Freight Ship Diary
Introduction
One hot day in Auckland I didn't have much to do on campus
and I was walking around and I can't remember now exactly
how the idea came to me but I thought it would be a grand
idea to go back to America not by your usual uncomfortable
flight but by the sea.
I did a minimum of sedentary research, finding that
a freight ship might be my best bet, and so I hiked down
to the port. I asked around there and was told that I'd
have to go to the shipping company rather than the port.
I walked up to Hamburg Süd House on Symonds Street
and asked there and they gave me the number of a guy in
Hawkes Bay who is apparently the only guy who can hook
that kind of thing up.
Well, eventually I got onto my ship, bound for
Philadelphia. What follows is the diary I kept during
the passage.
Sat Jun 26 11:03:47 NZST 2010
Just rounded Rangitoto lighthouse. Auckland is shrouded
in mist: the volcano looks like a low flat island, all
I could see were the bases of the buildings as the city
passed behind North Head. It is a beautiful morning.
Last night after bringing on my baggage and seeing
the customs officer I had shore leave till midnight, so
I had dinner with my parents and Tom at the Italian place
in Grey Lynn where they do really good food and deserts.
Then gelato on the waterfront and we drove over to
Highbury, had a drink with Michelle, said goodbye to her
and Tom and left them at her place, back over the bridge,
goodbye to Mom and Dad, and through the wharf gate.
I dozed off and on through the night not knowing
when we would leave. Around nine I found out I'd
missed breakfast and we were still in port owing to a
broken crane. Overnight my porthole had filled up with
containers, so I have to go out on the decks for a view.
Not sure I'll begin my exploration of the vessel today.
The other passenger who got on at Auckland tells me there
are another couple of passengers on board, one of whom is
apparently something of a veteran. I must remember to make
meal times if I want to get fed: 0700--0800, 1130--1230,
and 1700--1800. First meal was soup, the meat in which
I avoided, and some kind of sea creature deep fried in
batter, with potatoes and pickles. I worried that I may
have to just eat what I am given, but the captain was at
the next table, saw me refuse the sea creature and told
the cook to find out what I like. I said I am vegetarian
and it seems that will be okay.
This morning there were several cases of New Zealand
beers stacked in the corridor. We new passengers have
each been issued with a case of NZ spring water.
I believe we are now out of the harbor and into the
swells. I shall step outside and watch New Zealand recede.
Sat Jun 26 17:47:48
First sunset at sea, rain let up and a very pleasant
experience. Dinner was potatoes and slaw again, plus some
cake. The guy who got on at Auckland with me is a bit of
a trial to be in the presence of but the other passengers,
a couple who are on freight journey number fourteen-odd,
are more agreeable. It sounds like the single guy doesn't
drink but the couple said they were sure they'd end up
having a drink with us some time: that could be fun.
For the time being I am refraining from making a
purchase from the slop chest, where there are cigarettes
and alcohol duty free.
We have a nice gentle swell on now. No land in sight,
a full moon peeking between charcoal clouds. I became
aware of the fact that clocks will need to be adjusted as
we progress, including my computer's in order to keep the
timestamps here accurate: ntp where are you?
Tomorrow I'll explore the ship stem to stern.
We are as ghosts, we can go anywhere so long as we do not
interfere with the running of the ship. It reminds me of
the video game Thief, the only first person shooter I've
ever enjoyed: to ``ghost'' a level was to complete it
without alerting any of the other characters in the game
or leaving a trace of your presence (like, say, a corpse).
Darryl would be happy to break out the broadsword when
required but I always tried to ghost.
Sun Jun 27 13:02:44
The sea is following from the port quarter, it is a
glorious day. I have just returned from a round trip of
the main deck and up to the bridge. The fo'c's'le is the
most peaceful place on the boat: you can't hear the engin
it's so far behind you nor the hum of the refrigerated
containers, just the press of the sea beneath the bow.
There was probably my first firsthand recognition that
we all really are just running across the surface of a
large sphere. The water and the sky all curve off in every
direction no matter which section of them you inspect.
Being up there on the bow was enough to justify the whole
trip to me. You don't get this kinda stuff on a plane.
There are still seabirds about, wheeling and diving,
sometimes flying along past the ship as though to prove we
aren't going along so very fast, although we are clipping
along. On the stern there is a basketball hoop, though
it's not regulation height, the court is peppered with
winches and bollards, and any ball gone out of bounds would
really be irretrievably so. Below is a fairly serious
churn of white water and behind us a trail of circles in
the wake.
