Maruba Europa Saga

On board Maruba Europa.
As I have said this was for me the most iffy bit of the journey plan and it certainly has proved to be the most nerve racking, right to the last moment. Eventually by visiting the offices from which the shipping agent's operations manager and his team had moved away, we got a message that we would be collected from the 'hotel' at 5 o'clock. Relief. The next pulse raising moment was of my own making; I had taken all the paperwork including tickets, medical info. required by the ship, etc. with me in case any formalities were required. We stopped for a coffee at a dock side Cafe, got up to leave and left all the documents swinging in a carrier bag on the arm of my chair, 2 minutes later a running waitress caught up with us before we got out of sight. Relief again. Getting back to CP they had not received any telephone call and as I didn't recall having told the shipping agents the hotel address; how were they going to send that cab? So emailed once again confirming the pick up arranged and setting out in detail the CP address.
As usual no response! 15 Hours later, 10 am on day of sailing email received back: 'yes 17.00 pick up still OK'. Relief yet again!
Last breakfast over at Caseron Porteno and last visit to down town BA to see the renowned 'Generalis Generica' the mechanical metallic sculpture of a flower that moves with the passage of the sun; one of our first glimpses of Buenos Aires when taxied from the cruise ship a month ago. This time by Subte and walk we arrived via a loverly little gallery we came across showing art work flowing from the Korean immigration. Like the Poles at home the Korean numbers here have declined as the economy deteriorated.
A final walk and Subte ride to Olleros, on this Irene, clad white, finally succumbed to the pavement defects , tripped and crumpled to the ground, I tried to lift her back up but was rebuffed; 'I could have broken a bone; don't touch me! I'll get up myself'; I note for the future......... ; the subsequent main concern was if the colonial white outfit had got dirty. We buy a sandwich and postre just in case we will be too late for supper on board ship, our last snack meal, shower and final pack all done interspersed with good-byes to Lucia, Daniel and some guests.
16.40 We try to read, 17.00 no transport calls, 17.10 – no, 17.20 – zilch. 17.23 the door bell rings; our cab, load up and final hug with Maria. Cab driver asks where do we go, airport? “ No boat terminal! I thought you knew where to go!” Mobile phone call decides its dock 5. Another phone call outside dock 5 says go to a dark grey building beyond a card operated barrier, driver's ID doesn't gain access; we sit, finally a security guard wanders over and without checking anything lets us pass. Intriguingly Maruba Europa spied the other side of the dock beyond another 3 meter high steel barrier. Customs clearance needed but the door is locked, stranger helpfully assisting with our cases wanders through another door; our door then opens. We stand our cases in the doorway; another man presumably something to do with Customs looks up, slightly smiles but nothing happens. Five minutes later after seeming total inertia, stranger indicates we go, we trundle luggage out of the doorway 'untouched'. A couple of minutes later we are through the steel fence to be met by our previous cab, reload cases and drive around the dock whilst huge container wagons move by to be unloaded by great cranes above. Very helpfully our taxi driver moves our cases for us, shakes our hand, wishes us buen viaje and goes off. These last few minutes so typically laid back Buenos Aires right down to our last steps on land.
Three passengers are disembarking down the gangway, we meet at the bottom. We wish each other well 'and by the way we left some remaining sea sickness tablets on the boat for you!'. Three diminutive, Asian, crew members pick up our cases and run up the gangway; we take the ruck sacks. The gang way stops 2 or 3 feet short of the dock level and about a foot away, a crew man decides it might, just, be a bit too far for Irene to jump and helpfully gets it dropped by about a foot. Irene pulls on the side of the gang way, it starts to swing, finally from a perch on a mooring rope she makes the step. We climb the steep swinging incline to the deck, various members of the crew wave us towards the stern and finally up a steep internal stairway to deck five, panting we are shown into a finely finished suite, lounge with settees, table, chairs and desk, TV, sound system, fridge and bookshelves. The bedroom with fully fitted wardrobes and bed side table and fully tiled en suite shower, basin and loo all accessed from an internal lobby. Better than the cruise ship but without the balcony.
