Sail away, sail away

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This was published 15 years ago

Sail away, sail away

Jacqueline Maley discovers a ship the size of a shopping mall is no place to find solitude.

By Jacqueline Maley

There are few indignities worse than being stood up, but I'll venture I've suffered one: in the Legends sports bar on the P&O Pacific Sun cruise ship somewhere off the coast of New Caledonia. Wearing a cocktail dress.

There's only so long you can feign interest in the TV special on Warnie's greatest Test wickets, and only so long you can stare at the faux-mahogany panelling of the walls. Sooner or later the low ceilings depress you and the burble of the pokies oppresses you. It's at that point that an obese, bald man on holiday from Bourke comes up and asks you if you're meeting someone. If not, he says, won't you join him and his friends?

And you're so grateful you could kiss him.

It was night seven of a nine-night cruise. There were almost 1900 passengers of all ages, 670 crew, and me, on a boat the size of a large shopping mall. All the other passengers were in groups: families, honeymooners and, of course, the crowds of singles - tight tribes of dressed-up youths, drinking boots on, ready to attack the high seas like locusts to a fat harvest.

I felt conspicuous waiting alone at the Legends bar, but by that stage I was used to it. As a solo traveller on the cruise ship, I was a rarity. As a single woman, I was shark bait.

As the boat cruised out of Sydney Harbour, bound for four stops in New Caledonia, I had struggled to contain the rising panic in my throat. Newspaper budgets being what they are, I was not allowed to take a companion, or protector, on the assignment. I was to board the party ship alone.

The ship was bound for the Isle of Pines, then on to Emerald Bay, then Noumea and, lastly, the island of Lifou. But before we reached the jewel-like New Caledonian ports, there were two full days at sea to be endured.

My room - a shared cabin in steerage - had no windows but was full of comforts, including a television with movie and music channels, a fridge and air-conditioning.

At first I amused myself with solitary activities. I discovered I liked to spit overboard and watch the slow descent of my spool of saliva as it swayed in the saline breeze. At night I wandered the decks in what I imagined was a romantic fashion, picturing myself starring in my own pop-ballad film clip.

Clive James wrote that an ocean cruise was simply a bad play surrounded by water, and soon I grew bored and decided I should meet my cast-mates. Hitting the bars and casino, I met a rich array of fellow cruisers - a football team on a pre-season bonding trip, a lovely New Zealand couple at my dinner table who were escaping adolescent children and cold weather, and various crowds of young pleasure-seekers from across the nation, with whom I began to integrate.

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Those initial days at sea could have been maddeningly boring, but I soon learned you are never bored on a cruise ship, only stir crazy.

A newsletter slotted under the door each morning informed us of the day's activities. There were dancing lessons, art auctions, trivia competitions, flower arranging and quilling classes (a strange and, I surmised, entirely useless craft involving rolled-up bits of paper).

Each of these activities was cunningly pitched to match other activities - attend a grass skirt-making workshop and make a costume for tonight's island party! Learn to disco dance for this evening's talent quest! And so each hour was made purposeful, as it slid seamlessly into the next.

A tribe of young, smooth-limbed entertainment staff was charged with making the trip enjoyable, supervised by the "cruise directors", two young men who seemed to be everywhere at once - hosting Perfect Match competitions, flirting with elderly ladies at the afternoon bingo comp, or nobly asking unescorted women to dance at the captain's cocktail party.

I began to treat the ship itself like an immense amusement park, bouncing between its 12 decks, nine bars, two dining rooms, pool and slide, library, spa, gym, casino and its wonderful speak-easy style "show lounge". This was a fabulously tacky, cavernous place, with mirrored ceilings and two inexplicable 10-metre-tall seahorses flanking the stage. It was here the nightly spectaculars took place - panto-inspired, toe-tapping musical numbers so perky they made your teeth rattle.

