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I was fortunate enough to be asked by Black Mac upon arrival if I would be
able to monitor one of the tours; there were some spare tickets available. As always,
I gladly took the opportunity and off we went in a naturally air-conditioned (by
which I mean it had no windows) cranky old bus. Lunch was at the Beachcomber
Hotel – one of the Islands’ premier spots, but whose food was oddly characterised
by being the antithesis of what I conceived as Pacific fare (fish, perhaps pork, lots of
fruit, and perhaps rice-based). Instead we received fruit, yes, but chicken and other
meat whose dubious origins eluded me. However, I was hardly one to complain, the
hotel being the epitome of my concept of a Pacific Paradise, at least while we were
permitted to sit and watch the waves lapping the beach. Unfortunately, we then
moved on around the island’s perimeter road, stopping at another hotel for drinks
and folk dancing. The drinks were somewhat specialised, comprising a peculiar
watery mixture in which a bunch of a grass-like stuff was, literally, hand-washed,
and the resulting product was then poured out into halved coconut shells, one of
which was given to each guest with expressions of lip-smacking delectation. I found
the potion quite disgusting, rather as I suspected washing-up water might taste.
This concoction was termed Kava, which I vowed never again to touch, and never
did. There followed an hour or so (it seemed to be about three hours, my rumbling
stomach by this point rendering each passing minute the equivalent of five) of folk
dancing, of which I was never an enthusiast. But the people seemed to enjoy it, so
my tour Report was positive; all had worked hard.

It was a short two idyllic days back to Sydney. The weather was good, the
food, freshly brought aboard from the Pacific, more exotic and imaginative than
usual for a few short days, the work light (there never being much shipping in the
South Pacific), and the company quite delightful. I very nearly messed this up,
however; it was not permitted to bring passengers up to one’s cabin for intimate
purposes, but this was a rule difficult to enforce, because one could entertain
passengers if it was appropriate (to whom?) at any time for, say, a game of chess,
and to cavort with crew members always ‘enhanced’ the team spirit … and some
crew members were very much people to be personally entertained. My mistake
was to choose the wrong time to entice Margaret from the dance floor, and to
make a bee-line for my cabin over the open deck; the 2nd Engineer was having
a quick smoke by the ship’s rail while I was en route, caught me red-handed and
sent me to escort her back to the rear portion of the ship. This was embarrassing
but no more than that; we went down into the accommodation and took one of
the twenty or so routes that brought us back to our objective; dallying in my cabin
for a few hours. The cruise ended thusly; twelve days of fun, learning and leisure.
Oriana took the best berth in the harbour, of course, but in port at the same
time was Orcades, a vessel some seven months older than Himalaya. An old friend
from Warsash, Scott-Turner, came over to see us, and by coincidence Don McGill
(of Tank notoriety) was in Sydney on Blue Star Line’s (a cargo-ship company with
impeccable ships, but offering a rather uniform career, which is to say with very

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