18.30 We check the informations sheets left on the table for us, supper is at 17.45. Well we did want to loose some of our personal excess baggage. Irene starts to find her way around our berth, I go for a wander, deck 1 officers mess, I have a look in; a head pops around the doorway, would you like a fried sausage and some potato salad? I go and fetch Irene from four decks above. The cook repeats the offer, so with a green salad added and dilute Ribena the inner man (and woman) is restored.
We watch containers whizzing off and on the ship before returning to deck 5 to unpack into our new floating home for the next 3 weeks. We sail at 03.00.
Going to bed at 11.00 wasn't a useful idea, container ports are noisy, brightly lit places as loading goes on and on throughout the night. About midnight more turmoil and lights; another container ship arrives, tugs tug, lines are made fast, all within 50 meters of our ship, more container cranes maneuver with their warning bleepers and lorries come and go under even more flood lighting. Neither of us can sleep, I go into the lounge and stub my toe on an abandoned suit case; I hobble to a window and finally see BA as lights on the skyline about 04.00. At last sleep subdues the rumble of the engines and strange semi-circular movement of this part of the ship.
No choice with meal times nor their content; the food is simple and good; the timing to suit changes of watch, our breakfast is at 7.45, lunch at 11.45 and supper 5.45. If that doesn't suit you tell the cook and he wont prepare so much! The running of the ship with its container load comes first, second and third, passengers fit in. We knew this from the start so no problem there; if you want extras, fizzy water, alcohol, toothpaste, shampoo and so on limited stock is also carried, just write a note and leave it for Joseph, the steward. These extras are disconcertingly known as slops (? spelling). I don't know if this is of German or Filipino origin or what. Our Captain and most of the officers are German, the second officer is Filipino as are other crew except one man who comes from Cape Verde. He is even more taciturn than the German officers that Mess with us.
A bit more about Maruba Europa: built Kiel in Germany, commissioned within the last 18 months, 215 m long x virtually 30 m wide x o/all height 53 m, draws 11.5 m, load capacity 3,538 x 20' containers, speed 22 knots, and burns around 85 metric tonnes of heavy fuel per day at sea. Present crew 19; Captain Krapp a man of retirement age, affable, big, bearded who could easily be seen in WW2 U boat film; 1st Officer Reece however would fit seamlessly with a Basil Forte stereotype. We have one other passenger at this time, Martin from Switzerland a solitary man in his later years who unfortunately for him likes the sea and not the mountains in winter of his homeland, and so voyages far and wide on container ships, mail packets and the like. One of his more recent voyages being to St Helaina via the Ascension Island coming back along the African coast. This trip he started in Genoa and is on the 42 day round trip back, he just likes the sea and doesn't seem to mind if his view of shore is only a quick hour long taxi ride around as happened in BA. This is a new and different way of life to experience and we're having to learn fast as we soon have our first port of call into Rio Grande in the extreme south of Brazil. One of the first facts of container ship life is that things don't just happen as planned. Went to bed believing docking in Rio Grande at 07.00 only to find us anchored 7 miles off shore for the whole of Sunday with the vague expectation by the Captain that it might now be Monday before we dock. 'South America is like this,' being the resigned explanation. 'The ports of Brazil are congested and we must wait our turn.' More time to sit in the sun and sleep. Cargo boats could be a very good means of catching up with many years of curtailed slumber!
Very pleased we didn't pre-book hotel and return travel dates for Valencia.
Eventually departed Rio Grande 17.00 Monday afternoon having spent a very satisfying day on board strenuously supervising all aspects of port arrival (and departure), container movements, truck maneuvers and so on from a sunny perch 5 storeys up on the stern accommodation section of ME.
A day at sea to Sao Francisco do Sul still in the south of Brazil to anchor up probably some 30 miles from port with 4 other vessels to await advice from agents and Pilot which could be about 14.00 tomorrow, but to be confirmed.
The Local Shipping Agents as we sampled in BA seem a total law unto themselves; to bribe them with whiskey and cigarettes appears to be the accepted norm to escape apathy, anarchy or both combined. They are certainly not held in high esteem!
