The Atlantic

Setting off from Martinique at a late hour, neither of us were awake to witness our departure. When we finally stirred the Bonavia had long since left land behind, we were now making our way across the Atlantic. The voyage was scheduled to take over 8 days, it felt like a very long stretch having already been on the boat for the same length of time.

The first few days were spent peacefully enough, more reading, lots of sleeping, trying to fill in the gaps between mealtimes. One day we were party to a lifeboat drill, which was surprisingly fun. At 10.30 am the alarm went off and we grabbed our lifejackets. The steward appeared at our cabin ready to lead us to the muster station down on deck 2.

When we arrived most of the crew were already in place. Marco, as designated safety office, was busy shouting instructions when the Captain radioed him to say that he wanted the lifeboat tested. Which in practice meant we had to get in. Not an easy task given the acute angle of the thing, and as our seats were at the rear we had to go first. It was pretty comical attempting to manoeuvre down the boat, particularly as the sea was still a little rough, hut we eventually got to our seats, and had to sit in a position not dissimilar to astronauts at take-off as we waited for the rest of the crew to file down.

By the time we emerged into daylight, everyone was preparing for the fire drill. Presumably for his record keeping, Marco was firing off photographs all the time, as his colleagues went about their duties. The steward took us down into the engine room to watch as a crewman, feigning injury, was loaded onto a stretcher and carried out by his giggling colleagues, such was the "act" he put on. One of the designated fire-fighters was being instructed to wave his hose about as if actually extinguishing a fire as Marco took more photos. Meanwhile another fire-fighter couldn't get his oxygen tank working and looked as though he was about to suffocate, before having his head cover removed by a laughing friend. And then suddenly everyone had gone, leaving us alone in the engine room.

After the fun of the days drills, being a Saturday it was party night (the crew usually work a half day on Sunday so they can afford to let their hair down). The Bonavia didn't have a designated party area, so instead a motley collection of tables and chairs were set up next to the outdoor swimming pool, whilst the chef was busy barbecuing an enormous amount of meat. In the evening when we were called down to dinner we saw how busy he'd been. A huge table was piled high with chicken, ribs, spicy prawns and a Philippine tuna dish, as well as the usual trimmings.

Everybody tucked in, and whilst we ate the officers generously saw that our glasses were kept topped up with a disturbing amount of Vodka. Unusually, the conversation flowed that night (it can be difficult at mealtimes, as we have a separate table in the officers mess, so half of them have their back to us). Whilst Gemma was talking about our travels, I was locked in a debate with the Chief Engineer as to who Phil Collins took over lead vocal duties from in Genesis. By the time I had gone to the cabin to grab my ipod as proof, I was aware that the ship had taken on a whole new movement.

When I returned (triumphantly, I might add), we had received an invitation to continue the party in the crews day room, where most of the crew had gathered to sing on their karaoke machine. I have a hate-hate relationship with singing, but the vodka kept flowing freely, so without much protestation I found myself at the microphone. Those who have ever seen me in such a position will know of the terrors that that entails.

In fairness, I gave a creditable performance of Radiohead's "Creep", and I didn't need to read the lyrics for the Cranberries' "Zombie". But by the time I tried my hand at "Eye of the Tiger" I could barely stand, much less stay in time. Which might explain why I resorted to dancing around the cramped room shadow boxing like a deranged Rocky Balboa. For days afterwards this was how several crewmen greeted me when our paths crossed in the corridors.

Whilst Gemma gave her renditions of "let it be" and "wonderwall" with the crew singing and clapping along, I removed myself from the theatre of conflict (with my tail between my legs) and retired to bed. Except I didn't stay there for long - suffice to say that if you drink copious amounts of vodka at sea, a private bathroom is a necessity, not a luxury.I spent the whole of the following day in bed, nursing one of my worst hang-overs in recent memory, feeling every pitch or judder of the ship deep in my stomach. I didn't make a single meal time either, relying on nothing more than the toast that Gemma made me to see me through. It was a day from hell.

