Brits don’t put what we consider to be cocktail sauce on their shrimp cocktail – I mean the red, tomato-y, horseradish sauce that comes with the frozen shrimp ring. Instead, they serve Marie Rose sauce. Marie Rose is very like Thousand Island dressing, but without the little chopped bits, and with a splash of brandy added. I am telling you this to set the stage for yesterday’s run-in with a neighbour.

Okay, so run-in is a misnomer. Bruce is a lovely, elderly gentleman with a pretty spaniel, Freya. They are pretty much the first people we met the week we moved in. We always stop for a chat when see one another in the street, and he is always quick to introduce me to anyone else who might pass by.

Yesterday we saw each other by the school grounds and got talking about my trip to Scandinavia. Discussing Copenhagen (a city we both really liked) led to Stockholm (he’s been; I haven’t) and he said I must go, and when I do, be sure to see the Vasa. I asked what that was and he said, “It’s Sweden’s Marie Rose.” I said, with a puzzled look on my face, “What’s the Marie Rose?” His reaction was immediate and obvious. He started, and then a look of shock and dare I say, judgement came over his face. I tried to recover by saying, “You mean the sauce?” (although I was pretty sure he did not), but that seemed to just be digging myself even deeper. I mean, it was as if I had said, “Who’s Winston Churchill?” His reaction had been quick and slight, just a flicker, but unmistakable: what kind of an education did you have?

Turns out the Mary Rose was one of Henry VIII’s flagships, which sank off the south coast of England in a battle with the French and is now preserved as a museum in Portsmouth. Every school child knows that. In my defense, ‘Mary’, said in an Orcadian accent, sounds very like ‘Marie’. But even so, I still would have been no wiser – it was absolutely not one of the things covered by Mr Beacock in my Grade 7 History class.

Well, I feel I have let Bruce down; I am just a peedie bit diminished in his eyes. The temptation, at the time, was to say, “So, do you know who Laura Secord was? Nellie McClung? Louis Riel?”, but I did not. I just went home and made some shrimp cocktail.

Fred. Olsen cruise line charges for wifi.  And it ain’t cheap: £120 for the whole cruise, or £12/day.  As recently as our last cruise three years ago I wouldn’t have cared at all about having email or internet access, and in fact only ever used the ship’s ‘business centre’ to check in with family periodically, but when you combine travelling alone, leaving Scout with people I don’t know really well, this blog, and researching upcoming cities stops online, well I need my wifi.  (I’d have been perfectly happy with 10 minutes/day on one of the ship’s own computers, but Fred. Olsen doesn’t have a business centre for the passengers’ use.)

I came up with a work-around (a cunning plan, as Baldrick would say) – I decided that every second or third day I would sign up for one day of wifi.  I would sign up at noon, and have 24 hours of access, meaning I could check in with my sisters in the first afternoon and then again the next morning.  I could post updates on my cruise over a two day period, so they wouldn’t pile up.  A maximum cost of £36 instead of £120. Hah.

When it was announced that our cruise was changing and I wouldn’t be able to get to the shops I wanted in Szczecin, I wanted to do some research into what to do in Copenhagen.  I would have used the travel guides in the library here, but (a) someone keeps stealing the pertinent books each day and not replacing them until we’ve left the relevant city – I suspect one of my dining companions (mainly because he told us that was what he was doing); and (b) one of the Scandi-specific travel guides I did find on their shelves was a Fodors (good) from 1992 (bad).  I had just finished up a 24-hour paid wifi session and didn’t really want to have to pay for another one so soon.  And why should I have to?  They changed the cruise destination, I didn’t.

So I went to the Guest Services desk and said I wanted one day of free wifi to allow me to make changes to my plans and research Copenhagen.  The clerk said she would raise it with her boss.  I went back the next morning to renew my request and was told, yes, management had cleared a one-time, one-day free wifi access for me.  The young man diffidently explained that management was only doing this for me and hemmed and hawed, until I said, “You’d prefer that I not broadcast this to the other passengers, is that right?”  He sighed with relief and said yes, exactly.  No problem at all from me.  I left quite pleased with myself (and I am not posting this until after the cruise is over – not that any of the other passengers know of my blog).

I want to be clear – I know spending an additional £12 on a cruise costing over £2,000 shouldn’t matter and I’m just being petty.  If they hadn’t been charging us for every, single solitary thing, I wouldn’t have felt so strongly about it.  But I still resent having had to pay for an ice cream cone beside the pool – I think that was the proverbial straw that made me nickel and dime them right back.

Elderly British men seem to like to lecture.  My experience recently has been a series of solid, senior, middle-class British men pontificating on a variety of subjects, usually unasked.

