Other cruise lines are available

This post is especially for Volvo Cruiser, who specifically requested another article about our recent cruise. This post sort of is, as it is based on observations made whilst cruising around the western Mediterranean, back in June, but it also looks to the future, particularly as Mrs PBT’s and I contemplate where to ail to next year, and which cruise line we should choose.

If my sums are correct, we’ve clocked up six cruises since metaphorically dipping our toes in the water, on a three-day return voyage to Zeebrugge, at the tail end of October 2019. That was a “taster” cruise that we undertook, in the company of Eileen’s sister and her late husband, both of whom were seasoned cruisers. The pair showed us the ropes, so to speak, and having enjoyed the experience, we booked a slightly longer cruise to Hamburg, for the following May.

That, of course, never materialised – thanks to COVID, but the following year, when some virus restrictions were still in place, we booked a four-day, British Isles cruise, to Liverpool and back. This was on our own, as Eileen’s brother-in-law sadly passed away, right at the start of the pandemic. COVID wasn’t the cause of his passing, instead an aggressive brain tumour was behind his premature demise. Eileen and I had already decided that any future cruises should just involve the pair of us, rather than extended family, although we remain open to son Matthew joining us. That might sound a little selfish but that first cruise, along with previous experiences of going away as part of a group, was sufficient to confirm, what we both already knew that two’s company, whilst three or more is a crowd.

So far, we have only cruised with Cunard, a well-known and long-established shipping line who are considered top of the chain when it comes to luxury and sophistication. Combine that with a little glamour and elegance, and it’s easy to see why Cunard are held in such high regard. Mrs PBT’s can be a little conservative in her tastes, and by that, I mean she prefers what she is familiar with. I on the other hand wouldn’t mind a change and to this end we have both been looking at other cruise lines.

That isn’t quite as easy as it sounds because in common with Cunard and P&O, who are the other home-grown “British” cruise line they, like other operators such as Royal Caribbean, Norwegian, and Holland America, are all part of the American-owned, Carnival Corporation, the world’s largest cruise operator. Interestingly, all 12 operators within the group, retain a fair degree of autonomy, when it comes to branding, with each major cruise line maintaining separate sales, marketing and reservation offices, as well as heading up the industry’s most intensive shipbuilding programs.

Before looking further afield, let’s take a more detailed look at Cunard to find out why I, at least, am looking to book a voyage with a different cruise line. Personally, I find Cunard too formal and too stuffy, with customs and traditions seemingly hanging on since the last days of Empire. The formal dress code that is expected of guess wishing to dine in the Britannia Restaurant really gets me goat. It’s like being back at work, although my company doesn’t really operate under such formality, apart from at trade shows or the occasional business dinner.

When on holiday, I really don’t want to dress like a stuffed penguin, any more than Mrs PBT’s wants to parade around in her glad rags. That’s not strictly true, because prior to every cruise she has brought herself a new "posh frock”, even though it will only be worn a couple of times, and there’s nothing wrong with the dress she bought for the previous cruise, or even the one before that! My point that fellow passengers won’t know that her frock isn’t a new one, is normally countered with the quip, “They might not, but I WILL!”

When push comes to shove, she often can’t be bothered to dress up, and it’s me who pushes for the occasional posh dinner – but only because I’ve gone to the trouble of packing a suit! The other issue about dining in the posh restaurant, are the set meal times, and these are 5.30pm and 9pm. 

On our first cruise, Eileen and I were very disappointed at her sister plus husband’s choice of the first sitting, as it meant missing the traditional “sail away”, which is the moment the ship weighs anchor, cast off her ropes, and slips away from the quayside. So, on our first cruise, and Queen Elizabeth beginning her departure down Southampton Water, and out into the Solent, and there we were trying to make polite conversation with a group of people we’d never met and were unlikely to meet again.

We soon got wise to this, and now opt for “open dining” which allows us to choose which, if any sitting, we prefer (nearly always the 8.30 option). This brings me to the second point about the posh restaurant, which is people like to sit on the same table, with the same people, every evening. They usually have the same waiter as well.  I’m sure they all have a jolly good time, but it’s not for us, as particularly when on holiday, it’s nice not to be bound by time restrictions or by dress ones, for that matter. I noticed how certain people become quite anxious about dining times, as on the Rome excursion I went on, there were people on the coach becoming quite fretful as to whether or not they would be back onboard ship, for their 5.30pm dining slot!

