As regards the Greek chorus and Dogster's menu of the functions thereof, it appears as though on any given day it may be "all of the above."
This was my "maiden voyage." Based on this experience, I would do a cruise again. With that out, I have nothing with which to compare...cruisewise. The rooms all have balconies, the general sitting areas are comfortable enough, there is adequate room for belongings. The staff and crew are excellent, solicitous, friendly. (I am just today establishing lines of communication with one of the young women who works on the J'man. Delightful person!) The guides for tours ashore are especially knowledgeable and bent on "spreading the wealth around" among the local populace. I did not find that unnecessarily offputting. Despite the hardsell from the children,I welcomed the opportunity to see what it is that I would never see in my own little part of the world. I don't know that I will ever recover from the culture shock, but that is a good thing in my mind.
If I thought the Jayavarman would change itineraries every other year, I would do the Mekong with them again in a heartbeat.
Dogster, it was a pleasure meeting you aboard. And...no...I am not one of the Aussies. Obviously, I am not half of the kindly Vietnamese couple either. If you did not dispose of the list of those sailing, you might be able to narrow it down a bit. For now, continue on and I will read your account of the trip with a view to seeing it through a different lens.

He's only been away for 6 years, so he was a well-formed Swiss before he left, Marija. Maybe he comes from the Gigglehaus Canton.

Ned, you're British maybe?

No, that can't be right as Dogster didn't mention any Caledonians, so I'm guessing Kiwi.

Craig, I thought he was referring to this fall and early next year as sold out, not fall 2011. But you may be right.

LA--don't you think he looks like a teen?

Oh no. Mebbe 30. Maybe 20s.

Kathie, I also though he was referring to this year, maybe till March, not the 2010-2011 season.

I'm thinking this is the best Fododderer cruise. If high water is best, as Dog suggests on another thread, then maybe Oct or Nov 2010 is good.

It's sold out this year, till the end of the season in March next year.

BUT I believe there is a new boat being build right now with a few rather interesting changes to be ready for next season. All cannot be revealed - but it's ALL good.

They sat, lost and silent, at Table Number One. If they talked I never saw it. Not a smile, not a giggle, not a single gesture of affection – they sat stoically staring into outer space reflecting on the passage of time.

Mr. Chris and his good lady wife were on their second honeymoon. It had been ten years since the last one - ten very long years, by the look of it. Nothing left to say. Nothing left to feel. Nothing left to do but wait for a slow, suburban death.

They’d reserved the Number One cabin; the Royal Junior Suite. I could sense the hand of Mrs. Chris in that decision. Mr. Chris would much rather’ve gorn fishin’.

http://www.heritage-line.com/royalju...te2.php?lan=en

So they always had the Number One table. After all, they were royalty. Junior Royalty, but royalty just the same - they had paid the regal surcharge. Each day a little plastic thing with ‘MR. CHRIS’ in bold black letters was placed on their table of doom, the dead-zone set only for two.

They never shared that table – after all, they were Number One. This implied that the rest of us were Number Two – or worse. There was special place set for Dogster in their hearts. He was most definitely Number Forty-Four.

Every day, every meal, a table set for two; twenty-one long silent breakfasts, twenty-one hushed lunches, twenty-one mute dinners – Mr. Numero Uno sat with Mrs. Numero Uno, the king and queen of nowhere at all. Together they cancelled themselves out. Zero met zero in a cataclysm of broken dreams.

The Number One table was like a black hole. The other passengers steered a long way around the edges, in case they fell in. Indeed, one night two members of the wait staff completely disappeared without warning - one minute they were serving the soup and vroomph! They vanished somewhere into the yawning maw. Late one night I heard singing. It was their immortal souls, still trapped in the space between Mr. Chris and his missus.

Of course, Mr. Chris and his good lady were Australian.

Australians remain the only race on this earth that still can’t pronounce the name of their own country.

‘Straya..’ they say, ‘I’m frum <i>‘Stra-a-aya.</i>

Too many syllables.