The bridge would perhaps have been more interesting
to me as a boy; I only put my head in. There was a
single officer at some controls and shades pulled across
the windows. Outside on the wings there are port and
starboard a binnacle and a set of controls. I went over
to the compass to see our bearing but it was covered and
I did not want to uncover it.
In the stairwell there is a notice that the clocks are
to be retarded one day tonight, confirming my suspicion
that sooner or later we must cross the international
date line. I suppose this means tomorrow's entry shall
be dated the same day as this: I'll have to find out what
the next timezone be. At first I thought I'd just leave
thes stamps in NZST, but soon the adjustments won't be by
a day but by an hour and I'd rather the entries reflect
the local situation.
Sun Jun 27 14:52:44
It's still the 27th, though a night has been and gone.
The sea is a wonderful deep blue which turns an equally
mesmerizing lighter color as we stir up the salt in it.
The wind has come round on the bow (or else we've altered
course), which makes for less rolling, though I suppose it
must affect our speed also. Dad had the sense to set the
main bunk athwartships on his yacht; why have the designers
of the otherwise admirable Cap Beatrice decided to align
their bunks fore and aft?
This morning at about 0230 the fire alarm rang
a signal. The thing is terrifyingly shrill. I stepped
into the corridor and strained with the also awakened bosun
across the corridor to hear what was being said over the
public address system. We couldn't. I went back to bed.
This afternoon I got my safety briefing. Turns out
when there's an alarm like that I'm to head down to
the boat on Deck A, starboard side with my life jacket.
Oh well. The other passenger on my deck did, I'd found
out at breakfast. He said the crew got a chewing out for
being lax about the drill; he was the only one with his
life jacket. The other passenger couple had done as I and
stayed put. Hopefully there isn't another: it is exciting
when the bell goes off, but it would be more exciting if
I knew what it meant and had to spring to battle stations
or something.
Yesterday made my first purchase from the slop chest:
24 cans of pepsi for $12 and a bottle of Corban's White
Label for $5. The prices are in USD but still quite good.
I haven't tried the wine yet. Or the gym: you have to
walk over a bridge which flies right over the engine to
get there. So far I'm sticking to press-ups &c. in my room
for fitness and regular taking of the air on the decks and
fo'c's'le for health.
Sun Jun 27 18:32:30
Just got in from a barbecue held out on the poop deck.
Interesting atmosphere, the Filipinos laughing and singing
down by the fire, then the Eastern European officers
smoking and talking quietly and throwing their empties
over the side, then I'm stuck with the Australians doing
the eat drink talk thing and at the aftmost end of the
deck the captain and chief engineer. Had to fish out the
beers from the bottom of a tub of water; they were Export
Golds. . . Had three and a few helpings of food and now
I've got a headache and a gut. May open the wine soon.
It's the cook's birthday. We toasted and sang to him.
Mon Jun 28 11:15:11
The wind has picked up and come round the bow so that the
ship bucks violently every now and then. This morning
I surprised myself, having gone to bed with a headache
from too much or too little wine after 0100 and expecting
to skip breakfast, by practically springing out of bed at
0730 and heading down to the mess for fried eggs on toast.
None of the other passengers were there. Back in my
cabin I did a few pressups and showered, then went out
intending to spend some time in the fo'c's'le; only with
the weather the bows were throwing up all kinds of spray
pretty regularly: I rushed round between blasts and watched
the sea from further midships over on the port side.
I have been organizing a publishing system for
my website and editing the work already on it, tidying
everything up. I aim to finish this today or tomorrow, so
that I can then get on to new writing, which is supposed
to be a by-product of this long trip. Still, I try not
to stay too sedentary.
Tue Jun 29 13:40:07
I discovered why I managed to get up in time for breakfast
yesterday: we gained an hour as I slept. Remedied that
by sleeping in till lunch today. Made another slop
chest purchase. So far, for less than $50 US I have got
24 beers, a bottle of wine, a cask of wine, a carton of
cigarettes, and 48 cans of pepsi. Not bad. Well, not
good, either, from a health perspective. I promise to
buy no more.
Tue Jun 29 22:56:24
Wait, that can't be right. I just watched the clock
advance an hour, which makes sense, since
we are heading east, towards the sun, but that means I
lost an hour's sleep the other night. Well, well
done me. Looks like I'll be sleeping in again tomorrow,
though.