We have some 'entertainment' whilst we wait. The ship's tiny tender has to have its 6 monthly trial launch to demonstrate an ability to pick up a man overboard or the like. Preparation starts about 09.45 with high expectations of a demonstration of German efficiency. 10.00, the scheduled time, sees a search for the safety locker key being mounted, and general chaos, unlashing of lines here, fiddling with a winch there, clambering in and out of the swinging dinghy. Eventually three men in a boat dangle about 10 meters above the flat calm sea, the winch gives a lurch, the dinghy swings violently at an angle with the young trainee in the bows looking decidedly unhappy and most pale! The chief engineer and 2nd officer make up the crew. No one takes charge as far as we can see. The tender jerkily, slowly descends at a precarious angle to near sea level before entering the water with a decided plop, gets uncouple from the winch and drifts off, the outboard wont consistently work. This is already at least 10.20, any unfortunate man overboard would by now have drowned or drifted off many miles away, the dinghy too is drifting off. After umpteen pulls on starter cord the motor ;phuts' for sufficient time to return to the anchored ME. A good bit of British improvisation was sadly lacking, i.e. if you do fall in, take rapid DIY course in swimming. God help them if the sea had been in any way rough; 'nil points!' the unanimous decision of the three impartial observers. The Captain had long since despaired of the farce and ordered that it should be done again at 14.30; the young trainee admitting that 'we need to improve a bit!' We look forward to the afternoon's replay! Sneakily the rerun is brought forward to 14.00 without our knowledge and when we go to view at 14.30 things are being put away, with the 1st. officer saying in heavily accented English: 'that was much better'; it needed to be and we three to be more throughly convinced!
The pilot arrives about 15.00 and the long motor into SFdS gets under way. With the later help of two tugs we are maneuvered onto a small quay in front of a grain ship being emptied by large vacuum pipes. At supper Captain says we can go ashore this evening but be back by no later that 09.00 tomorrow morning; we sail at 11.00. A number of the crew and we three passengers collect our passports and after a long taxi wait arrive in the Town centre of a small pretty fishing town not as big as Aldeburgh but in other ways similar except for the heat. I had enough Reals for the taxi out but we all needed to change US$ for a beer and the journey back. A poor exchange rate was got at an internet cafe but Hobson's choice. Nice quiet evening, back at 21.30 and finally a relatively late night to bed about 23.00, with dock work going on it could be noisy. 04.00 Awake as a container may have been dropped or something like. Finished a book and finally got back to sleep to rise late for breakfast. The news was departure was now delayed until 17.00 so we can go ashore again. We walk in past army engineers laying new road surfacing to the docks and look for a bank to getter better exchange rate for our dollars. In spite of much helpful advice in multi-lingual sign language and much 'obligardo!' NO banks will do the change and so back to the cyber cafe @ 2R to the $, still Hobson's choice! Back into the town in blazing heat, window shopping and then for a fishy meal on a deck over the sea, very nice but by now the heat overwhelming and a slow walk back to ME via the small town church still decorated with Christmas trees and lights and manger scene; the church is busy but very quiet and moving just to sit. Then back through the shambles of the roadworks and the docks for air conditioned respite and a shower. We leave SFdS about 18.00 and take the scheduled 12 hour trip to Santos. 04.00 The changing engine note rouses me and by 06.00 a spectacular sunrise repays this early awakening. We anchored up for a possible 19.00 piloted journey into port. By 12.45 22 ships are at anchor within my view, by 14.00 that had climbed to 26; high cloud now obscures the sun, but humidity is climbing, this could be a long wait!
02.00 Woken by the sound of the engines, we were off to Santos, Irene was awake at 04.00 being aware of the activity aboard and noises from the wharfs; fortunately we both had a reasonable, if broken night's sleep until 06.30 when the port noise really got going. Santos is, we were told the biggest port in South America with docks and wharfs to both side of the river for some considerable distance; we were dock 37. Stevedores and other workers get on board a fleet of water buses to be deposited at their respective boats. Today 4 cruise ships were simultaneously, albeit briefly, in port, one giant holding 4000 passengers.