For a substantial number of people though, dressing up each evening, for a formal dinner, is part and parcel of the cruise, and it probably on equal, or indeed higher footing, to that of the destinations visited and even the sights seen. Other formalities, extend to the casino, and to some of the posher bars- Commodore Club, Churchill Cigar Lounge, Gin Bar etc, but fortunately are not applied in the pub – always called the Golden Lion, on Cunard ships. 

Regular pub quizzes though, take place in the pub, as do certain entertainment acts, which brings me on to the theatre, cabaret, plus other singing and dancing activities, plus of course, the popularity of ballroom dancing, something that is taken extremely seriously by the participants – most of whom seem to be northerners! That’s just about exhausted Cunard, although I trust I haven’t painted too negative a picture. There is always the buffet, or some of the poolside dining options that are open during the day, and don’t forget, there is no requirement to dress for breakfast or lunch in the posh restaurant, either. The latter, along with the pub, provide the best option on embarkation day, when the majority of passengers cram into the buffet.

So, what about the alternatives? P&O, Fred Olsen and Saga are looking like the favourites at the moment, and I have received good reports from a couple of work colleagues about the former. Less formal, but still with a “British” feel to them. Norwegian-owned Fred Olsen would be my choice. Smaller and more personal ships, able to access smaller ports that the larger vessels are excluded from. 

Some of their destinations also look interesting – Scandinavia (obviously), the Baltic, and the British Isles, but also Croatia, and some of the smaller Greek islands. Some Fred Olsen cruises, depart from other UK ports, such as Dover, Liverpool or Newcastle, instead of Southampton, and Dover is also the embarkation point for Saga Cruises. The latter seem expensive, but you have to weigh the higher cost against an inclusive drinks package, plus collection from your house and return drop off, by taxi, that will take you directly to and from the cruise terminal.

We have ruled out Princess, Holland-America, Royal Caribbean and Celebrity, as many of these are party ships, geared up to a younger audience. The size of some of these vessels can be rather off-putting as well. One of these leviathans followed our ship into harbour, at the Majorcan capital, Palma.  I forget the number of passengers the boat was carrying, but it was probably double Queen Anne’s complement of 3,000 cruisers. Once ashore, the noisy and excitable, mainly American passengers, were all over the seafront, although it was quite amusing watching some of them getting taken in by the looky-looky men. Fake Gucci and Yves St Lauren handbags, and equally fake Swiss watches, at knock-down prices, I don’t think so.

Even more entertaining was watching these hawkers scoop up the blankets in which these items were laid, and then scarper at the first hint of a person in uniform. In a bid to stamp out this trade in dodgy goods, the Spanish authorities have started issuing substantial fines to any tourists caught buying these items, so be warned! I’ve gone slightly off-piste here, so I shall draw things to a close, and in the meantime, do my best to persuade Mrs PBT’s to try a different cruise line, and see how we get on.

Blue job or pink job?

There's not much worse than returning home, following an enjoyable and well-earned holiday, to find that during your absence, a minor disaster has occurred on the home front. This is what happened to Mrs PBT's and I, after our most recent cruise, and it was a problem with our hot water system that manifested itself whilst we were away. Despite being regularly serviced, our heating and hot water system seems to have form when it comes to going wrong, when we are away from home, so much so that you start to wonder, whether the house is getting its own back, for us not being there!

I remember one summer, when young Matthew was still at school, returning from a relaxing family holiday in a rented house at Winchelsea Beach, and noticing a large puddle on the kitchen floor. The hot water cylinder had mysteriously sprung a leak, allowing the water within to slowly spread itself all over the floor. The solution, of course, was a replacement cylinder – expensive, and inconvenient, but obviously essential!

A dozen or more years later, we returned from a pre-Christmas trip to a European city - Salzburg or Prague, although I can’t remember which one it was. It was suitably cold, as expected for the time of year, and this was a nice touch during the build-up to Christmas, especially as our chosen location was looking suitably festive. Returning home to a freezing cold house, due to a fault with the central heating, wasn’t quite so festive, and certainly wasn’t the pleasant welcome home we were expecting. Fortunately, the builder who had installed the system was able to call round that evening, identify the cause of the problem, and then correct it.

