Archives For cruise

On a ship with hundreds or thousands of people, you’re bound to bump into a few duds. The stalker couple who are somehow ALWAYS EVERYWHERE you go. Don and Dorothy from Dullsville. The drunk, deluded bogan who thinks you’re his new best mate. The slurring, sloppy cougar. The racist, sexist pig who’s rude to all the waiters. The bragging wankers in the owner’s suite. That stalker couple AGAIN.

Nobody wants their holiday ruined by fellow travellers who just don’t get the hint. So, here are my 6 recommended ways to escape the cruisers from hell.

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Last night, Australian TV screened a documentary about the sinking of the Costa Concordia in 2012. While I posted my reactions on Twitter, I found a link to this great song about it: “What Was He Thinking?” by Kenny Giordano.

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A “hostitute” is a saucy, scandalous combination of a dance host and a prostitute. Now, I am not saying such people exist on cruise ships. Someone else told me that.

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It was midnight at the jacuzzi…as all good stories begin…and I snuck in, ignoring the closed sign, with my friend. The ship was crossing between Australia and New Zealand, a typically windy stretch of sea, and I was carrying a bottle of wine and two glasses. I placed them down on the side of the hot tub as I climbed in, when suddenly a gust of wind blew them into the water! We rescued the wine and one glass but couldn’t find the other one. That’s when things got much, much worse….

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I’m disappointed by my butler’s name: Greg.

I knew he wouldn’t ever live up to my fantasy of a butler called Jeeves. But really, Greg? That’s the best you can do? His six-foot height, handsome face and tuxedo help, but not enough. I want a top hat and tails if you’re going to have the same name as a Brady.

Minutes later I have to hide my glee when Greg explains that he is not my butler; that my real butler is on his lunch break, and his name is Viktor. With a K. Now we’re talking.

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It’s been a couple of weeks since my last blog, thanks to a hectic month of travel and deadlines, so I’ll reward you with a juicy story about a naughty ship’s captain, who shall remain unnamed, from a ship that shall remain unnamed. We met at a cocktail party, where past passengers get the chance to mingle with the officers.

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A list of companies that offer coach, car or mini-bus transfers from other parts of the state to White Bay Cruise Terminal, Sydney.

UPDATED INFO (December 2013) at www.whitebaysydney.com

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You’ve seen them – the impossibly good-looking couples, the silver foxes and their glamorous (20 years younger) wives…
Well, guess what, cruisers – I’m here to tell you they are REAL!!! How do I know? Because I boarded a cruise and THERE THEY WERE. Four models, on the ship, enjoying a bottle of wine in the lounge.

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A Californian man, well into his sixties, approaches me after dinner and whispers into my ear: “Excuse me, but I was wondering if you would like to share a little something I picked up in Amsterdam?”

Surely he doesn’t mean what I think he means.

We arrange to meet on the ship’s top deck in ten minutes, but it still comes as a surprise when I see exactly what I had expected: the orange glow of a pipe – and not the kind my grandfather used to smoke.
In that unforeseen moment, under moonlight on the Rhine, I am relieved of all concerns that cruising is only for boring old people.

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I’ve been speaking on radio stations, today and last night, about the two young people who have gone missing from Carnival Spirit off Australia’s east coast. My blog about deaths at sea has led to some interesting research.

So, how closely are you being monitored while on a ship? A big ship has hundreds of cameras watching your every move – everywhere except inside your cabin. They can also see inside your balcony (so any couple who’s been swept away by the romance of sea, yep, there’s a good chance the officers were watching you from the bridge).

Problem is, there are not 600 security staff to watch 600 cameras, and it only takes a couple of seconds to fall from the 10th deck into the ocean – like leaping from a skyscraper.

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