Last week a bristly Englishman spent 15 minutes explaining to a waiter the history of beer-making in the UK over the last several hundred years (he hadn’t asked); last night a voluble gentleman from Cheshire told his waitress exactly why he was going to see the true ‘Little Mermaid’ statue in Copenhagen and not the one on show for all the tourists (she hadn’t asked); and this morning a natty-looking pensioner from Edinburgh told me why the tour guide was wrong about Britain’s role in liberating Copenhagen at the end of the war (I hadn’t asked).

Uncle Ian isn’t like this.  Dad wasn’t like this.  Hunh.

But I do like people-watching.  I am my mother’s daughter in this area, although not of her calibre.  Norma could carry on an entire conversation with our family at a table in a restaurant, all the while tuning into what was going on at several other tables around us. 

I sit with my book at my breakfast or lunch table and just observe what’s going on around me.   My favourite so far on this cruise is an elderly English couple, very pukka, very Britain-rules-the-sea.  They are very pleasant and very polite.  Every morning at breakfast (and I do mean every morning), they have found something to complain about – always in a highly instructive manner.  Milk for tea should be served warm.  Bananas should be available every morning at the buffet.  The teaspoons were too big.  On the second morning, they actually planned out who would complain about what.  She told him he was to cover the fact that the bacon was not cooked crispy enough, while she tackled them about the quality of the toaster. Plan made – off they went.

‘Nowt so queer as folk.

One of the quirks of ocean cruising is assigned seating at dinner – I am not a fan.  I am perfectly happy chatting with people I meet in the lounge or by the pool or at the bar, but the idea of being stuck with the same six people for dinner every night has my introverted, isolationist, Reid nerves on edge. 

I could have sworn that I asked for a solo table when I booked, but on evening one I was led to a large table with three other guests.  They were lovely people – so lovely in fact that I felt guilty about wanting to dodge that table for the rest of the cruise.  The man spoke with such a thick Mancunian accent and gravelly voice that I understood maybe one word in 20 (since typing this, I had several more meals with him and 1 in 20 is generous – haven’t a clue what he is saying. At all.). The two ladies from Glasgow & Fort William were very nice and very friendly and (most importantly) very intelligible. And yet, I bailed on them, at least for a few of the evenings.  I warned my dining companions up front that I had booked several nights at the boutique restaurants to manage expectations. (I hadn’t actually done that at that point, as I was finding the additional costs for everything to be a bit much, but I decided it was worth the money to ensure dinners that I was actually enjoying.)

In 2018 LL & I took our first ocean cruise in years on Viking’s new ocean liner. We spent our first day in Barcelona, and one day was simply not enough to see everything (we did a Keystone Cops taxi tour of the major sights in town, with LL hopping out at each place to take photos before popping back into the cab – typical North American tourists). The next morning, as we should have been pulling into Monaco, LL pointed out that the sun seemed to be on the wrong side of the ship. Just then the captain’s voice came over the loudspeaker (tannoy) to announce that an engine, or propeller, or crank shaft, or something had broken, we were heading back to Barcelona, and the cruise was cancelled. Instead, we were to spend the next 12 days, courtesy of Viking, berthed in Barcelona – our cruise was free, all excursions were free, plus we got 50% towards our next cruise. Jackpot! While much of the rest of the ship’s passengers railed at the staff, or cried (seriously, people cried), or went home; LL & I looked at each other, grinned, and said, “Freebie!” We had the best two weeks in Barcelona exploring it properly (no taxi-hopping anymore). And we even signed up for the same cruise the following year (which turned out just great too).

Well, zip forward four years. I have always wanted to visit Denmark, particularly Copenhagen. I saw this cruise online and while it didn’t stop in Copenhagen, it did hit one Danish city; and as mentioned before, the cruise started out of Edinburgh.

I have enjoyed every stop so far. We have two cities left: Sassnitz Germany today, and Szczecin Poland tomorrow. I was particularly looking forward to Szczecin as it has two specific shops I wanted to visit, that I haven’t found in the UK or even northern France.
Well not so fast, Lainey. Yesterday afternoon the captain came over the tannoy (loudspeaker) to say that an engine, or propeller, or crank shaft, or something had broken and our cruise was being altered. It seems we are able to sail, just at much slower speeds. So today’s stop in Sassnitz is still on, but Szczecin has been cancelled and replaced by a day in Copenhagen. People seem to be reacting fairly well – no tears – we Scots are a stoic race – and while I’m bummed about missing those two shops in Szczecin, I get to go to Copenhagen.

My only worry: am I like those people who can’t wear watches because the watches always stop working on their wrist? Am I breaking ship propellers with some sort of electromagnetic force?

Gdansk is beautiful. With a very interesting and often sad history.

I decided not to take one of the ship’s tours – too expensive and waaay too long. Instead I found a Viator boat tour along the canals and rivers. The starting point was about a 20 minute walk from where the ship’s shuttle bus dropped us in town, at the old dockyards.