The following days were a lot quieter. We fell back into our routine of eating, reading, and the occasional trip up to the bridge to check on our progress. There was a small party one night to celebrate the Oilers birthday (I politely but firmly refused all attempts to ply me with vodka, and was somewhat relieved when the ships supply ran dry). By this time we'd been onboard for 2 weeks, and it wouldn't be unfair to say we were becoming a little restless, beginning to think of certain land based luxuries. For my part I was dreaming about stone-baked pizzas, for Gemma tiger bread and the Peterborough scores.

One evening as we neared Madeira we did hit a small storm, as the wind picked up you could feel the ship being tossed about on the waves. As it was late we tried to sleep through it, but without success as one by one everything that could fall down in the cabin did. One moment, laying stretched out on my back on the bed, I suddenly found my knees uncontrollably approaching my face at a rate of knotts - thank god I'm not flexible, I would have knocked myself out. It was not unlike trying to sleep in a flight simulator, the motion was neither constant nor rhythmic, it jerked you and pulled you about. Later on the bridge the second officer, Dominic, told us the old sailors trick is to line the sides of your mattress with bottles, so it forms a "U" shape in the bed, which keeps you safely inside.

As we approached the coast of Spain, our thoughts began to turn to our route home. We have considered several variables including Seville, Granada, Ronda, and Gibraltar, before heading inland to Madrid and Barcelona and then making our way through France and back home. We haven't quite settled on a final route yet. But having now finished our final sea voyage, we'd like to give you the benefits of our experience of the Pacific, Caribbean and Atlantic, our " 10 point guide to life on a container ship" if you like.

Ten Truths About Life At Sea:

1. A ship does not need an ocean full of huge waves to be thrown about. On some of our roughest days the sea was flat.
2. Contrary to the holiday brochures, the oceans are not full of whales and dolphins. Inevitably, on the brief occasions when they are spotted, you will be in the toilet.
3. Sailors do not say "land ahoy", "batten down the hatches", or "hoist the main sail" anymore. Attempts to do so may be considered disrespectful.
4. Avoid all discussions which necessitate the need to google the answer. All parties will be left unsatisfied.
5. The "serious" matter of the abandon ship drill may well be the comical highlight of the week. Unless a land-lubber like you or I is given vodka and a karaoke machine.
6. Disney has lied to you, sailors no longer wear parrots and eye patches. They now have hard-hats. Do not attempt to elicit a "pieces of eight" from a hard-hat. It is frowned upon.
7. Soup will be served every day, but never a drop is spilled. You will rarely see fish on the menu, unless you catch it yourself. And forget entirely about sushi.
8. Sailors no longer drink rum - they drink vodka. In prodigious quantities.
9. Sailors are prone to extreme generosity when pouring you a drink.
10. The middle of the ocean is not a suitable place to be nursing a hang-over. In fact it's the worst place on the planet for that.

Panama: Our Furthest South

After finishing our tour in Costa Rica we spent a few more days in the capital, San Jose. Having just booked our return voyage home through Strand Travel, we needed to complete some paperwork. Getting all the necessary forms together for Container Ship travel was hard enough back in London. But out here it necessitated numerous trips between internet cafes - some had printers but no scanner, others a scanner but no printer. On top of which we needed a form signed by our doctors.

Last time, our regular doctors surgery in London took three weeks to sign the medical certificate to say we were fit to travel - and that was with us chasing them regularly. We didn't fancy our chances of waiting on them to complete and email the forms in a shorter turn around, so instead we set out to find a doctor nearby in San Jose. After entering a few private practices to be told the doctor was out, we did eventually find one at home. A Gynecologist. You can imagine my nerves being sat in the waiting room.

The receptionist showed us into a large room, behind which sat our doctor, a huge man with (I couldn't help but notice) the chunkiest fingers I've ever seen. I've never had to visit a Gynecologist before, but I mentioned to Gemma that in the unlikely event that I would need to in the future, I'd enquire about the size of their fingers first! Fortunately, a practical was not necessary. Did we have yellow fever, dengue fever, malaria? No. Form signed, and $80 lighter than when we entered, we had finished our paperwork.