We three got a taxi into town about 10.00, Martin to do more sight seeing in another taxi whilst we savored the town on foot. After a visit to a HSBC ATM that worked, Irene got down to the serious business of getting fabric, cottons etc to start on a patchwork project for the coming days ahead at sea. The last opportunity for mobile phone calls to UK taken, Vivien in a St Alban's “Past Times” shop and Irene on the Santos High Street outside a stationers. Santos an ordinary, but interesting town of no great architectural significance, was less of the stark conflict of wealth and poverty, there was none of the opulence in the ares we visited with a general working class feel about the place allowing the poverty of the street sleepers to seem less obvious. Neither is it an overt tourist trap although the polished brass clad vintage trams still run with uniformed driver and conductor to ferry the tourist about the older part of the town. A group of students were making a 'period' film against the backdrop of one of the better preserved buildings as a tram went by,it provided a vignet of how things might have been at the early part of the last century.
Again little or no English spoken, but people invariably friendly and willing to help, even in the unusual, if fruitless, search for 'bondaweb'.
Back on board we have an interesting situation, at breakfast the Captain was telling us to be back by 14.00 as loading should be completed by 15.00; he then told us, as an aside, that we would be mooring up again off shore as bunkering (fueling up) had not yet been arranged! Perhaps someone had not paid the bill and we do not have enough heavy oil to get us back to Europe! So we are again scheduled to wait! Who was it said: 'sometimes I sit and wait, other times I just sit!'.
I'm loving every moment of it, Irene too, from 5 storeys up its just like having a great big model railway with added moving boats and shunting trains and lorries and cranes and containers and little people, stevedores, dock workers, tally men and so on doing things, especially here in Santos with its added water buses, pilot launches and cruise liners and tugs; a real grown-up's second childhood.
An inclusiveness, has evolved on board, as experienced when returning from Santos town, we met the young Trainee and Cook David at the Dock Yard gate and were escorted on board, by both, especially Irene in being 'mother hen-ed' along a very narrow dock-side edge and tracked container crane path way to and up the gang way.
Irene gleans recipes from Cook, 'something with a Filipino bias for a future Middleton do', but shies away from sharing a Delia dish to vary the weekly ships menu.
Sunday I think, about the 18th maybe, Time has lost significance now; we're anchored off Santos on another nice sunny day. The Captain says 'I'm still getting paid, I think?', we have an extra day's holiday perhaps? Nothing will happen until tomorrow? Always a question mark it seems.
We are to have a BBQ tonight. Captain suggests that Martin take charge. I ask if we are to BBQ a Shipping Agent?; the 1st. Officer should turn the spit. The joke is lost!
Ship's routine starting to adjust; the swimming pool area with its seating is to be scrubbed up to get rid of some of the insidious fuel oil smuts that seem to get everywhere when underway. By 09.00 its getting too hot to sit on deck without shade protection. Joseph, the Steward, scheduled to do our weekly linen change and cabin clean: 'linen change only today, Ma'am, I Hoover tomorrow' ritual varied by BBQ preparation. This on board life is not trivial pursuits but a gift of time and space to not have to hurry onto that, seemingly, vital next must do. Maybe it will pall, but not just yet.
Although, unlike Irene, I read little, the Le Carre novel style I like and a copy of the Mission Song, in English, was found aboard and by now already read. Just now I've started on an unusual second the 'Invisible Man' by Ralph Ellison and literally a minute or two ago came across this in the introduction: '[t]he nature of our society is such that we are prevented from knowing who we are'. How many times I thank our time and studies at SES for allowing us that knowledge to arise. We had no expectations for this journey, but whatever they could have been would have been excelled. Irene just had a 'patchwork' Eureka moment! It's also time for tea.
The BBQ consisted of a whole sucking pig, sausages, chicken, tuna steaks and more roasted over charcoals in a horizontal half 45 gallon oil drum with added salads, rice, potatoes, garlic bread and more finished with fruit suspended in slabs of home made vanilla ice cream. All this with copious draughts of Brazilian beer, German white, and Spanish red, soft drinks and Jim Bean lacing. All the resting crew attended as the radio played a local pop station, reserves dropped, overwhelmed by the booming 1st. Engineer's Berliner's bon hommie.
