Ibeza
After what was probably the smoothest hotel transfer and cruise embarkation experience we have ever had, we were finally on board and looking forward to having a home base — which from this point onwards shall be referred to as The Mothership — for the next 14 nights.
Now, Lyndall has done quite a few cruises over the years, so she probably expected a little more from the Queen Victoria. To be fair, she is looking a little tired around the edges and is due for a refit in about three months, so perhaps we were just catching her at the wrong end of the makeover cycle. Lyndall’s first impression was somewhere between “grand old lady” and, rather unkindly, Miss Havisham from Great Expectations — elegant, slightly faded and looking as though she had been waiting for someone to come and give her a good dust.
That said, our cabin was perfectly comfortable and had everything we needed: a very comfortable bed, a balcony, plenty of wardrobe space, a perfectly adequate bathroom and, most importantly, a complimentary bottle of bubbly waiting for us.
So really, who were we to complain?
As is usual on cruise ships, the buffet was open for newly arrived passengers, allowing everyone to settle into their cabins, grab some lunch and start exploring the ship. The buffet was first class, and with only around 1,350 passengers on board out of a possible 2,000, the ship felt remarkably spacious. There were no battles for sun loungers, no queues stretching halfway around the ship and no need to develop a military strategy just to get a table at breakfast. It was actually rather lovely.
We unpacked, caught up with Concetta and Alen and then went exploring until we found what was to become our favourite watering hole — The Commander’s Bar. We settled in with a drink and watched the sun slowly disappear as the Queen Victoria sailed out of Barcelona.
And just like that, we were cruising.
A word about the weather … however before we go any further, I feel it’s only fair to issue a weather warning. Over the next 14 days, the weather became something of a character in its own right. An extremely unpleasant character, as it turned out, and one we would happily have left behind at the next port.
It was hot. Not pleasantly warm. Not “isn’t this lovely Mediterranean weather?” hot. Not even “I could get used to this” hot. We’re talking “who thought this was a good idea, and can we have a word with them?” hot.
And it wasn’t just the odd day, either. It was hot every single day. The sun seemed to have taken a personal dislike to us, the humidity hovered around 80%, and a breeze was about as rare as an empty tourist attraction. Unless, of course, The Mothership was moving, in which case we could at least pretend we were experiencing something resembling ventilation.
Stepping outside meant an almost immediate transformation into a sticky, sweaty mess, accompanied by the nagging suspicion that we’d made some questionable life choices. Hair had its own agenda, clothes clung in places they really shouldn’t, and the simple act of walking up a hill could leave you wondering whether you needed a rest, a shower or a small medical team.
Under these circumstances, The Mothership’s air conditioning quickly became one of our most treasured amenities, closely followed by the Commander’s Bar. We developed a deep appreciation for both, although only one came with the possibility of a cold drink.
Naturally, we soldiered on. We’d come all this way, and someone had to get out there and see the sights. Unfortunately, the heat had other ideas, and it took a toll on our photography.
Anyone who takes photographs knows that getting a decent shot often requires patience, a bit of thought and the willingness to stand around while you wait for the right moment. All very well in theory, but when the temperature feels like the inside of a pizza oven, standing still becomes an endurance sport. Composing a shot, checking the settings and waiting for people to move out of the frame suddenly seem like entirely unreasonable demands.
On some occasions, simply getting the camera out of the bag felt like too much effort. We began to adopt a more relaxed approach to photography: if the shot presented itself conveniently, lovely. If it required us to stop, think, crouch down or do anything that might raise our body temperature another degree, perhaps it wasn’t meant to be.
The timing didn’t help, either. Much of our sightseeing took place in the middle of the day, when the sun was directly overhead and the light was harsh and contrasty. Instead of those beautifully balanced photographs we’d imagined, we were often dealing with deep shadows, blown-out highlights and scenery that looked considerably less impressive through a camera than it did in real life.
So, if some destinations have fewer photographs than you might expect, please don’t assume we weren’t impressed by what we saw. We were. We were just occasionally too hot to prove it.
After all, there’s only so much artistic inspiration a person can muster when their camera strap is sticking to their neck and their brain feels like warm porridge. Besides, we had a ship with air conditioning to get back to, and we weren’t about to let a perfectly good opportunity to cool down go to waste.
The next morning we woke up in the port of Ibiza.
Ibiza has quite a reputation these days, usually involving nightclubs, DJs and people considerably younger and more energetic than us. But there is another side to the island, and one that goes back a very long way.
Ibiza’s location in the Mediterranean made it strategically important — and unfortunately for the locals, that also made it an attractive target for pirates. For centuries, the island was vulnerable to raids by North African Berber corsairs and Ottoman forces. Between the 13th and 18th centuries, coastal settlements and farms were regularly attacked, with raiders stealing food, livestock and valuables and, tragically, sometimes taking people captive for ransom or slavery.
The threat became so serious that Ibiza developed an elaborate defensive system of watchtowers and fortified settlements. The island even authorised its own privateers to fight back against the pirates. Basically, Ibiza decided that if pirates were going to turn up, they were going to need to bring their A-game.
Today, the pirate history is embraced rather enthusiastically along parts of the waterfront, although thankfully the biggest danger we encountered was probably an overpriced beer. We hadn't really planned any sightseeing in Ibiza. We'd originally thought about walking to the beach, but it didn't take long for the heat to make that idea seem considerably less attractive.
It was a short walk into town. It felt very long.
By the time we reached the first shop, we were already wilting. The beach was quickly removed from the agenda and replaced with
something far more achievable: wandering through the old, hippy-ish part of town, doing a little shopping and finding a waterside bar. Preferably one selling beer.
The shopping was actually a great success. We'd already discovered that what we considered perfectly respectable summer clothing back home in the Southern Highlands was completely inadequate for the Mediterranean. Apparently, linen is the answer. Lots and lots of linen.
Linen shirts, linen dresses, sandals — we bought enough to ensure that, should the temperature ever drop below about 30 degrees again, we would be completely unprepared.
The old town and waterfront were full of colourful shops, boutiques and restaurants, and the atmosphere was a wonderful mix of Ibiza's traditional character and its more bohemian reputation.
Eventually we found ourselves at one of the waterfront bars, which had fully embraced the island's pirate history. Think Pirates of the Caribbean, only with better cocktails and considerably less chance of being keelhauled. We ordered Spanish beers and were served by a rather spectacular young woman wearing a leather corset and thigh-high boots. Suddenly the decision to stop for a beer seemed like an extremely sensible one.
We sat in the shade, watched the boats in the harbour and cooled down sufficiently to contemplate making the return journey to The Mothership.
A few more shops were visited on the way back — because obviously we hadn't bought enough linen — and eventually we made our way back on board.
As the Queen Victoria prepared to sail, we watched another magnificent Mediterranean sunset from the ship. Tomorrow was a sea day, which was exactly what we needed. After the heat, the walking, the shopping and our brief attempt at being adventurous tourists, a day with absolutely nowhere to go sounded pretty much perfect.
The Mothership was sailing on and it was time to frock up and choose a cocktail.
