Goblin Gold

Three days sailing to Tunisia and the ruins of Carthage. What do you do aboard ship? I suppose it depends on the kind of ship you are on: the small floating cities or the smaller old fashioned kind.

Aiming directly for the elephant in the room (or in this case, the open sea) Fred Olsen attracts and/or caters for the middle-aged to the old. And I know the irony. I’m no spring chicken. But it’s still quite funny. There were occasions when I was reminded of Blind Pew in Treasure Island; you know the one—the villainous blind beggar who delivers the dread ‘black spot’ to those about to die. In Treasure Island, you hear him through the open windows of the country inn: the tap, tap, tap of his stick. There were a few occasions when, walking on deck, it seemed I was being pursued (if that’s the right word) by ten or more Blind Pews, and I’d hurry my pace. 

So, apart from avoiding Blind Pew what else can you do aboard ship? Our routine was constant and therapeutic: breakfast followed by a brisk one-mile walk and then reading. Three course lunch, followed by the brisk one-mile walk, followed by reading, followed by Afternoon Tea. The trick there was to limit yourself to three small cakes or sandwiches. (Occasionally both.)

You definitely need the one mile walk after that but you do it with renewed vigour, knowing it is the last of the day. After that, it is more reading,  the first drink of the day – cocktail or beer – and then dinner, a moonlit stroll and then bed.

There’s evening entertainment of course, and a whole variety of activities throughout the day for those that way inclined, but my favourite activity was talking (when not eating or reading.) And the best part of that was ‘listening.’ 

The middle-aged to elderly have lived, have stories to tell, the leisure to share and in most cases  have led interesting lives. Over a week you come across a kaleidoscope of characters, over three weeks even more, and often you never meet them again. Kind of like speed dating. And you meet a few turkeys. I remember making a beeline for fellow scousers, their accent unmistakeable. Conversation was started by asking which part of Liverpool they were from— most parts of Liverpool have their  own subtle, but distinct accent. One man I asked was a tall chap with a long face and hooked nose from which he looked down in quiet assurance or perhaps arrogance.  In answer to the question, he murmured "Anfield " as though conferring a blessing, and turned like the proudest of prelates assured of salvation. 

I’ve been thinking of all these people I met and talked to over these  last few weeks, seeing the trees turn colour, the reds and glorious golds before they fall. Goblin gold, I used to think as a child and still do, the leaves that is, people are gold.

And if this doesn’t appeal, it means you have time to read more books and stare at sea and sky