It was during a particularly cheesy Australiana-themed show that I gave in to the cruise experience. As the grinning chorus launched into a medley of famous Australian jingles, I realised that this was a unique cultural moment.

If I had wanted to complete the Titanic cliche, and audition a Leonardo DiCaprio to my Kate Winslet, I wouldn't have had to look far. The promise of getting laid is pretty much built into the ticket price.

Gradually, as we headed north and the air got balmier, romance blossomed among the passengers. Often it blossomed late at night, in the Oz Nightclub, a 1980s-inspired atrocity home to lots of bad-but-good dance music and silly dancing. It was here the young men lurched and leered, and the young women giggled and teased. Bottoms were bared, to general hilarity, and the late-night swaying of the ship was offset by copious rum cocktails and unsteady dancing. Each liaison was dissected over breakfast the next day.

We woke one morning to the announcement we were moored at our first stop, the Isle of Pines, a tiny ex-penal settlement, where many political prisoners from the Paris Commune uprising were sent from 1872. Our tribe disembarked and fanned out across the island - a true Melanesian paradise, with lanky pine trees lining the shore and local children, sun-blackened and wet, playing on the beach like puppies as their parents lounged in the shade.

Many of the passengers seemed surprised, if not offended, to find the locals spoke French, but if they had watched closely they would have picked as distinctly Gallic the Melanesians' bemusement at the invasion of red-faced Anglos.

The next day we hit Emerald Bay, a coral beach on the tip of Grande Terre, the New Caledonian mainland. It had little to recommend it except a rocky coral reef, which had largely been trampled already by tourists like us.

Again, it could have been peaceful, in a castaway, Mutiny on the Bounty-kind of way, but for the presence of 1000-odd Australian holidaymakers with their attendant backpacks, snorkels, flippers, rash vests and beach umbrellas.

I held out for Noumea, the next stop. As New Caledonia's largest city, it was urbanised and populous and, unlike the other two ports, we wouldn't double its population by disembarking.

I had booked two of the multiple tours offered by the ship, but not included in the fare price. I went on a bicycle tour around the bays and beaches in the morning and, in the afternoon, I visited the Tjibaou Cultural Centre, designed by the Italian architect Renzo Piano and opened in 1998.

Before the ship left that night I stole a few hours to myself in a cafe. Here, being alone and reading a book was unremarkable, and no one interrupted me to ask if I was enjoying myself. On reflection, I realised I was. But I missed my fellow cruisers a little.

The last port of call was my favourite - the island of Lifou. It was small and sparsely inhabited, with incredible snorkelling on secret beaches, thick green bush interrupted by the occasional tumble-down missionary church, and friendly, laid back locals.

The last two days back to Sydney were indistinguishable from the first two, except for the fact that the theme nights were different and, if possible, there was even more drinking. I made more friends and took up gambling to pass the time.

Along with every under-10 on the cruise, I tried to reach record speed on the water slide that led into the pool. I learnt how to waltz. And I endeavoured to interest others in spitting over the side of the ship.

Despite myself, I was beginning to have fun, to feel affection for my tribe. We lacked any great cultural skills (unless you counted the ability to quill) and the rock'n'roll night confirmed that, unlike our Melanesian hosts, we couldn't dance. But only a grump could fail to appreciate the pure, physical comedy of a belly-flop competition, and the upside to the absolute lack of privacy is you are never given a chance to be lonely. Even when you've been stood up.

Destination New Caledonia

* Getting there If you book before June 20, nine-night cruises start from $995 a person for a quad-share, inside cabin and $1,575 a person for a twin-share, inside cabin. Prices include all meals, entertainment and port taxes and charges. Tipping is extra.

* Itinerary The Pacific Sun cruises from Sydney year-round to the South Pacific. Cruises range from eight to 14 nights. They usually have four stops in Vanuatu and New Caledonia. For information call 132 469, go to http://www.pocruises.com.au or see a travel agent.

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