The big Capo Verdi 3rd engineer normally so silent, a revelation; gentle, considerate and kind. The Captain's love of tango explained with disks exchanged. The young trainee helpfully translating to keep us in the predominantly German conversations. An evening to be remembered.
Monday morning we have a visit to the engine room or rather rooms; quite a-mazing, enough power generated to serve a small town, water desalination, sewage treatment and incineration, refrigeration, air-con systems, heating, hot water quite apart from the power of 29607 HP to drive the vessel with its 7 cylinder two cycle reversible engine. [Sorry if that sounds a bit like a Flanders and Swan omnibus rhyme.] We both enjoyed this insight into the inner workings of the ship albeit Irene declined a visit to the bow thruster 5 storeys down vertical cat ladders. For my part once 'down below' it did occur to me that this would not be the best place for my main pump to be temperamental!
Still required is a thousand cubic meters of the 380s heavy fuel oil to get back to Europe!
With security lighting around the ships decks at night moths are attracted from the shore even when it is a dozen miles or so distant. As dusk starts to settle I take a camera with me for a final 500 meter long walk around the main deck (to walk at night is not permitted) and come across Cook and 4 other Filipino crew on their haunches quietly gutting fish, some 30 kilo caught by home made hand lines dangled from the ship's rails, red snapper the common name for some, others whiting like but names not decipherable from the Filipino. A few moths were found on the superstructure of the boat but I'm sure the corroded corrugated casing of some containers provide ideal and inaccessible cover for many more. My prize photograph tonight being an angry looking, angular, 3” dark green beauty conveniently posing on the white wall of our accommodation tower block.
200th Today, a typing error but almost Freudian, there seems now a self imposed embargo on the word 'bunkering' by passengers and crew alike, this is an unusual situation, even allowing the unpredictable life on board freight carriers; it can be sensed. Doubly glad no bookings made for our return from Valencia.
My interest in their fishing exploits seems to have got around the Filipino crew as I was asked by Joseph if I like to fish, if so Cook has squid as bait and 3rd. Engineer has some line and hooks, the sinkers being a nut or bolt tied on.
The morning moth search disturbed a sparrow sized creature that led me up and down gangways and stairs before loosing me appropriately on the poop deck; its strength of flying and wariness a surprise to me.
Its clouding over now and the wind and sea is getting up, anchored, this give a slight bucking as well as rolling motion to the ship. A good day for reading also since the first day on board I've managed a gentle work out in the gym, it's equipped with static cycle, and cross trainer also 'multi-gym'. I still remember my gym training days with, one time Olympic coach, Al Murray, so add in warm up routines and with tango exercises to warm down manage a 35 minute session every day. The 5 times daily 64 step climb to 5th. floor cabin gets slightly easier for both of us each day.
Drinking, sanitation and washing water is produced as a part of the operation of the main engine so after nearly 3 days at anchor it is now getting low. A couple of hours of cruising will soon be needed to replenish tanks.
Wednesday. Now 4 days at anchorage and still no news which gives an inkling of what becalming must have meant in the time of sail, not yet got round to boats in bottles but have been able to borrow a hand line to try and fish this evening!
Sods law prevails as ever, Irene has 'phoned Ben to tell him and relay to others that we might be a bit late back, I get my bait from cook, bait up hooks and start some serious fishing; within half hour, after chatting to the duty engineer and the Capo Verdian, in turn they are back telling me the ships getting underway; we're off to Rio de Janero for bunkering! It's then a rush to bring in 20 fathoms of line before the engine starts but at least we are to move North again with a bonus visit to Rio in prospect.
