Day 58: At sea, en route to Manta, Ecuador.

I was slightly saddened to leave Callao, Peru yesterday after two hectic but highly enjoyable days exploring the city. Our full day in the capital, Lima, the day before provided the rarest of brief opportunities to walk along unassuming streets, across major squares, empty because of political unrest and therefore barricaded off, but available mainly to tourists and pedestrians. There seemed to be a heavy police presence, but I didn’t feel that I was about to be “disappeared” any time soon. The colour lit fountains and laser show were astonishing, but it was a good job I was able to video a great deal to be able to look back on in the lean days of old age to come.  The following day (yesterday) I took a Cunard coach trip to Casa Garcia, a splendid private house, constructed in 1912 in the “rather desirable” district of Miraflores.  The granddaughter of the original owner showed us around; I believe the house to be still occupied by her mother, now in her 80s. We continued to a rather lovely landscaped park, not enormous, but very pleasant with “Gaudy-esque” Barcelona tiled artwork in much evidence. This place afforded spectacular views over the Pacific Ocean with dramatic cliff faces. The weather was warm and clear.  But there were street sellers aplenty, and the persistence of one in particular became tiresome and I was losing enthusiasm rapidly.  The trip itself was fine. Fortunately, the Pisco Sour at the House was merely a sample taste, which is as well considering the around 45% alcoholic content!  I did re-acquaint myself with the not very diabetic friendly Inca Cola which was cool and refreshing.

(7th March 2020) …I was awake at around 7 am this morning, but didn’t surface for breakfast until after 9 o’clock. Unusually, Jo was not at her usual table outside; she had chosen to Deck walk in an attempt to shake off the “Cunard cough” from which she had been suffering for just under a week. I enjoyed my breakfast outside on Deck 9 with the unpalatable realisation that three weeks tomorrow, I should be back in Buxton, reaquainting myself with the crap weather the end of March can have to offer. There is also the realisation that perhaps I might have been in the southern hemisphere for the last time. I shrugged off all these negative thoughts and enjoyed the good fortune of being in such a fabulous part of the world. Sea life is making plenteous appearances; perhaps I should forego the whist drive once again! It’s far too nice to be indoors.

Lawrence from the Photo Gallery gave me an hour’s photo tuition today. That 60 minutes passed by very quickly, but for the first time, I am beginning to understand the numerous facilities and opportunities my “bridge” camera has to offer. 

We don’t cross the Equator until after our call at Manta, tomorrow. However, the Crossing the Line ceremony took place today. I have been to several of these on previous voyages and chose to give this one a miss, and dutifully join the whist drive.  I wish I hadn’t bothered, the subtle sniping of a very small few can become wearing, and I know longer feel the loyalty to carry on. 

Tonight is another “much anticipated” gala evening, requiring the donning of formal dress.  At least Cunard does maintain the traditional these regular formal evenings which certainly does maintain, or cling on to the “elegant old days.”  Buxton Festival used to have regular such fund raising events, but these seem to have become very few and far between. Rarely does the “tux” come out, other than on board ship.  Aiden and Jose are holding a reception in their stateroom tonight. I shall be accompanying a still poorly Jo whose cold and cough are persisting with irritating annoyance for her.

8/3/20. This was a most enjoyable event with, I am told, 45 attending at staggered times. Thanks for reading, David, 09.19hrs