Australian Cruising Restart

Today, the Pacific Explorer sailed into Sydney. A moment we've been waiting for over two years to witness. Sitting here, in the afterglow of the excitement  - and recovering from the numerous media interviews I gave today, I've had a moment to reflect.  Please allow me to indulge for a moment.

Six-and-a-half years ago I took my family on a cruise. I thought it would be a great idea to use Facebook to share my adventure with my friends and family - and indulge in some creative writing.

It's hard to describe how this path unfolded, but simply, I felt indebted to the cruisers who follow my ramblings, the crew hungry for information, the every day Aussies whose businesses were decimated by the cruise ban. I had to face the questions, swallow my nerves and summon the confidence that appears effortless.

And so, I pulled up by big girl pants, smiled (and sometimes cried), faced the cameras, the newspapers, the radio stations, the podcasts the documentaries and tried to give a voice to the voiceless.

I received a lot of support, but also copped some hate; a confusing reaction to me, but apparently something people in the public eye are supposed to 'just get used to' (let's change this, by the way.)

But, as cliched as it sounds, watching the Pacific Explorer sail into Australia - the first ship to return in over 2 years, it was all worth it.

Never will I ever claim that my efforts brought back cruising - that's just a preposterous notion. But, if I helped, just a little, then I'm overjoyed.

Cruising Is Back 

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Day 3 aboard Captain Cook Cruises Fiji

Sawi-i-lau Caves

Day 2 aboard Captain Cook Cruises Fiji

With the sun’s rays streaming through my cabin window, it suddenly dawned on me that we weren’t in Kansas anymore. But there was a Toto on board – not a canine stowaway – rather a pastry chef who weaved his culinary skills in the wee hours of the morning just so I could enjoy a chocolate croissant for breakfast. It was scrumptious. I had two.

It was Day 2 aboard the Reef Endeavour and the serenity of drinking in the sea was a salve for my soul. After being land-bound for what seemed like a lifetime, it felt indulgent. Here I was, a million light years away from the panic and heightened anxiety of the pandemic, feeling like a prison escapee. Pre-plague, cruising was something we could do at the drop of a hat. Was it guilt? Or maybe it was just that I felt unburdened for the first time in years? As I stared out into the blue beyond, I recognised exactly what the feeling was. Freedom. No worries, no fears and no stress. It felt so, so good.

Before long, we were heading off to our first adventure, snorkelling followed by a morning at Brother’s Beach. The tendering process was super easy; each passenger who wanted to go on the trip would hand in their cabin key – this ensures the crew are aware who has left the ship. It’s a simple and effective process. Passengers then board the glass-bottomed boat (the tender) which is lowered into the water via a pretty cool forklift-type system.

Snorkelling in Fiji

Snorkelling is one of those activities where you’ve got to be pretty coordinated at breathing and swimming. I am not a coordinated person on land. I am also not a coordinated person in the water. I can manage to keep my chubby body afloat in the most ungraceful of manners. However, armed with my full-face snorkel mask, I psyched myself into believing I could a) breathe underwater and not drink 3 litres of salty liquid, b) not lose a contact lens c) be transformed into a beautiful mermaid with sublime swimming skills and the ability to converse with the sea-creatures.

We reached our snorkelling spot, and I watched all the brave passengers gleefully jump off into the almost artificially-blue water. I hesitated, transfixed by a teen fearlessly leaping off the top of the boat.

WATCH THIS Jump, jump video

“C’mon Honey, you can do it,” the Angel on my right shoulder encouraged. Buoyed by this, I inched to the side and handed my flippers to Amanda the Marine Biologist. Just before jumping in, the Devil on my left shoulder cackled, “Do you really know how to swim, cos it’s been a while… you’re going to sink like a stone…” However, his warning came too late, and milliseconds later, with cheeks puffed, I splashed with the elegance of a bowling ball and dropped into the ocean.

As my head bobbed up to the surface, I looked over to my left shoulder. The Devil was dripping wet, looking decidedly dejected. I flicked him off with a one quick movement and watched him sink, pitchfork raised in defiance.

With my over-active imagination now cooled, it was time to discover the wonders of the deep. Coral, sea cucumbers, star fish and marine life of every colour. The water was clear, warm and soothing, every second there was something new to behold.

The answer to life

It was here in Fiji that I had an epiphany; I watched sea creatures of every colour and size surrender to the current. There was no mad fight to swim against the force of the ocean, no hurry to ‘be’ at any specific place. Simply serenity. The answer to life lay in this underwater world – and as cliched as it might sound – the key is to go with the flow. I forgot about furiously treading water and breathing so violently my masked fogged up. Instead, I lightly held onto my foam noodle and just let go.

With smug satisfaction that I successfully snorkelled, the next stop was the idyllic Brother's Beach, so postcard-perfect it seemed lifted from a travel brochure.

Crew carried cool drinks to beach, smiling and laughing, their joy contagious.

I was here

Back on board for lunch (and coconut crusted deep-fried bananas,) and treated to some soulful singing Watch this, Captain Ken pulled up anchor to take us to our next snorkelling spot. This time, with no fear, I cannon-balled in and set out to ‘go with the flow’. 

The current was stronger, and I soon found myself separated from the others. I was never in any danger, and the crew had two boats keeping watch, but I started to panic. I hyperventilated, my stomach started churning and I really didn’t know if I could swim back to the boat. My saviours – Patrick and Joseph – saw me flailing about. Again, I was NEVER in any danger, but I am dramatic. In a heartbeat, they sped over to me (it was only about 3 meters) threw out a rope and hoisted me up. (Poor guys, I can assure you this was not a pretty sight).

Reunited with the others on the glass-bottomed boat, I was ready to hurl. I mean, who the heck gets sea-sick while snorkelling? Embarrassed and ready to lose the contents of my stomach (those coconut crusted deep-fried bananas I indulged in were soon going to be chum), a real angel appeared and enveloped me in her soft, motherly arms. 

I love you Aunty Gigi

Gigi (or as she will forever be known ‘Aunty Gigi’) saw my distress and instinctively knew what to do. She stroked my hair, patted my back and spoke indistinct soothing words. I started crying, with relief. (I told you I was a drama queen). And there I sat, in my wet swimmers, hair matted, and my head snuggled deep in the bosom of Aunty Gigi and allowed myself to be comforted like a baby. The boat zoomed back, and in those few minutes, I miraculously made a complete recovery. I’m convinced Fijians are born with this incredible gift of superhero-esq, next-level sense of empathy.

Following Aunty Gigi’s advice to shower and nap, I woke an hour later due for my massage. It was nearly sunset, and once again I craved to absorb every moment. I don’t have the words to describe the beauty, the words are yet to be invented.

Tuli the masseuse’s magic hands erased the drama of the day, and when I emerged from my blissful cocoon, I was transfixed by the sky. Tuli stood alongside me, enjoying the same moment. We stood in silence, her sweet aura blended with the golden, tranquil ambiance.

I stayed a while on deck, surrounded by stillness and night. Breathing deeply, I laughed silently at my silly, self-concocted earlier drama, eager to re-tell my story to my teenage girls once I was back home, who would surely roll their eyes at their mum. 

It was time for sleep, my relaxed body melting into the mattress, eyelids growing heavy, and the soft lap of the waves a gentle soundtrack for my dreams.