Turned out to be more than a 20 minute walk when I factored in getting lost twice, but I got to the docks with time to spare. Unfortunately the docklands were locked up with no sign of anything touristy. I asked a number of nearby dock workers and locals (many in Gdansk speak German) but no one had heard of it. So back to the centre of town (shoulda taken sun screen).

Rest of day went much better: beautiful streets and buildings, nice residential areas, more churches than Rome, and great sidewalk cafes.

Edit: I have just been informed by Viator that they will not be reimbursing me, and I received what looked like an indignant email from the tour operator (it was all in Polish, but there were a number of exclamation marks). I will be taking this up with Viator when I get home. Hunh.

Clearly I have been spoiled by river cruises and their ‘all-in’ prices. I am on a Fred. Olsen cruise ship with 800+ Scots, 100+ English, and a few Americans. The staff are lovely (the ratio of staff:guests is quite high) and the boat is very nice. But everything costs. All the excursions are an extra £35 – £150, wifi is £12/day, gratuities aren’t covered, nor is ground transport to the port.
When I sat down in the lounge when I arrived on board, the young waiter spent at 8 minutes trying to convince me to spend £40 on a wine & cheese tasting event – very hard sell. (Since then I have heard at least 3 other staff members accosting guests for similar events – it’s exhausting to even listen to).

I will be doing a cost comparison when I get home. (*Of course, you will, Elaine, of course you will.)

This cruise used to go to St Petersburg, but in light of recent events, yesterday’s destination was the lovely town of Klaipeda.

I love visiting grocery stores in foreign countries and the small grocer in the center of town did not disappoint. Pringles stacked next to paprika flavored crisps from Poland, Heinz ketchup on the same shelf as at least 15 types of local pickles and sauerkraut, and at least 10 brands of Lithuanian vodka (no Stoly here).

Banners and flags in support of Ukraine were everywhere – we were within 100km of Russian soil, and the Lithuanians are very concerned about Putin (no wonder).

The town was great, but the most remarkable sight was the massive naval ship loaded down with what I was told were Harrier planes (never question an elderly British man on his knowledge of anything military – he will take great offense).

I resent every single piece of clothing that I pack and end up not using, and I regret every forgotten piece of clothing that would have made my trip better. This time, it looks like the coat was surplus to requirements and a cardigan would have been a more useful choice.
I keep questioning why I am having these problems with packing (please God don’t let it be early-onset dementia) because when I packed for work all those years ago I was like a well-oiled machine. There was no list-making, no agonizing over choices, no missing items. It was because packing for work travel was easy: one suit with an extra pair of pants (trousers), three blouses, a pair of jeans and two casual tops, pjs, and two pairs of shoes: one dress, one casual – all in one color palette. Inclement weather didn’t matter as I was taking taxis; toiletries were easy because I kept a full make-up bag all ready with seconds of make-up samples and miniature bottles.

And I don’t really know why it bugs me so much – it doesn’t need to be perfect – silly me.

On the whole, I did pack fairly well for this trip – I was commenting to my sisters (via Messenger) on the Captain’s welcome evening that there were some lovely gowns and dresses, and it was nice to see so many men in formal kilts or tartan trews (trousers), but that the key take-away from the evening was that I had the nicest shoes on the boat. And really, what else matters?

On the whole, I am enjoying this cruise. Starting to suspect that 10 days might be 2 or 3 days too long when travelling solo, but this is a very nice ship with good food, pleasant crew, and thankfully, good weather.

There are a few places where I feel they fall down a bit – I’ve mentioned the nickel & diming and the hard upselling – some of the other deficiencies I’ve noticed include areas such as cabin amenities, the limited wine range, and maybe more regional foods; but I will never mention it to them, at least not to their faces.

After Lori’s and my continuous improvement incident of 2013, affectionately known as Elbe-gate, I don’t give face-to-face feedback. Back then, because we liked the cruise director so much, we very kindly pulled him aside on the second last day to tell him how much better experience the passengers would have had, if only the cruise line apprised them about certain routines and information. He graciously took all our suggestions on board and we wandered back to the bar in a haze of self-congratulatory helpfulness. The next morning, as we were packing, we opened the pamphlet each of us had found on our beds on Day One, but had never bothered to look at. Every piece of information we had been missing was clearly spelled out. Splendid.

I know exactly what would happen if I were to say to someone here that there should be a clock in each stateroom: “Oh did madame not look at the TV screen in the corner?” or made a suggestion to supply guests with hair conditioner or hand cream: “Ah, allow me to show madame the toiletries tray under the sink.” So, I say nothing. (BTW there really should be a clock, hand cream, shampoo & conditioner, bathrobe & slippers in each cabin. Ah well.)