The good news is that we will be returning to Europe by boat, leaving from Moin, Costa Rica on 2nd February, and scheduled to arrive in Algeciras, Spain about 15 days later. Our new ship is called the MV Bonavia (Details at Marine Traffic), a Liberian registered vessel quite a lot smaller than the MV Hanjin Miami. And quite a lot more expensive it must be said. In part this is down to the fact that the trip is 3 days longer than our previous voyage, and in part because we will get two stops - in the Dominican Republic and Martinique. We are both delighted to know that we will be returning by ship, and will have travelled around the globe without flying.

Once our documentation had been submitted, and our hefty bill paid, we decided to head down to Panama. We booked our Tica bus seats on the overnight drive and set off at 1pm. We arrived at the border in the early evening, but it took nearly 3 hours to get through customs on both sides, so we arrived in Panama City at 5am the following day. Normally arriving at a new bus station in the dark can be a painful process, but the Albrook bus station was a huge, clean, modern building with a line of waiting taxis (normally the drivers are hussling, crowding, even grabbing you).

 

We jumped into one and set off for our hostel. The drive across town was a real eye opener, Panama City is a huge, sprawling modern town with the biggest sky scrapers we have seen since leaving the US, some apartments and others office buildings with names like Citibank and HSBC. Even the road network was impressive, huge fly overs and causeways built over the ocean. Of course, good roads do not necessarily mean good driving, but that's true anywhere in the world!

Arriving at the hostel at 6am, the owners allowed us to go straight to our room and crash out, so we didn't wake up properly until the afternoon. People have often commented to us that catching the night-bus is a good prospect because you save on a nights accomodation, which is true to a degree. But it is rarely a good nights sleep, and there are often stops which necessitate waking up - borders and police checks are common in Central America. Which in turn means that you tend to waste the first day in a new city, catching up on sleep.

We did manage to wander down to the nearby ruins in Panama Viejo later that day. There are a surprising amount of foundations still visible, despite being left unloved and open to the elements in the 340 years since Welshman Henry Morgan plundered the town. Apparently old Panama was a wealthy transport hub on the route to Europe for the Peruvian gold, which made it a focus of pirate interest. Despite sacking the city Morgan is probably less famous here than another old British rogue, Sir Francis Drake, who was allegedly buried off the coast of Portobello on the Caribbean side of panama - divers continue to flock here in search of the lead coffin in which his body supposedly resides.

We had only been admiring the ruins for a few minutes when a policeman on a bicycle peddaled over to us and warned us, in a curious mix of English and Spanish (Spanglish?) that the slums behind the ruins were just about the worst part of panama for us to be in. He told us to head down to the visitor centre instead, so we braved the afternoon sun and strolled away from the better ruins. By the time we reached the office, it was quarter to five, so we decided not to pay for 15 minutes. Instead, freshly concerned about walking back through the slum we caught a taxi.

The next day we caught a taxi to the Panama Canal, specifically to Miraflores Lock, one of three such locks along the 80km of canal, which stretches from the Caribbean sea to the Pacific. This particular lock is the closest to downtown Panama City, hence the most regularly visited, which is why they have built a large visitor centre, complete with a balcony with football stadium style seating. Just try getting a seat! It was packed when we arrived in the early afternoon, so we stood staring into the blisteringly hot sun to await the arrival of a ship.

We didn't have too long to wait, a small catamaran moved into position, followed by a tug, then a large cruise ship and finally a sizeable cargo ship edged down the second channel. We watched as the water level dropped, allowing the ships to move between the locks before heading the short distance out towards the Pacific Ocean. Actually I found it a bit underwhelming, here was one of mankind's greatest engineering efforts, yet it was neither as dramatic as the Corinth canal, nor as beautiful as any one of a number of small locks in the English countryside.

Back inside the air-conditioned visitor centre (it was approaching 40 outside) we had a brief look around. The movie room took it in turns to show Spanish and English versions of a film about the construction of the canal, but we had just missed the version we might understand. Instead we had a stroll through the small museum, with it's collections of artefacts from the construction. It was quite nicely presented, and the aquarium showed us all the creatures which lived in the canal - namely dark, dirty looking fish. Apparently the ships have to pay for passage through the canal based on weight, and in 1928 one man was charged 36 cents for the right to swim through. I don't know if I'd fancy trying the same today, the water looked distinctly murky with a layer of covering oil.