<i>‘Is he an Aussie, izze, Lizzee..? </i>

Australians lead an intensely parochial existence, huddled on the fringes of a continent with only red desert at its heart. They thrash about in the ocean, thinking that everything in the world is in Australia, that nobody really has it as good as them. All the complexity of life has been reduced to a barbie, beer and football. At the heart of the heart of ‘Stra-a-aya there is nothing but a big brown rock.

<i>Izze an Aussie, izzie, izzie? Oy!’</i>

Traveling Australians are good-hearted, boofy things, full of friendliness and fun. Those few who think there is anything else in the world worth worrying about set off on their great adventure at an early age. Once they’ve done the grand tour they settle, breed and enjoy life, already having the proof that there’s nowhere else as good as good ol’ Aussie. Once the breeding has stopped, some pause to notice the yawning hole in their life. They take up travel again.

<i>‘Is it because he-zan Aussie, that he makes you dizzy, Lizzie?</i>

There were seventeen Aussies on board including, unbelievably, Mr. Dogster. Not quite a quorum, not quite a country, not quite anything at all. With the notable exception of Mr. and Mrs. Chris and the loathsome Dogster they tended to huddle in a pack, rather like startled sheep - kindly, friendly sheep – but sheep just the same.

Well, to be honest, they were more like little baa-lambs than sheep. They had all the fragility and innocence of lambs, but none of the silence, all the ingenuousness of a pen of imminent veal.

<i>‘Has he jazzy ways, duzze he make youse go all fuzzy-wuzzy?</i>

Luckily my sailing companions weren’t quite like this. I wouldn’t call them sophisticated but all were of an age to have the beginnings of an appreciation that there might just, possibly, be something to learn elsewhere. A few were of that ageless age, full of sweet certainly that travel means holiday and the less one has to do with the locals, other than kindly condescension, the better.

Actually, I was lucky to have them. With the notable exception of our vice-regal couple, they were kind and generous to a fault. They put up with my drunken meandering at the dinner table, dispensed pain-killers when I threw out my back [the true details of which will never make it into these hallowed pages], took the piss out of me when regularly required and pretended to be interested in my regular foaming at the mouth. I liked them all. They gossiped like a Greek chorus at the non-antics of Lord and Lady Muck, kept an eye out for pretension [mostly mine] and punctured it with relentless wit; they gave presents to sweet orphan children, were easily moved to tears and overpaid for everything in sight.

<i>‘Got you dizzy, has he Lizzie?Is he an Aussie, Lizzie, eh?’</i>

They were all ripe for the plucking - and well and truly plucked they were.

There were four New Zealanders on board. I was anxious to test my racial theories on them. Something about sheep. Alas, they bonded on arrival and couldn’t be separated from that moment on.

‘They come from the same street!’ one whispered in a fit of ecstasy, ‘who would have thought it!’

Yup, it’s a small world, I agreed - so small that the four bestest new friends seemed intent on keeping it as small as the Kiwi hellhole they all lived in. They sat at a table for four for breakfast, lunch and dinner, engaged in a fabulous conversation that not one of the rest of the guests could be privy to. Whatever they were talking about, it was very, very interesting. The conversation didn’t stop from Saigon till Siem Reap.

Nobody felt anything other than sad. It was evident that they were all having a wonderful time.

All four were jolly, interesting people, but their nexus was so powerful the rest of us couldn’t get a look in. One morning half the Kiwis woke up late. The Aussies crowded in on the solitary couple. It was a revolution. The matrix was finally cracked. We all discovered that they were just as nice and just as interesting as we thought they were - then the shutters went back down. The foursome was back together for lunch, the foursome was gathered round a table for four in the lounge; the foursome was back together for dinner and their four, or eight – or twelve after-dinner drinks, I’m sure if they could have shared a cabin they would have and talked their foursome way into the Mekong dawn.

And I mean that in the nicest possible way.

Not all the Aussies were loquacious, not all the Aussies were in the mix. There were two sets of families – one with a sweet five-year old daughter, one with a young lass just turned eight. Families have their own agenda on holiday; they are a self-contained entity, focused on themselves and on the happiness of their children - and there’s nothing wrong with that.

