-45.81381, 170.6248°

Land is now clearly visible on our Port side, as I head down to breakfast.

Breakfast today is Luncheon Chips, which appears to be chunks of luncheon sausage deep fried, with the obligatory egg sitting on top. This is by far the hardest meal I have had to eat to date. I determine I will buy fruit toast once we arrive at Port Chalmers.

I head up to the Bridge where we are already in sight of the Otago Peninsula. The Captain says we have made very good time, and are early. We are doing 14 knots, which is the slowest we can go, without lighting more boilers. Once we get nearer we will cut our engines and drift, until 1300.

So I head back to the F decks and sit in the sun, where I can see the Alps through the binoculars sitting behind the peninsula. It is the best weather we have had so far, and the sun is very warm. I hear the engine cut at 1030, and the boat stops moving and starts drifting.

Lunch today is Borg – a Russian soup that the Chief Mate and Chief Engineer have been waiting for all week. It is slightly spiced, with carrot and cabbage. It is nice but not worth the talk of the last 3 days. When I finish the Steward asks if I would like meat and potato. I am a little confused as Borg was the only thing on the menu today. The Captain is currently eating chicken drumsticks and hot chips, and he jumps in to suggest I want some of it, and I nod that it does look very good.

While the Steward is off getting some the Captain says to me “The Russians may be happy with soup, but you and I want real food”.

The Steward brings out my plate, which is actually nearly cold. I use the microwave, noting it is standard and I have no idea how the Captain charred bread yesterday.

When the Captain leaves, I stand up to leave a couple of minutes later. The Steward takes my plate and says the Cook would like to talk to me in the hallway.

He comes out, and is a sweaty man that reeks of cigarette smoke. I find it repulsive that he cooks our food, and hope that it doesn’t show on my face. In his hand is this week’s menu and he points and declares, “Menu is Borg, only Borg. Nothing else. You not ask for chicken and chips. It is not on the menu. Not do again”.

I smile and nod, because there seems no point in saying it was the Captain’s suggestion, and I just want to get away from him.

At 1230 I head up to the Bridge, keen to see us guided into Port during daylight. The day suddenly gets overcast and windy the closer we get to land, and when we see the Pilot boat near us, it is bobbing around a lot.

The Pilot is less flamboyant than our Melbourne equivalent, but he guides us through what seems a very narrow and twisty channel. Up above I see our New Zealand flag blowing in the breeze and I wonder when we put that up. I am surprisingly chuffed to have my home flag flying.

The tugs approach us when we are nearing the port, and they look tiny in comparison to the ship. I get a few photos, but it is actually hard to see them without leaning over the side. Nine months ago I had sat on one of the nearby hills and watched a container ship guided in by tugs, and I note it is completely different from this angle. Where on the hill the tugs seemed the main event, from the ship you cannot even tell they are there.

I head down to my cabin to wait for Customs. When the phone rings I head down with my passport to be processed. He checks my passport carefully and asks me lots of questions, particularly about how I found out about being a passenger, and why I would want to do it.

We are allowed to get off, and just need to carry our passport. I ask if I need anything else at the gatehouse like my ticket, as it seems fairly basic. I am told the gatehouse have the passenger list to compare my name to, but to be on the safe side perhaps I should carry my own copy of the passenger list. The Captain prints me one of these.

Upstairs I quickly update my status on Facebook and discover I have friends in Dunedin who I arrange to meet up with for the evening.

There are no guidelines about moving around the Port, I do not have to wear my hard hat or high vis. I literally just grab my handbag and head down the gangway. At the exit one of the crew gets me to fill in a log to say I have left the ship, and at the gatehouse my passport is checked.

Port Chalmers is small charming town, which still has a lot of its buildings from the late 1800s. There are mostly cafes and souvenir shops, and it makes a lovely stroll.

I then meet up with my friends and head out for the night, not getting back til just after midnight. I hope that it is still possible to get back onto the ship. The gatehouse glance at my passport and I move through where the Port is completely silent. It does not appear to go all night as it did in Melbourne which means I should get a very good night sleep.

The clocks have moved forward a third time, as it is Daylight savings, and I realise while there is no banging or rolling that breakfast is fast approaching. I don’t pack away anything tonight, as it cannot fall off, and I get into bed.