So, what happened this time around?  Well, approximately two-thirds of the way through our cruise, Queen Anne was making a return passage through the Strait of Gibraltar. The timings and the weather were perfect for sightseeing, so that evening the pair of us settled down on our balcony to watch our passage through the famous stretch of water. With our cabin situated on the port side of the ship we had an interrupted view of the coast of North Africa, along with the sprawling port of Tangier.

Courtesy of room service, we had just enjoyed a roast chicken club sandwich, and a generous handful of French fries, so feeling both full and relaxed our pleasant evening was overshadowed by a phone call from home It was son Matthew who was looking after the house, and he was questioning the length of time taken for the water in the kitchen to run hot. I explained that there was quite a lengthy run from the upstairs hot cylinder to the kitchen but that it shouldn't take too long for hot water to flow through.

Well, he said it's been running for quite some time now, and it's only coming through lukewarm. I asked if the boiler was alight, but he didn't know, and instead I had to listen to him panicking about needing a shower in the morning, before going to work. The youth of today, eh? How did he think we managed in the days before central heating and gas-fired boilers?  I replied that he could turn the immersion heater on, and after explaining where the switch was located, and that it would take approximately 30 minutes or more for the tank to heat up he seemed satisfied of sorts. We left it at that, although we received a brief message the following day, confirming that there had been sufficient hot water for his morning shower, and the evening’s washing-up! 

It was a Sunday when Eileen and I arrived home from the cruise. I couldn’t see why the hot water cycle wasn’t working, but I could hear the immersion hissing away, as it did its stuff. I'd already given instructions to Matthew not to leave it switched on for too long, given the price of electricity, but being a Sunday there was no chance of getting a plumber out. In the meantime, we could struggle on with immersion heater, until the engineer who looks after our boiler and central heating system could come and take a look. it wasn't good news when I finally spoke to him, as he was unavailable for a week and a half due to a family illness and a very full appointments book. We also had a family wedding to participate in, and this served as a further distraction.

One morning, a couple of days after said event, I heard an anguished cry from Mrs PBT's in the bathroom, complaining that the water had run cold on her, whilst she was showering. I checked the tank, and it felt cold, and with no noises coming from the immersion, I assumed that the fuse had blown. We have a pack of fuses somewhere in the house, but rather than turn the place upside down looking for them, I nipped down into Tonbridge and bought a pack. Unfortunately, a replacement fuse didn’t rectify the situation, so the immersion heater must have packed up. It's not a feature we use much, especially because of cost reasons, but now our backup was gone, what were we to do for hot water?

There is a communal shower at my workplace, which meant I would be OK, but it would have been impractical for Mrs PBT’s.  A chat with our maintenance man at work revealed that because the boiler was capable of providing heating but no hot water, the motorised valve that diverts hot water into the tank must have failed. I subsequently discovered that by opening this valve manually, we were able to direct hot water from the boiler, straight into the tank. Problem solved, for the time being, a happy Mrs PBT’s and a rather relieved Paul – as it was my fault, according to her that she’d endured a cold shower!

Cutting a long story short, I decided to circumvent our normal heating engineer and contacted a plumber who has carried out plumbing work for the company, in the past. It transpired that he was busy on a commercial job in London, but he put me in touch with a young lad who had served his apprenticeship under him. This pleasant young man came round couple of days later and fitted a replacement motorised valve.

I appreciate this has been a rather long and convoluted post, so well done to all those who have stuck it out so far, but the biggest downside to this tale was the time taken to solve the issue. This was valuable, irreplaceable time, which could have been spent visiting pubs, trying new beers and even writing about them, rather than trying to organise ways and means of restoring our hot water supply. Unfortunately, tradesmen, such as plumbers, seem few and far between at the moment, especially when it comes to their availability.

I'm sure it's because there aren't many coming up through the ranks, so to speak, as being a plumber or an electrician doesn't carry the same sort of kudos with the youngsters that working in other, more "glamorous" occupations does. Instead, they want to write programmes for computer games, or be “influencers”, whatever that means. They certainly don't want to roll up their sleeves and get their hands, dirty crawling around in tight confined spaces, such as lofts or under sinks.

It wasn’t just the wasted time that I found annoying, the whole episode was quite stressful as well, a feeling induced by feelings of helplessness by being left at the mercy of tradesmen with more work on their hands they can handle.   