Tonight the wind is blowing up and a bumpy ride is likely. None-the-less Irene slept through without the need of Kwells but my night was disturbed by what I was later told as a swell coming across the Atlantic from the African coast. We arrived off RdJ about 07.00 to anchor up by 08.30; we are scheduled to move closer to the shore to be bunkered by tanker later today/ tonight, but no one is holding their breath as to if or when. Fuel transfer takes some time as the pump rates can be as low as 120 tonnes per hour. Another thing to witness and add to so many many, others. Thursday night ME moves into sheltered mooring off RdJ city and fueling barge brought by tug along side, when I awoke at 05.00 transfer of fuel was well underway and barge pulled away about 07.30, pilot on board by 08.00 and ME has cleared RdJ waters by 09.00. Sun at last replaced the heavy drizzle of the night in time for more photographs of the spectacular Rio skyline as we departed.
All being well it's now flat out for Valencia. We were scheduled 13 days from Santos but need to make up some of the days lost as much of the cargo is time sensitive from both a market price and deterioration point of view. We will see, as the weather and sea conditions will play their part before too long.
Saturday mid-day 27 hours of max speed, about 21 Kn/hr over the ground by GPS, every thing, partitions, doors and ceilings, vibrate, rattle and shudder with the ship as it surges forward; the ploughed sea astern curls and foams behind for many hundred meters before being slowly recovered by the waves and swell and darkens back from the white foam and light aerated blue to sombre ocean greyish-blue. Another BBQ this evening, will be a time to hold juddering plates and glasses if this speed 's kept up. The vibration isn't normal but this vessel along with so many others is a casualty of the down turn in international trade being only lightly laden with virtually half containers empty and thus rides high 2 meters above a fully loaded water level. If the weather deteriorates it will roll a lot; containers ships naturally do, according to the 1st, officer, say 24 seconds roll to roll as against 6 for an ore loaded bulk carrier. We're scheduled to cross the equator 23.30 on the 26th with no ceremony any more on cargo boats. The Captain tells of the brutal rituals that initiated crews when he first started 50 years ago: 'being held captive in a locker, doused in rotting garbage, oil and grease before being washed with caustic soap and then fire hosed down'. Health and Safety, Race Relations, Human Rights and other directives, rules and legislation put an end to even harmless customs 30 years ago.
This BBQ was different again, a little more subdued but for us both more open and explaining of the peculiarities, uncertainties and strains of ship board life and effects on home and family. A young 2nd. officer now understood that promotion from the deck wasn't, so to speak, a 9 to 5 responsibility and was harder than expected also then went on to voice concerns as to the resurrection of the Right in German politics and how he and his generation must think and remember their countries history
Sunday and Monday morning the juddering progress to Valencia goes on. Bolts are shook loose from furniture, the constant, relentless shuddering and creaking debilitates the body above and below the plimsol line with the head becoming muzzy and the stomach uncertain. A respite visit to the bows is quiet and still other than the hissing spray and gently lunging motion as the bulbous nose alternately smoothly spreads the water or burrows into waves with a foaming cap and rainbow ring above.
On Monday morning a small platoon of flying fish accompany us some easily keeping pace with the ships full tilt speed; their similarity with water skimming birds surprises as showing brown or blue they seem to swoop swallow like above the sea for tens of meters before a turning flash of white as they arrow back into waves.
The boat's disturbed, the mood is sombre by uncertainty as stockholders decide its future, to economically change the flag of registration and nationality of the officers some time soon; this quite apart from berthing and port of call uncertainties which still exist from the refueling saga. Like much ashore there is no job security here afloat with signing on and off for 4 or 9 month stints extended by events or company diktats. All the German crew could be laid off at the next BA landing to be replaced with ME becoming, perhaps, an all Filipino vessel.
About a week to eta Valencia, we cross the equator now at 17.15 ahead of schedule and likely pulling back still more of the mooring time delays. The 3 day forecast too is good and the less reliable 9 day doesn't as yet indicate anything amiss but the Charterers, Maruba, could still require an adjustment to a more economic pace, especially if Valencia berths are scarce.
