zone’ was north, I carried on south.

It must be Reg and not me?

As I wait at the ferry port I set to scribbling some ideas for the blog on my phone, I am frequently interrupted by people, which I welcome, as I enjoy the interaction. 

Whether it be the vending machine maintenance man offering me a free coffee and wishing me a safe trip, the guy from Berlin who asked if he could photograph Reg, (which I duly obliged by allowing him to sit astride the bike whilst his wife took a photo), or the guy from Madrid just coming over to chew the fat, and again wishing me an enjoyable holiday! All this within the space of just half an hour! People are so friendly towards me and I’m sure that, if it’s not just Reg, then it’s the fact I ride a motorcycle.

All that is an aside, Reg is now parked up as far back on the car deck as it’s possible to be without dropping into the ocean, and my cabin is….. you guessed it, as far forward as it’s possible to be at the sharp end. I am now just another ferry passenger and therefore blend in with the rest, leaving me to be unmolested until I partner up again with Reg, this gives me time to cobble something together to hopefully entertain you, and stir my grey matter.

Balearic & Fred.Olsen Express Ferries are not Brittany Ferries. I had to explain to the crew member that lashing down Reg in the way he was would cause damage. I’m still not convinced that I won’t return to something I don’t like the look of, so will be taking photos as soon as I get back to the bike! It’s not quite as slick an operation as Brittany Ferries. 

When I eventually hauled all my luggage to the reception desk, the one crew member allocating cabins gave me number 6006. As I opened the door I found a three bedded cabin with other cases and clothing in. Oh, I’m sharing am I? This could make for an interesting night! After a few choice words and a quick exit I saw the reception guy scurrying along the corridor towards me apologising profusely. A new cabin for me, just me, and no harm done. I have to say the staff on board have been first class, so friendly and helpful and I told them so. ‘Help somebody to reach their full potential, catch them doing something right’!

It’s a small ship, probably about half the size of those which sail from England to Spain, so consequently a calm sea is even more important.

Fred Olsen

The company whose ship/boat/ferry I’m on is Balearic & Fred.Olsen Express.

The last time I sailed on a Fred Olsen ship to The Canaries was in November 1967 on the Black Prince, I was eleven years old. It was my first ever cruise and was an introduction to many things that travel offers. I remember the vast array of food on board, the huge buffet didn’t contain anything I recognised, no beans on toast or bangers and mash, not even tripe and onions, cow heel stew or pigs trotters! Actually I never did like tripe and onions, and cow heel stew and pigs trotters I found sticky but hey, you eat what you’re told. Now crispy bacon in cheese sauce, that was tasty!

Getting back to the Black Prince’s food, despite it all looking awesome I wouldn’t eat any of it, but the waiters were excellent and always brought me something like egg and chips. I can hear my dad saying “I love eggs, you just can’t beat ‘em”.

In the 60’s Tenerife was in its infancy with tourism, the island up until then had relied on the export of bananas as a major source of income. I seem to remember bringing back a suitcase full of just one bunch of small green bananas. I think dad probably said “Now don’t go wasting any of them, they don’t grow on trees you know”! Dad humour, I think Amy and Sarah would agree that I’ve inherited it.

That was my first trip abroad and it opened my eyes to life outside Lancashire. Not all experiences were comfortable though. Our first port of call was Funchal, Madeira. We had been warned that as we disembark, we would  be approached by children begging from us. We were told that they weren’t getting the money, but that it would be going to the elders they were working for. Whatever the truth, it disturbed me to be amongst children of my own age begging. It made me look at the plush ship and all these apparently well to do people, and then the poor children. It bothered me for a long time on the trip and obviously it’s stayed with me.

But I have many more happier memories of the cruise, which probably instigated my desire to travel. Mum observed a few years later “You have the travel bug”, she was right, and I got it from them!

The Ferry Crossing

The sudden pig-like snort woke me from my slumber from lying on the lounger on deck. The further south we travel the smoother the ocean, bluer the sea and sky, and the warmer the weather. Why have a siesta in the cabin when we were now venturing into holiday weather?

As I stirred from my sleep I pondered the feeling of being in a totally different environment from ‘up north’. In the past, the contrasts occurred so much more quickly, jumping aboard a plane to go from freezing temperatures to warm sunny weather in a matter of hours. I remember getting off a plane late one January night with Richard and Rachel, it was a starry night, yet we couldn’t see our breath! That was also Tenerife.

But this slow, and long journey south has been no less dramatic in what I’ve experienced, just a different way of doing it, and fortunately I now have the time to do so.

Arriving at Santa Cruise

I’m sitting at a small table near reception waiting for access to the garages so I can start loading up the bike. I’m just minding my own business as usual but can’t help noticing nearby the tall guy with earring and a pattern cut into his hair on both sides. He was one of those guys you just can’t help but notice and I’d seen him a few times on board and heard him speaking Spanish. He wore scruffy torn jeans and didn’t strike me as the kind of guy you’d want to upset.

I was surprised when he just came over to me and asked me to smell what I thought was orange peel, not wishing to upset him I did smell it and guess what, it smelled sort of orangey. He told me it was a clemenvilla, which is a cross between a clementine and summit else. Then he asked about my bike, then showed me a photo of his and before you know it Antonio The French Cuban and I are getting on like a house on fire, in English! As we fist bumped our farewells Antonio gave me a clemenvilla as a parting gift, how kind!