Sea All At
Malcolm D. Welshman shares the highs and lows of being a guest speaker on cruise lines.
IT was a formal evening on the P&O cruise ship Oceana, as it sailed round the western Mediterranean. Hence, I was in black tie and considered I looked debonair as I strolled through the glittering atrium of the ship.
I stopped to enquire of a couple of elderly ladies sipping G and Ts as to whether they were enjoying their cruise. Both nodded enthusiastically.
“You must be very proud of your ship,” one said.
“And you’ve such a lovely crew,” her companion added, beaming.
Ah, problem. It seemed they had mistaken me for the captain when, in fact, I was one of the guest speakers on board.
Not wanting to embarrass them, I excused myself and slipped away.
There was a double-take the following morning when they bumped into me wearing jeans and T-shirt. At that point, I had to explain.
But I did make amends after lunch, escorting them slowly to the far end of the ship and the Starlights Lounge, where I was to give my third talk about my experiences as a vet.
I ushered them into seats in the front row and commenced my talk, whereupon they promptly nodded off.
Such is life at sea. And it’s been my life these past nine years, as a cruise-line guest speaker.
My wife, Maxeen, and I, in the course of 50 cruises, have been able to visit parts of the world we never dreamed we’d get to see.
It started when I was interviewed on BBC Bristol, talking about my veterinary experiences and how I came to write a book about them.
A day or so after that interview I had a phone call from an agent who booked speakers for cruise lines.
Would I be interested in being put on his list?
“Go for it, Dad,” my daughter urged. “You and Mum have always loved travelling. And you can see the world for free.”
I wasn’t sure. The only ship I’d ever been on was the Isle of Wight ferry and even then I was sea-sick.
But the allure of exotic climes was too great and, within a month, Maxeen and I found ourselves on board a Saga world cruise, completing the first three weeks of the trip.
This took us to the
Caribbean, through the Panama Canal and on down to Peru, from where we were flown home.
We’ve never looked back since. We have now managed to visit countries like New Zealand,
Australia, South Africa and Mauritius.
The highlight has to be the time we berthed in St Helena and spent a day exploring that remote but beautiful South Atlantic island.
It included meeting and having a nose-to-nose exchange with the world’s oldest living land animal – Jonathan, the giant tortoise. Unforgettable.
Onboard life while getting to these places has been an experience in itself.
Take mealtimes, for instance. Certain cruise lines operate freedom dining. This means that, in the evening, you are seated with different passengers each time you dine.
It’s a great way to meet
new people: like the High Court judge, travelling the world to advise on immigration, or the postman based in Barnsley, who chatted up Maxeen and then stood up when she was about to leave the table.
At that point, his trousers fell down, as he had unbuckled his belt during the meal.
And the tall, sassy blonde on board with her father, who bought six pairs of sling-backs in every port and who had ditched her husband – if not her shoes – on her last cruise, flying back midway through it.
Inevitably, as I talk about animals, passengers like to chat to me about their pets. Frequently I’m presented with pictures of their dog, cat or parrot.
One lady flummoxed me when I asked if she owned a pet.
“I used to,” she replied, giving me a regal stare.
I gave an encouraging smile back.
“It was a white tiger,” she added.
My smile faded rapidly. It turned out she was the ex-wife of a Maharaja.
Then there was the gentleman whose wife, sitting next to him, confessed she’d once swallowed some tablets meant for their dog.
“I was really worried,” her husband said. “I thought she might run off down the road cocking her leg against the lampposts.”
How could I not enjoy life on board with such delightful characters around?
There was another aspect to cruising which often provided some additional experiences.
This was via offering my services as a tour escort – the link between the ship’s passengers and the tour guides on shore excursions.
On a boat trip across Lake Bracciano in Italy, an elderly passenger tripped and fell on deck, cracking open his forehead.
As he came to, I whispered to him that if he was able to meow then perhaps I could attend to his wounds. That quickly revived him.
Introducing myself to the Spanish guide taking us on a shore excursion round Alicante a few days later, I mentioned that incident.
I went on to say that, on escort duty for a walking tour of Bergen, I’d lost my group twice and that, while on a trip up Mount Vesuvius, a gentleman in my tour group had gashed his thigh.
I didn’t appreciate all this had been said with the PA switched on and so everyone on the coach had been listening in.
When I turned to introduce myself as the escort for that day’s trip, the passengers cowered back in alarm at this harbinger of bad news in their midst.
I tend to prance around the stage while I give my presentations and, in a recent cruise talk, I stepped backwards to the lectern just as the ship gave a slight lurch.
I sailed past my laptop and disappeared behind the curtains, arms flailing.
The audience thought it all part of the act and laughed loudly.
I might have been all at sea, but I loved every minute and still do.
Even if I’m not the captain.