On a small ship, free of the 'ra! ra!' bustle of big liners, Pamela Wade takes a dive.
I always thought I was too greedy to go on a cruise. Just the thought of all that lovely, paid-for food was enough to make my waistband tighten: I knew I wouldn't be able to keep from making a pig of myself. I would end up going home draped toga-style in a sheet. Off a king-size bed.
I was wrong. Not about being greedy, as the lavish buffets on my Captain Cook Cruise proved all too well. But because this was a small ship, we spent all of our time in sight of land and much of it either ashore or in the water.
Every day on our loop through Fiji's Mamanuca and Yasawa islands we had opportunities to snorkel over fabulous coral formations swarming with fish in psychedelic combinations of fluorescent blue, pink and green shot through with acid yellow.
Each snorkelling trip was different and accessible for every passenger, no matter how aquatically challenged: the man whose right-angled ankles flashed white above the water with each kick had as much fun as the woman in a sleek all-in-one who dived effortlessly to chase multicoloured parrotfish through the stags-horn coral.