What was worse though, was the way Mrs PBT's blamed me for the situation, just because I’m the man of the house! If proof of this was needed, her assertion that sorting out issues such as heating and plumbing was a “blue job,” said it all. What do you mean by that?  I asked. She replied, “blue as opposed to pink.” Getting the gist of what she was saying, I told her that it was a very sexist thing to say, and if I'd made such an assertion, I would have been in all sorts of trouble. Apparently, it’s quite a common thing to say, in some relationships, although you’d need to be a brave individual to raise it, in certain situations.  

That’s more than enough on what ought to be a minor consideration, a first world problem, if you like, but it’s not entirely over, as at the weekend, Matthew’s en suite shower gave up the ghost. The nice young lad I mentioned earlier, is coming to take a look at it, once he is back from holiday, but in the meantime, bear in mind that these things are sent to try us, irrespective of what colour they purport to be!

Some Folkestone pubs, for you to enjoy reading about

After the previous introductory article about the former channel port of Folkestone, here’s the post you’ve all been waiting for, namely some narrative about the pubs and bars my friends and I visited in the town the other Friday. The first pub of the day, and in my view the best, by far was the Bouverie Tap an independently run bar-cum restaurant, close to the former Bobby’s department store, and just five minutes’ walk from the Leas Cliff Hall with its cross-channel views. 

The Bouverie Tap opened in 2017 and expanded into the neighbouring premises three years later. Specialising in local cask ales, fine wines, continental beers, Kentish Gins and premium spirits, a range of fine food is also available, made freshly with locally sourced ingredients. The walls of the pub are adorned with plenty of interesting vintage memorabilia, which includes a number of old brewery advertisements. As far as the cask offerings were concerned, there was a Pale Ale from Pig & Porter, plus two offerings from Titsey Brewery. I haven’t particularly rated Titsey beers in the past (titter ye not!), but my pint of Leveson Buck was excellent, an opinion shared by several of my companions.  

We gave the Radnor Arms, just round the corner a miss, as the plan was to call in on way back to station – spoiler alert, we didn’t! Instead, we walked along cliff top, with its views out across the English Channel, to France, and ended up in Bayle area of town, where the parish church is situated. This quiet and peaceful area is the original centre, of Folkestone, when it was just a small town, perched up on the cliffs, overlooking a small haven.

A bit of confusion, and even dissent surrounded the Guildhall, the second pub on our provisional list, as half party called in, whilst the rest of the group headed off elsewhere. The dissenters were of the opinion that the pub is tied to Greene King, when in fact it is a Punch outlet. It certainly looked appealing from the outside, and after checking on What Pub, I am now kicking myself for missing it, as I discovered that, up until 1987, the pub originally called the Globe. This was an old haunt of me and my school chums, as the place for a pre-gig pint at the nearby Leas Cliff Hall. I think it was the garden area in front of the pub that threw me, as I don’t remember it being there.

Greene King IPA plus Harvey’s Best were the beers on sale, but bearing that in mind, I was surprised when the branch chairman dismissed the nearby British Lion, because it only sold Young's and Ringwood (where is that brewed now?) The Lion certainly looked a proper traditional pub, as demonstrated by the photo of its attractive exterior. Several of us would have liked to see for ourselves, but the British Lion is on my list for a future visit to Folkestone.

The second pub for many of us ended up as Kipps' Alehouse, a shop conversion occupying a prominent corner position at the top of the Old High Street, and Bayle Street. Kipp’s is a bit more than just a micro-pub, as it stocks a wide variety of bottled craft beers and draught international lagers, alongside two or three cask ales, served by gravity, from a chilled cabinet behind the bar.

Unfortunately, the pint of Crispin Amber Ale from Mad Cat Brewery was decidedly past its best, but it was exchanged with good grace, plus an apology from the landlady, for a pint of Tonbridge Countryman, instead. There is quite a Bohemian feel to Kipp’s but given the wide range of foreign beers that it stocks, it might be struggling to turn over the number of casks that it does, but then it does feature in the Good Beer Guide – go figure, as the Americans would say!

Onwards, and upwards, and a third pub selected, but only for those who didn’t mind a walk, was the East Cliff Tavern, a traditional backstreet terraced pub, that has been owned by the same family since 1967. This sounded more like it, but unfortunately it was closed, despite the advertised midday opening time. Disappointed, we decided to visit one of the pubs near the fish market instead, and the Ship Inn, with its views across the inner harbour, turned out to be a real cracker, and a definite “proper pub” at last. The Ship dates back to the 1930’s, although there has been a pub of the same name, on the site since the early 1700’s.