Wed Jun 30 16:18:48
The wind is really howling in our face. We were making up
for lost time out of Auckland but we must be losing those
gains now. Every now and then there is a good hard jolt
and spray from the bow flies all the way back to the poop.
I've got containers blocking my porthole and still the
glass is saltily wet. From out on my deck I watch the
length of the ship wriggle like a snake with every sizable
wave, the stacks of containers rising up and down as the
steel hull flexes. It reminds me of how in the rowing
skiffs we would at the sight of wake quickly touch her
round so that she was parallel to it, those hulls so long
and slender that they should break if not rather uniformly
supported.
I didn't sleep last night, napped between breakfast
and lunch, and will try to turn in earlyish tonight.
This is such a pleasant way to travel I almost fear
it'll end too soon. The GPS-armed passenger on my deck
figures about ten days to Panama: I hope it's more,
I'm getting so much writing/editing done, not bored in
the least, and I've got more literature than I could
read should the trip take twice as long. Every day I
am more pleased to have made this decision: I wish I
could show those who thought it rash or too expensive
to be worthwhile how happy I am.
Thu Jul 1 07:23:02
Yesterday the horn gave a long blast, then several shorter.
I went out on deck to see a yacht sailing by. She was
before a fairly serious breeze but still had plenty of
sail up, gave us a wide enough berth that I couldn't
see anything more detailed than that. I heard a voice
above and looked up to see one of the officers smiling
down at me. I pointed at the yacht and he pointed his
forefinger at his temple and I laughed.
The others think that officer rude on account of
his unwillingness to engage in conversation, but what a
knowing pleasure is communicated between the silent ones.
Fri Jul 2 20:36:22
The officer who has been most friendly towards us
passengers today said that the forecast is for five more
days of this wind and sea on the nose; a 6 on the Beaufort
scale, he says, adding he hasn't a clue why Magellan
deemed this ocean Pacific. Ah well, I wish I could
blame my sleeplessness last night on the movement of the
ship but I fear I cannot. I snatched a few hours before
breakfast this morning, then a few between breakfast and
lunch, then a few more between lunch and dinner, so that
I am probably doomed to stay up as long again tonight,
and those that follow, until I push myself back round
the cycle. I ought to be doing more exercise and drinking
less caffeinated soda.
Sun Jul 4 17:58:20
I suppose the word `diary' shares the same root as
`diurnal'; well, I missed a day. Of course, above are
plenty of double-entries, so they can make up for any
gaps; or should `journal' be a more accurate name for
this chronicle? I don't know.
Just watched the sun set off our stern. At first it
seemed it would set not behind the horizon but behind the
bank of clouds piled high over the rim of the sea in every
directon, but then it peeped out from beneath the clouds a
big hazy orange mostly obscured by black splodges changing
shape over its face. The veteran passenger couple claim
not yet to have seen the famous green flash.
Today is a Sunday, and so meals are slightly out of
the ordinary: big gooey-in-the-center pancakes instead
of the usual fried egg for breakfast, and spaghetti for
dinner instead of the usual meat-and-potatoes styled dish.
I hate to be a nusiance, but I sent my spaghetti back for
another plate without the mince sauce. Other than that I
usually do okay as far as not eating meat. Soup at lunch
sometimes involves dodging chunks of some kind of flesh or
other, and so I sometimes pre-empt pickiness by skipping
that course (real Russian service!), but the mushroom is
very good and there is a delicious Russian soup dyed red by
some vegetable or other. Last Sunday there was ice cream
on offer which I declined but might have accepted tonight,
but it didn't happen.
Also on Sunday the steward changes the linen in our
cabins, so I tidied up the mess of laundry and empty
bottles and cans I'd allowed to accumulate and when he
knocked let him in and went out for some air. When I got
back he'd supplied me with an ashtray and taken away the
empty soda can I'd been using till then. I wonder how
much to tip him, and the cook, when I disembark. . .
I am trying not to smoke or drink too much, though I
couldn't resist buying the dirt-cheap carton of cigarettes.
In the mess was a sheet where we passengers were to enter
our declarations for entering Panama. It asked for how
much tobacco by the gram, how much wine by the cask: how
the hell am I supposed to know? I don't even know how far
away Panama is, let alone what I'll have left by the time
we get there. Nor how many grams of tobacco are made up
by some 180 cigarettes, though I know I have roughly 50g
of pipe tobacco. I decided the beer would be gone by the
time we got there and put 1 cask of wine, 100g tobacco.
And I declared my laptop, as the other passengers.
