It was going to be a long haul to Tahiti from Auckland. The Celebrity Solstice had to be explored. Large as it is, and carrying a payload of 2,800 ‘guests’ (we’re not ‘passengers’ anymore with ‘cabins’, but ‘staterooms’) and 1,250 crew, it doesn’t do to try to work out the how’s and what-if’s. Fifteen decks packed solid doesn’t have to be dissected, it just is. From crew quarters to the sunset bar on the lawn (yes, a real, growing lawn that’s mowed regularly) via twelve high-speed glass elevators that whisk you easily and quietly from top to bottom of the huge atrium with a fully-grown real living tree, to the jogging track and beyond.  It might be logical to think that all those people together make for claustrophobic overcrowded decks, lifts and spaces, but not at all – and moving about the ship, bars, and other leisure areas it seems quite empty at times.

Food in the general dining room is variable and mostly very good, and the speciality restaurants that one pays extra for are superb. Service everywhere is excellent. But that’s where the good bits end, and the devil, as they say, is in the detail – of which there is zilch. Erroneous advice and information, misrepresentation, or no advice at all. Little knowledge of advertised shore trips, and false-impression advertising of the trips they do know something about. Our small but perfectly-formed ‘stateroom’ is one third smaller than any other cruise ship we’ve ever been on. Pack ‘em in and pile ‘em high like Aldi or Tesco, is their obvious dictum.  Very carefully designed, our room transforms easily into a dangerous health hazard if so much as a shoe is out of place on the floor, but we’ve found a place for everything and everything is in its place, cramped up, like us.  But, and gloriously, we’re on 24/7 internet (although trying not to do what we do at home and base our lives around this irresistible technology). At least our brains aren’t suffering cabin fever.

Tahiti – well, Papeete, capital of French Polynesia to be precise. Long time since we were there, so no remembered places. We took a tour with a small group, to discover the island. Dave, the driver, was born in California but had lived in French Polynesia since he was a child. Anything he didn’t know about wasn’t worth knowing. As he drove, we were regaled with historic events and dates, to population growth and demographics, to the government and the education system. Famous names of former inhabitants reminded us that once this was British. Swapped, apparently, for Australia – we were told. Erm… ‘…we’ll have the big country with nothing in it, and you can take these islands teeming with cannibals…’ Of course, James Cook figured greatly – that famous Yorkshire lad who fancied learning the ropes in London – and the Stevenson family of whom son, Robert, helped his architect father build the magnificent lighthouse that’s still proudly working today on this treasure island.

Whisked away the following day to the Intercontinental Resort on Moorea, with its over-water bungalows and warm-watered soft-turquoise lagoon to swim in, we were there on a mission to swim with dolphins. After looking at the pictures of the tour on the ship, showing people surrounded by large numbers of these sleek sea creatures, I opted out of the swim in case I was accidentally knocked over, so I just went as a spectator. Wrong. How disappointed was I when we got there to find that the dolphins are in an enclosure, have been bred at the centre, and only one, almost tame dolphin was used to look at and learn, to stroke and kiss – yes, kiss! (See pic below).

Then it was onward, overnight, on the well-worn path of cruise liners to our final destination in the Society Islands – the exceptionally beautiful island of Bora Bora (affectionately known at one time as boring boring). Just a few minutes after our floating apartment block anchored off, we tendered out to be met by a pre-booked speedboat from Le Meridien Resort. Today’s mission: to spend the day at a turtle sanctuary with marine biologists, learning everything one needs to know about turtles. The centre, part-funded by the French Government, takes in damaged and rescued turtles, brings them back to good health and looks after them for years afterwards. Now these things are huge. The largest in the hospital was one that had been named Jordan, that literally weighed in at 48.06kgs. We helped as they were taken out of the water for their daily scrub, water change, and clean. Afterwards, they were taken to a specially-made lagoon pool with constantly running sea water containing many species of tropical fish, for their daily exercise, whilst Peter went in with them for a swim (of course).

Right now we’re savouring moments of quietude and tranquillity, simply sitting on our veranda watching the water slide by. I swear there’s a positive difference in the viscosity of warm, syrupy tropical oceans and cold dark grey seas. We’ve had both, from the Tasman Sea to the vast Pacific Ocean. We’re heading towards crossing the equator overnight, and the surface of the water looks like rippling silk you want to slide your fingers over.

Next stop in four more sea days – Hilo, Hawaii. It will be Aloha! again…