After seeing the canal we felt we'd do some shopping the next day, I needed an extra bag to carry all the bits we've picked up on route, and we needed to find Gemma a birthday present. We asked at the hostel, who directed us to a mall in the city. The taxi driver dropped us off at the entrance and I nearly fell to my knees and wept - the first two shops were Cartier and Louis Vitton. And from there it got worse, Armani, Versace, Rolex, Omega, all the luxury brands had a presence here. When Gemma had said she wanted a watch, I hadn't envisioned we'd be looking for something that would cost us more than our entire trip!

We had a brief look around, but there was no chance of us buying anything other than a drink in the food court. Instead we went to a different mall on the outskirts of town called Los Pueblos. This was were the people shopped, here we were able to pick up a bag, a watch, and some t-shirts for a few dollars each, far more like a backpacking budget!

After a few days of doing nothing except trying to find some relief from the relentless heat and humidity, we decided to return to Costa Rica. Gemma did take a train along the length of the canal one day, but she'll explain that in more detail later. We headed back to the bus station at 11pm one evening for our return trip on the Tica bus. The ride was as bumpy and twisting as before, and we were woken several times before we reached the border at 6am. Being the first time we had driven north in central America, we watched as sniffer dogs checked our bags thoroughly in both sides of the border. The second time the dog took a liking to my bag and I was hauled out to have it checked, but the strongest drug they found were several packets of Costa Rican coffee!

We eventually returned to San Jose at 4 in the afternoon, and walked the short distance to our hostel, to the dismay (and annoyance) of several taxi drivers. This being our third time in Costa Rica's capital, we resolved to do some of the things we had kept putting off, so the following morning we caught a bus downtown and found the Museo del Oro Precolombino (Precolombian Gold). The entrance price was a little steep, but there appeared to be several different exhibits, so we forked out $11 each and stepped inside.

Heading down stairs, you are obliged step walk through huge vault style doors to where the gold is kept. Inside is one of the best presented museums we have seen in Central America. The displays were well set up, with thought going to the presentation, especially lighting. But it's no wonder the curators have made such an effort, because they are the guardians of a wonderful collection of treasures. Little golden figures of humans and animals of all shapes and sizes, incredibly detailed and beautiful, these Precolombian people were true artisans.

I was particularly impressed by the sheer range of creatures, from the almost compulsory worship of jaguars through to the unlikely representations of a lobster or a crab. The museum also contained exhibits of the homes these people lived in, through to little models showing how they lived their daily lives. There was also a movie room which showed a video concerning how they created the gold.If you are ever in San Jose, this is a must see attraction.

The other thing we wanted to see was an Orchid garden called Jardin Botanico Lankester, about 25km outside of San Jose. We took a taxi to a bus station (there are over 20 here, so you have to know which one you want to go to before setting off), and caught a local bus to Cartago for $1. In Cartago we jumped in another taxi, and we were soon at the gardens to which Gemma has a family connection.

Charles H Lankester moved out to Costa Rica to farm coffee in the 1940's, and in his spare time cultivated his passion for orchids, which grew perfectly in this climate. When he passed away, his gardens were left to the care of the University of Costa Rica and the American Orchid Society, and survive to this day. The same Charles H Lankester was the second cousin, twice removed of David, Gemma's Dad.

Unfortunately having a family connection didn't save us from the entrance fee, so we headed inside to see what the Gardens looked like. The first area was dedicated to the Orchids, and they had a huge range. Most of them weren't in bloom (wrong time of year) but those that were looked stunning. We spent a long time admiring (and photographing) them inside the greenhouses.

They also had several other areas dedicated to different plants, including bromeliads, cacti, and a slightly disheveled Japanese Garden, so we spent an hour wandering around the pleasant paths, before returning to the reception. Gemma tried to get some information about Mr Lankester, but besides a few photographs inside the staff offices they didn't know a great deal, so we walked back down a dusty road in the afternoon heat to begin our return to San Jose.

In the next few days we will be heading down to the Caribbean coast for some sun and sea, and we'll be anxiously waiting the call from the Port Agent in Moin informing us of the embarcation procedure, but all being well we should set off on the 2nd February and expect to arrive in Spain 15 days later. Until then!