The fellow on my deck seems quite proud of his ``Asus PC
EEC'', not to mention his branded GPS-thingy and evilphone.
I am consistently surprised at my ability to wake up
just in time for mealtimes. I may get to sleep as late as
three or four in the morning and still drag myself down
to the mess at seven. Then back in my cabin I'll read
for a while and inevitably doze off only to wake just in
time for the next meal. Also, every second day has only
twenty-three hours. Of course, skipping the occasional
meal probably would do no harm: despite my feeble efforts
to ward off sedentariness I foresee a bit of work once I
get ashore in order to get fit.
But I hate to go on about that stuff: it annoys me so
to hear the recently divorced, type II diabetes-conquering
Australian go on about his gym schedule in the mess.
Ditto his findings on how the trip is affecting his mental
state. He so far has lent me a copy of Times magazine
(snore) and a guide-book he is using for his tour of the
States (double-snore), plus Alistair Cooke's four-disc
America (better, but still condescending the
way he thinks I oughta bone up on America). The guy is
obsessed by facts, a trait which always bores me, and is
obviously carrying out some embarrassing mid-life thing,
touring from Philly up to and across Canada, then zigging
and zagging down through the states and Mexico to where
he joins a guided tour in South America in however many
months. Of course I'm being horrible and cruel and where
will I be at his age? I deserve whatever I get.
Like my brother Leo, I frown upon the impulse (he
despises it especially in the young twenty-somethings of
whom he is one) to travel for its own sake. Unlike him,
this does not keep me from travelling: I like to think
I'm moving to live, not to see. To do, not experience.
So if you are reading this that is my apology for no
photographs. I suppose it seems both selfish and merciful.
I'll admit to enjoying a leaf through a photo album every
now and again, but most of the time the taking of such
photos is a nuisance and a hindrance to my enjoyment of
whatever it is I am supposed to remember fondly from some
armchair however many years thence.
Well, what an entry. Oh yes, what have I been reading?
(for it certainly isn't Time magazine) Let's end on a
more positive note. I've put aside Hemingway for the time
being (For Whom the Bell Tolls; I read Fiesta just before
leaving, and A Farewell to Arms back in high school) and
have been reading selected essays of Gore Vidal which
I found in the ship's library otherwise littered with
popular crap. I'd read a book of his short stories which
did not excite me much, though I found myself reading the
next one, then the next one. So too with his essays,
but more enjoyably. He is a harsh enough critic, but
with a sense of humor (something he laments the lack of
in most Americans) I click to. I have a soft spot for
the way he pokes fun at incorrect or meaningless use of
language and for what I suspect is a knowledge of Latin,
certainly of classics. His politics are pretty good too.
I've also been dipping into the wealth of literature I
stored up electronically before boarding ship, courtesy of
Project Gutenburg. I was ambitous enough to grab Proust
and Tolstoi, though I've only read the first
chapter of War and Peace so far. Last night I listened
to an audio recording of someone reading Thoreau's `Civil
Disobedience'. Now Project Gutenburg is a great thing,
but the guy reading on this recording made me want to
volunteer a reading or two myself. I mean, the guy was
Canadian for a start. . . but besides that he also had a
terribly pretentious reading voice. Ah well, good thing
I grabbed the text as well. It is a good little piece,
and my introduction to Thoreau, whom my mother said I would
like, and she was right.
Wed Jul 7 04:50:19
The sea has calmed now, though the wind still whistles
round the starboard-side decks and the fo'c's'le isn't
quite yet as pleasant or dry as it was the first few days.
For the second night in a row I haven't slept. If this
morning is anything like yesterday I'll stick it out till
breakfast then as soon as I get back from the mess fall
asleep till lunch. I guess I'm not doing enough to need
to sleep more than that.
I finished the Vidal essays, got back into the
Hemingway. Also began reading more Thoreau, now onto
his magnum opus Walden. What can I say? I am moved by
his writing. He finds all the neat metaphors and turns
of phrase for thoughts I feel are true and meaningful
but haven't been able to articulate:
It is very evident what mean and sneaking lives many of
you live, for my sight has been whetted by experience;
always on the limits, trying to get into business
and trying to get out of debt, a very ancient slough,
called by the Latins aes alienum, another's
brass, for some of their coins were made of brass;
still living, and dying, and buried by this other's
brass; always promising to pay, promising to pay,
tomorrow, and dying today, insolvent; seeking to
curry favor, to get custom, by how many modes, only
not state-prison offenses; lying, flattering, voting,
contracting yourselves into a nutshell of civility
or dilating into an atmosphere of thin and vaporous
generosity, that you may persuade your neighbor to
let you make his shoes, or his hat, or his coat,
or his carriage, or import his groceries for him;
making yourselves sick, that you may lay up something
against a sick day, something to be tucked away in
an old chest, or in a stocking behind the plastering,
or, more safely, in the brick bank; no matter where,
no matter how much or how little.