Given its location, outlook and the wall-to-wall sunshine we were experiencing, it was no surprise to find the place packed, but we still managed to find a couple of tables. London Pride, Doom Bar and Old Speckled Hen, were joined on the bar by Harbour View, a 3.9% house beer, produced exclusively for the pub by an unknown brewery, that I was unable to find on Untappd. In charge of proceedings, were a couple of "old school" landladies, keeping watch from behind the bar. Their no-nonsense approach soon became apparent when a couple of “stripped to the waist” builder types, who’d been hanging around outside, were told to put a shirt on, if they wished to be served!

A number of our group had lunch at the Ship, with fish and chips being the obvious choice. The food looked good, and the service was quick, but three of us had already decided to visit Sandy’s Fish & Chip Shop, just a few doors along. This meant eating our fish and chips outside, and taking our chances with marauding seagulls, but fortunately, these pesky birds were conspicuous by their absence, unlike as in other resorts such as Brighton and Hastings!

It was time to join up with the rest of our party, who we’d been keeping in touch with via Whats App, so after a climb back up into the centre of the old town we reached the Beer Shop Folkestone. As its name implies this establishment is another shop conversion that is home to a specialist beer bar. It majors on keg, bottled and canned beers, with one or sometimes two micro-brewery cask ales served from taps on the rear wall. My choice of beer was Hopping the Tasman, a well-hopped pale ale from Gravesend’s Iron Pier Brewery. We sat in the bar’s long narrow room which, as you can see below, provided a good photo opportunity.  

We then crossed the road to the Samuel Peto, a Wetherspoon's pub named after renowned railway engineer and builder of Nelson’s column, Samuel Morton Peto. This entrepeneur used part of his fortune to fund the building, which began life as a Baptist church in 1874. The pub’s former function is still very much in evidence, as it features the original stained-glass windows, various memorial plaques of local dignities, and a hand-painted ceiling of fluffy white clouds across a blue sky. 

The church once contained a large pipe organ, and the façade of these pipes have been retained at the far end of the balcony. There are even two pulpits upstairs, and this is where we sat with our drinks, looking out over drinkers on the ground floor below us. The pub wasn’t that busy, although at 4pm on a Friday afternoon, one might have expected a lull. I went for a pint of Moose River from Hop Union Brewery, which turned out to be yet another hoppy pale ale.

We headed back into the town centre, to Chambers, our penultimate stop, and quite a quirky one at that. Established in 1998, and still owned by the same people, Chambers is a spacious cellar bar, close to the bus station. It is also a Good Beer Guide regular, and it’s easy to see why, with its carefully chosen range of local cask ales, craft beers, ciders, plus a range of directly imported continental lagers. The bar consists of several inter-linked sections that extend for some distance beneath an upstairs licensed coffee shop.  

After the fierce heat of the day, it was refreshingly cool underground and a nice place where we could sit down and relax. The cask offerings were Adnams Lighthouse and Hop Fuzz Fallout, yet another, fruity and citrus-driven, pale session ale. I was starting to feel a bit jaded by this time but stuck it out to the final pub of the day, the Firkin Alehouse, just a hop, skip and a jump away. Founded in 2012, the Firkin promotes itself as Folkestone's first micro-pub, with up to four cask beers, and up to six ciders all served on gravity from a temperature-controlled cellar room. There was an emphasis on Kent micro-breweries, which was borne out by my choice of Smash, an English pale ale, from Kent Brewery.

The beer seemed very similar in makeup and character to the previous one, although my Untappd notes describe it as probably the best beer of the day. This might just have been the beer talking, as it had been quite a long day. We sat outside, in a paved area at the rear of the pub, before drifting, in dribs and drabs back to the station. The trains heading back towards London were packed, or at least the high-speed one was. My companions and I waited for the standard South Eastern train which formed a direct service back to Tonbridge, albeit stopping at every station along the way.

The day had certainly proved an interesting one, and for someone like me, the chance to reconnect with the Folkestone I remember from my youth. It also provided a useful guide to which parts of the town were worth revisiting, and which to avoid next time around.