More and more time at the bow with flying fish, sometimes singly or in small shoals beneath the surface before they panic as the ship approaches into frenzied swimming, then launching off into the air, to glide or skip like flat stones across the water's skin. Why hours spent, just standing and looking at the moving sea should be so relaxing and yet fulfilling I can't work out but it leads me back to river fishing trips when young when time was not the headlong dash of now. Tuesday saw us at the prow again, either side of which there are low steps to view the seas ahead, these also conveniently act as wind sheltered seats. but today a big wave struck and rose up the bow to jet water through the rollered rope way used by mooring lines and with perfect aim to where Irene sat reading. Any lingering desires she may have had to be the ship's figure head are now much ''diluted!''
An impromptu fish BBQ last night organised by the officers, one of whom had visited a fish market when ashore in Brazil; so Brazilian prawns and mackerel with hot salsa, French bread
and a native Brazilian brew,'Cachacha' [make: Pirassunga 51] served on crushed limes and ice with a spoonful each of white and soft brown sugar, the mix sucked up through straws complete with a captain's warning: 'one is good, two OK but three is lethal'. According to the Captain the spirit is, was a poor mans rum made from the sugar cane residue after true rum is distilled from the first fermentation. At last count the big Berliner had downed his seventh. We trust that there will be no engineering problems in the night. After days at sea, without any other ship in sight, suddenly, out of the night we crossed over with another lightly lit freighter southwards bound not more than 500 meters away which gave a meaning to the term shipping lanes as all vessels take the shortest route, the term great circle or arc or something like comes to mind from a long time past coastal navigation course.
Wednesday, We still plough on at 21.5 Kn/Hr the shuddering and juddering reduced as everything well and truly shook down by now, or maybe we're inured to it. The wind and sea has got up from a diagonal direction to the boat inducing a yawing, twisting motion and everything outside is salt-caked and sticky to the touch, eye lids are red and lips taste salty. The sea is lumpy making progress for'ard a series of little runs and stops along the hard edged and unforgiving steel deck, between containers and the hand-railed side of the ship alternately sprayed or buffeted by the wind in places too strong to stand without pulling or holding on 'till a lull in the pressure of the wind. Arriving at the bow the deck is running water from the spray and an occasional plume of sea. The retreat back to the more sheltered but vibrating stern is walked 'carefully' as would a puppet on its strings
Another, radioed, News Sheet out today with English translation of the German original giving an eye-opening slant of topics as seen through German eyes, This again clearly demonstrates how peripherally Britain figures in their news priorities. Ne'er a mention of Blair or Brown in any Middle East or Economic piece.
Thursday, there is a real down-hearted almost depression settling on the ship with officers increasingly taking meals alone in cabins. More details of changes have filtered through from owners, managers and charterers; the Genoa stop is to be swapped round in time with Livorno and Dakar omitted from the sailing schedule, the unsettling of expectations affect morale. Our extra time at sea also means fresh fruit, food and 'slops' are already starting to run low and Genoa is the restocking port.
The sea today less choppy, the weather bright but temperature decidedly lower as we travel NNE and a wind chill from both the breeze and ships progress nullifies the hazy sun. The horizon too is lost in mist. This morning the ship lopes on with a gentle dog-like, running rolling motion, 'ear to rear'. We should be somewhere near the Canary Islands by now and Europe's winter is not far away The clocks put forward for a second time last night to GMT. One more hour forward and one more back before we reach UK. Today my day for rude awakening as bow side, sun baked, slumber interrupted by a smaller spurt of sea salt water. Flying fish escorts now departed, whales seen but not by us, just a few white jellies suspended from the surface.
Friday. By traveling north, the change to GMT and final shadowing of the moon, 06.20 was still night time dark but the wake astern a creamy, feathery plume with two out-riders all softly glowing with displays of shooting stars and sparkler trails and brighter, pulsating patches of fluorescence. The breeze has dropped but the sun doesn't warm now until after 10.00 and then only when out of the wind from the boat's forward speed; so for'ard again to sun bathe or to read. After fiddling about photographing this, that and the other, while, Irene reading, I found a draught-less ledge in the sun, dozed and time slid by. Suddenly the temperature dropped, the wind and sea got up and as we scurried for the stern rain began to sheet down across the sea; all this within a minute or two. A timely reminder of the rapid weather changes that happen here on board; two hours had gone by; we had nearly missed lunch!.