Think, also, of the ladies of the land weaving toilet
cushions against the last day, not to betray too green
an interest in their fates! As if you could kill
time without injuring eternity. (my emphasis)
The farmer is endeavoring to solve the problem of
a livelihood by a formula more complicated than the
problem itself. To get his shoestrings he speculates
in herds of cattle. With consummate skill he has
set his trap with a hair spring to catch comfort and
independence, and then, as he turned away, got his
own leg into it.
One farmer says to me, `You cannot live on vegetable
food solely, for it furnishes nothing to make bones
with'; and so he religiously devotes a part of his day
to supplying his system with the raw material of bones;
walking all the while he talks behind his oxen, which,
with vegetable-made bones, jerk him and his lumbering
plow along in spite of every obstacle.
There are nowadays professors of philosophy, but
not philosophers. Yet it is admirable to profess
because it was once admirable to live. To be a
philosopher is not merely to have subtle thoughts,
nor even to found a school, but so to love wisdom as to
live according to its dictates, a life of simplicity,
independence, magnanimity, and trust. It is to solve
some of the problems of life, not only theoretically,
but practically.
In any weather, at any hour of the day or night,
I have been anxious to improve the nick of time, and
notch it on my stick too; to stand on the meeting of
two eternities, the past and future, which is precisely
the present moment; to toe that line. You will pardon
some obscurities, for there are more secrets in my
trade than in most men's, and yet not voluntarily
kept, but inseparable from its very nature. I would
gladly tell all that I know about it, and never paint
`No Admittance' on my gate.
I sometimes try my acquaintances by such tests as
this---Who could wear a patch, or two extra seams only,
over the knee? Most behave as if they believed that
their prospects for life would be ruined if they should
do it. It would be easier for them to hobble to town
with a broken leg than with a broken pantaloon.
When I ask for a garment of a particular form, my
tailoress tells me gravely, `They do not make them
so now,' not emphasizing the `They' at all, as if
she quoted an authority as impersonal as the Fates,
and I find it difficult to get made what I want,
simply because she cannot believe that I mean what I
say, that I am so rash. When I hear this oracular
sentence, I am for a moment absorbed in thought,
emphasizing to myself each word separately that I
may come at the meaning of it, that I may find out by
what degree of consanguinity They are related to me,
and what authority they may have in an affair which
affects me so nearly; and, finally, I am inclined to
answer her with equal mystery, and without any more
emphasis of the `they'---`It is true, they did not
make them so recently, but they do now.
Careful, I may just quote the whole thing! Anyway, I've
always been meaning to get round to reading this book,
and I'm glad finally to have got there, even if I'm reading
off a screen and not the printed page.
Anyhow, GPS-guy figures we should keep an eye out for
land on Friday, probably make Panama on Saturday. This
seems earlier than I thought. Again, I hope he is wrong,
although the canal passage should certainly be interesting.
In spite of the fact of some writer's block I am still
content to let the days go on as they have been, sea and
clouds and sky and waves in all directions as far as one
can see.
Wed Jul 7 18:03:51
Having now thouroughly confounded my sleep patterns,
I think I should rename this chronicle a `noctary'.
Just watched the sun set again behind the clouds, this
time from the fo'c's'le, where I enjoyed only one blast
of spray. As I turned to go back to my cabin I waved at
one of the young officers climbing up the mast to which
the horn and navigation lights are attached and by which
the boat must be steered, since the bows cannot be seen
from the bridge.
Over dinner discussed our progress with the veteran
couple. He tells me we average four hundred nautical
miles a day; and what's the circumference of the earth,
again? She, like me, says it doesn't matter, it's three
hundred and sixty degrees. Tonight we advance the clock
an hour for the sixth time. To me that means we've come
roughly a quarter way round the world from the date line,
since each hourly adjustment marks one twenty-fourth of
the earth's circumference. Now, one nautical mile is
one minute of longitude, so every two days we travel
the equivalent of eight hundred minutes of longitude,
or thirteen and one third degrees: one twenty-seventh of
the earth's circumference! Nor does that calculation take
into account the fact that we are headed not due east but
north thereby. I don't know, am I missing something here?
