Tale guide

Cruising for a bruising

I begin this tale a tad self-conscious, as it has occurred to me that followers of this blog may have, by now, concluded that I was, or even worse, am, an alcoholic!

Given the twisted demeanor of my friends and colleagues over the years, I am also acutely aware that any denial will almost certainly be met with skepticism at best, and yet, despite all of the aforementioned, please be assured that nothing could be further from the truth.

No, seriously! This little adventure was a once off.

On the 11th March 2006 Ann and I and two good friends whose identity I have decided not to reveal in the interests of keeping their reputations intact, boarded the MSC Musica in Durban harbour for a three-night trip to the Portuguese island and back.

The ships program included a fancy dress deck party on the first evening at sea so, in the spirit of the moment we had visited a local shop and kitted ourselves out in appropriate attire with the intention of attending what promised to be a great thrash.

Ann and I were ushered to our balcony cabin on deck thirteen, A spacious cabin with sliding glass doors opening out onto a narrow balcony, and where it took no time at all to unpack and head for a rendezvous with our friends on the pool deck.

The ship cruised out of port in the late afternoon as we sipped away on cocktails that we wouldn’t have normally touched under any other circumstances, but for the fact that we were keen to fit in with the exciting holiday atmosphere on board.

We had been allocated the first sitting to dinner that evening and, without having taken in the instructions or otherwise, ‘guidelines’, provided in great detail in the passenger brochure, we failed to note the starting time for the open air carnival later that evening.

We decided that it would be clever to don our fancy-dress outfits ahead of dinner so that once dinner was over, we could mosey up to the deck where the party was to be held and join in.

As we confidently made our way through the double doors of the expansive and beautifully formal dining room, we saw that not only were the tables almost all occupied, but that our fellow passengers were properly dressed in what could best be described as smart casual.

On the other hand, our fellow passengers looked up to rest their eyes on two gentlemen sporting bright Caribbean shirts with plastic hats, glasses with moustaches attached and plastic Cuban cigars, closely resembling New York Mafia on holiday at the Copa Cabana, while our ladies, in contrast, looked like fairies.

The spectacle must have been that much more amusing by virtue of the fact that Ann is a slender and petite lady while her friend was six foot something and weighed in at supersize!

We were met by a smart and seasoned Italian waiter with a twinkle in his eye who invited us to follow him through the maze of tables of staring patrons, to a table at the rear of the room next to a window.

We didn’t miss a beat and if our fellow passengers were amused by our entrance, they made every effort to avoid staring and laughing out loud!

Already pleasantly imbibed by the afternoon’s refreshments, but still very much in control, we took our time enjoying a superb dinner and making the best of friends of Antonio, our Italian waiter, who readily joined in the fun to the amusement of the tables around us.

As dinner came to an end, we asked Antonio to direct us to the carnival and it was only at this point did we realise the error of our ways when he exclaimed, “Butta, ze carnival is only starting at ten o’clocka!”

“Oh sì!” we exclaimed in return and looked at each other. “What would we do for the next two hours?” was the question. 

“Why don’t we go to the casino and have a flutter?” suggested our friend. “The time will pass quickly if you don’t give any attention to it.”

So off we went to the large and spacious casino which was almost empty of punters. We basically had the place to ourselves.

My friend decided to take over a roulette table. The two girls went to the slot machines and I sat down at a blackjack table quite close by, only because I’d only played blackjack once or twice before and I thought the idea of not being intimidated by more professional players with whom one would usually have to share the table, was pretty inviting.

We ordered drinks. I ordered a bottle of wine. I exchanged one thousand Rand in cash for US Dollars with the croupier and the game was on!

After about half an hour I called across the floor to my friend “What time is the party?” to which he replied in a jovial tone, “Twenty-two hundred hours old chap!” to the amusement of the croupiers.

I started to win. I couldn’t believe how the cards were falling for me.

The time flew by and no one was moving. A fellow in uniform, who looked like the ship’s captain arrived quite late in the casino and had a couple whiskeys at the bar.

Ann came across and asked me, somewhat concerned, if he was driving the ship?

“Not at the moment, dear” I responded, “maybe later”. She was not amused.

As you have probably concluded, the boys were beginning to get pretty well oiled by now.

“What time is the party” shouted my man on the roulette table and I responded accordingly.

This carried on hour after hour until long after the party was over.

During the course of the evening, I had accumulated a stock of large value chips. I have no idea how much I had won but the general consensus was, it was a lot.

But long after we had realised that the party was no longer in contention, my luck started to change, and I became way too reckless.

Little by little my hard-earned winnings were clawed back until they were no more.

The following day the Proteas were playing an ODI against Australia.

In the afternoon we settled comfortably in one of many lounges on board and watched as Australia score 434 for 4 off their 50 overs, breaking the previous record of 398–5 by Sri Lanka against Kenya in 1996.

In reply, South Africa lost two wickets before they held their own and started to build a response.

As the afternoon progressed, the game became increasingly and unbelievably exciting with South Africa steadily losing wickets but reaching and passing 400 runs.

By the final over South Africa needed 7 runs off 6 balls to win and Boucher was on strike.

He pushed a single, and Andrew Hall went on strike. Andrew hit a four, leaving 2 required off four balls.

He was caught out on the next ball, which left the score at 433–9. SA’s number 11 batsman, Makhaya Ntini stepped up and smartly hit a single which allowed Boucher back on the crease.

And then the entertainment officers switched off the television and announced that we were moving to the evening’s entertainment!

An unholy howl echoed through the ship before people started to scramble for the stairs and lifts.

I hadn’t seen a crowd move so fast before or since.

We rushed up to the cabin and switched the television on just in time to hear the commentators enthuse over what had transpired while we were trying to get to upstairs.

Boucher had hit a four with the next ball and had won the match with a ball to spare.

South Africa was victorious at 438–9 and the match was acclaimed the greatest one day international ever played.

That called for a celebration and we took on the challenge, as one does!

On the third night, the ship was on course for Durban having spent the day at the Portuguese island.

During the course of the evening, the sea became unsettled, and the ship began to lurch.

It became increasingly difficult to make one’s way down the narrow corridors to the cabins particularly seeing that we were already a little unsteady on our feet by then!

The ship’s officers announced that passengers should return to their cabins and we complied without hesitation.

As we lay on our bed in the dead of night, we could feel that the ship had increased speed quite dramatically and was bouncing its way through the giant swirls.

Looking out of our window we could see the angry waves rising past us, crashing onto the sides of the ship. It was pretty scary given that it was very dark outside, and we were at least ten decks above sea level, so this was no gentle storm!

As the bow crashed down through the waves, we were thrown up into the air and came bouncing back onto the bed seconds later.

At around three thirty in the morning the ship suddenly calmed, and we fell asleep. At breakfast the bridge announced that due to the storm, the captain had decided to take the shortest and fastest route back to Durban and that we had in fact docked at 03h30 that morning.

They apologised that we had been unable to witness our arrival in Durban, an occasion routinely arranged for the passengers to witness from the main deck to celebrate.

“No worries, Captain” we said, “glad to get back on terra firma!” and by then, the time for celebration was well and truly over.

It was time for a holiday!