Only last evening we spoke to wonder if we ever would be able to get back to our old pace of life.
The mid-day change has caused a sting in the tail of this Atlantic crossing the residue of very bad storms near the Azores according to the Captain; increasing wind torn waves drive in from the west on our North East passage, hitting astern with a cork-screw turn, to twist us abeam with a spiteful heave. Inside alternately we are pitched across the cabin in comical stuttering runs, to hang vertically a second or two before teetering back onto anchored furniture, partition wall or door. A good part of Friday evening we spent wedged into a settee behind a screwed down table watching a Brazilian Samba Show from a DVD with English [American] sub-titles. Brazilian Portuguese is pretty much a mystery language and the lyrics can be a convoluted, drawn out story of quite domestic events, none the less, light relief before deciding that prone in our bunks might be the next preferred location. Wash, teeth clean and etc. an absorbing interlude, finally, then bed. The bedroom when lights are out is usually lowly lit through an air transfer grill in the access corridor to cabin door, with the bedroom door's clipped back open. To resist the pitch and heave and remain wedged in the bunks between mattress and the wall arms and legs need to be splayed out wide, tensed and relaxed to suit the slope. A fitful, clammy, shoulder and waste aching sleep ensued until an almighty bang and pitch black dark ...... Simultaneously two torches flashed to life, Irene saying 'the electrics are blown'. Not quite so dramatically, the bedroom door had freed its catch and slammed tight shut; to bring to an end at 03,00 even that shallow sleep for the night; it already being cut short by another clock change to European time.
This rock and roll existence has not diminished either of our appetites and Saturday's breakfast taken right on time with Muesli sliding from its dish to an adjacent plate with, remarkably, no spilt milk as seated eaters gently glide across the mess room floor.
The four flight staircase climb is a tightly holding on affair. We returned to bed and slept through morning tea but easily made late morning lunch.
Captain Krapp reports the full speed dash has pulled back our disembarkation date by a full day; Gibraltar 17.00 this evening and Valencia Pilot on board 14.00 tomorrow. Packing looms.
We berth at Valencia 14.30, a text book mooring , as usual supervised by us all, to await ships clearance, about 15.30 we go to meet the Valencia Agent to arrange our shuttle bus, taxi and hotel for the night. 100 Fags, we disembark 20.00.
We should have known better; 19.75 we get an internal 'phone call from Robert the trainee who is also to get off at Valencia, the Agent has called and the Port Shuttle bus will pick us up from the dockside in 5 to 10 minutes, “I'll help you with your cases”. We call Joseph to help as well and between us get everything down onto the deck, its started to rain. No shuttle bus arrives, we wait and wait. We decide to get things down to the dock side, the ABs (sea men) have to get the cases down the swinging gang way, these Filipinos aren't big men albeit strong. Two cases down on their shoulders, sort of OK, third one hoisted, he slightly over balances and totters at the top and very nearly drops it 30 feet down into the dock. Fortunately he is stabilised and eventually get it down. Irene follows Robert down and she is OK until he jumps off at the bottom setting the whole thing swinging violently; somehow or the other Irene too gets down. Cases now piled up about 4 feet from the dock. Still no shuttle bus, Robert goes to a telephone and chase it up. The massive overhead crane that loads up the containers starts to bleep and then move on its railway track right over where the cases are piled; another panic as as everyone scrambles to move luggage, just in time. Still no shuttle bus. 10 Minutes later about a half hour late it arrives and off to the dock gates about 2 miles away to our taxi. At the gate passports checked against the shipping list; we are OK but Robert's name not there, the Agents have c**ked it up, our taxis are waiting but we are not going anywhere. Several phone calls resolve nothing; 10 minutes later stalemate. Valencia are playing a needle football match against local rivals and its on TV; suddenly the gate man relents, gets a hug from Irene and gets back to his cabin and TV. We load up the cabs, their meters had been running with already 20 Euros+ on the clock. The Valencia hotel is fine.