One family was quiet, but friendly. The other one was loud with a father intent on embarrassing his eight year old with outrageous antics and frenzied dancing when required. He was a great guy with a quiet wife and a largely humiliated daughter, just on the cusp of puppy fat. If I described him as a working-class kinda guy, I don’t think he’d be offended. He was what he was and was happy about it; a down-to-earth, happy chappie and the only man on board that managed to crack through the silent reserve of Mr. and Mrs. Chris.

Sometimes still waters just run shallow.

One afternoon, when the shore-excursions were complete, Mr. and Mrs. Chris were on their computer in the lounge – the designated WiFi zone. They were talking to their children on Skype. It was like listening to death.

‘How are yas,’ he said. There was squealing from the other side of Skype. ‘How’s nana treating youse? Did you go to school today?’

There was an adolescent male voice on the line.

‘Were you’se sick?’ Daddy Death said in a monotone, ‘ya don’t look very sick – are you pulling a fast one? What’s Nana feeding you? Are you’se going to school damorra? Put yer sister on.’

‘Goan’geddastoolfrumtheba-a-athroom,’ Mum said, ‘so we can see yas.’

A little girls voice piped up.

‘We love you mummy!’ She was bright as a button.

‘Yairs weloveyousetoo,’ Mum replied, her voice as flat as a pancake,’ giveyerbrotherahu-u-ugfrumus, I’ll give daddyahug frum youse.’

She didn’t.

The conversation continued – animation and life from the kids, total blankness from their parents. No emotion, no animation – flat nothing. Read it all again in a monotone. It was the saddest Skype in the world.

‘Seeyas,’ they said together, ‘weloveyouse.’

They slowly closed the computer and sat silently staring into the abyss.

<i>...dispensed pain-killers when I threw out my back [the true details of which will never make it into these hallowed pages] </i>

Oh brilliant and dashing Mr. Ned, the Forces of Evil need you. Name your price.

Dog- the royal couple sound like scousers but i don't remember any Brits, were they Aussies? i am a tad confused.

I'll quote from myself [always my favorite source]

<i>Of course, Mr. Chris and his good lady were Australian.</i>

There was one solitary Brit on board. Her sweet story follows soon.

As for Satan's daughter - I can assure her that Mr. Ned, whoever he might be, would have no idea. I took the high ground with all and sundry - I lied. Some things are best not shared.

troi oi, ooh my god, what a strange night - sitting in front of my computer til late, checking desperately for some good J'man reviews and ending up in tears... Dooogster!! YOU made my "night". Last time I had tears in my eyes was on a day when the Jayavarman set sail for its maiden voyage towards Cambodia. Probably not for the obvious reason that we finally managed to finish the ship but that the struggle has only started and the third fully booked cruise was to be cancelled. Yeah.. the great tumble is over by now and the Jayavarman alive and cruising - Dogster, thanks for making me rolling on the floor laughing and leaving me with watery eyes.. The "nummero uno" and other anecdotes - what a great laugh..
BTW, thanks for the flattering review and I will share it with our crew and office staff.
Ey, Dogster, there must be something wrong with the Swiss bank account you gave me lately!? I tried to transfer the agreed money for the cruise review but it bounced back..! Do you happen to be a client of UBS Switzerland and on the IRS black list of tax dodgers? LOL
Carry on Dogster, I wish to read more stories like this. We all love it - so funny

Thomas

Marija and LA - thanks for making me feel so young.Am 43.. whats the canton gigglehaus?

Ah, Thomas, is that an old picture of you then, or are you Dorian Gray's grandchild?

Canton Gigglehaus is the only Swiss province where people have a sense of humor. It's in the south, not far from Italy.

And, Dogster:
<i> They had all the fragility and innocence of lambs, but none of the silence, all the ingenuousness of a pen of imminent veal. </i>

You're mixing your meats. Veal is cow.

Damn damn damn - of course veal is cow. Damn. I'll have to do some mutton jokes.

I wondered how long it would be before Thomas found me.