In any case, we are averaging seventeen knots, which to
me is quite impressive. The fellow figures we'll start
seeing birds and other ships tomorrow as we come round
north of the Galapagos and then enter (or wait to enter)
the canal on Friday.
Fri Jul 9 03:39:54
Insomnia is a bastard. Determined to fix things yesterday,
I made myself stay awake more than twenty-four hours,
finally collapsing into bed around 1800hrs. Only to wake
up no more than four hours later unable to return to sleep.
Ah well, perhaps if I do the same today I'll come around.
One benefit was that I got to see my first fairly clear
night sky all trip. I'd been a bit disappointed on that
point, expecting to see many stars and watch them change as
we progressed, but tonight there was Scorpio sprawled out
beneath the Milky Way, his heart-star burning red and cold.
Come to think of it, is he the right way up now? We must
be near if not past the equator. Isn't there usually some
ceremony when that line is crossed?
Fri Jul 9 19:00:14
Tonight we advance the clocks one last time before Panama;
I've just adjusted mine. Spent most of the day tricking
myself into thinking the clouds on the horizon were land.
It is strangely claustrophobic when visibility wanes.
I mean, you are still in about the most open space you
can be, can still see as far as you could wish in any
direction, but your horizon has been uniformly and only
slightly constricted: you cannot see quite as far as you
could yesterday, and it is disconcerting.
Ah well, tomorrow we shall see land for sure.
Today the only sign I can guarantee having seen were
a few brown gulls fishing, first birds I've seen since
those I last mentioned. First sign of life other than
human, though the other passenger saw some flying fish.
I think it was this morning I discovered I could put my
head down and look through---I don't know the nautical
term for it---the hole where lines may be passed when
securing the ship to see down over the bow without having
to worry about toppling over in a Titanic scene gone wrong,
and I watched the bulbous nose of the keel pushing along
beneath the surface.
Sat Jul 10 18:07:15
More birds today. I watched them for some time from up
in the fo'c's'le. I wonder whether birds tire as we do
from holding our arms out a time.
The bosun must have been swabbing the decks today:
there were hoses and a broom and, well, swabs.
We power in and out of rain clouds all day. They are
not heavy rains, and the clouds are low, so that when up
on the bow as we enter one it is as if we are entering
the cloud itself and are wet not by falling rain but by
the mist of its substance.
I slept this afternoon, though I'd thought I'd
corrected all that last night, when I slept a good seven
hours. Before I went to bed then I'd finished reading For
Whom the Bell Tolls. I was moved to tears and thoroughly
engrossed by the final chapter. Now I am reading Hermann
Hesse's Demian (thanks, James) and continuing with Thoreau.
I cannot get on with the book and video swapping at the
mess table. I have the ship's library's copies of The
Da Vinci Code and Sidney Sheldon's Are You Afraid of the
Dark? for the purpose of making cut-ups, but they are not
much good even for that.
Tomorrow evening we are due to anchor outside the
canal and should enter by early morning. At least,
that is the latest prediction. I think I shall ask the
Australian couple if they will photograph me.
Sun Jul 11 21:55:03
We came in amongst lightning and helicopters. Then the
rain and the lightning stopped and a couple of times a
helicopter came right up to us and put its spotlight
on us, like a curious winged insect, then flew away.
And it took me a long time to realize that those areas
of brighter lights were not parts of the city but other
ships waiting outside the canal. And then we dropped
anchor amongst them.
Mon Jul 12 08:32:41
Wow, what a morning! At 0100 we were moving again and I
woke from my nap to see us enter the long passage of red
and green lights. Red was to starboard, which I found
puzzling, and somewhere since then (I assume we are now
past halfway) it has swapped to port.
We slowly made our way up the narrow entrance to
the canal and under the bridge flung high across it, a
pilot boat at our bow. Off to our right was the city,
most every grey building adorned with at least one red
light atop---for the helicopters? Many had several such
lights and the cityscape seemed home to so many beady
eyes watching us from the cloudy darkness. Behind us the
brightly lit ships lay at anchor.
Soon I realized we were coming into a lock; and what a
narrow lock it seemed! The pilot boat; or perhaps it was
more of a working boat than that; was joined by a sturdy
tug. The finger to port was a good ship-length longer
than that to starboard, so that we slowly approached it
at an angle, then the tug pushed us in at the stern and
we were lined up to enter. Along each side was a track
on which several engines ran each with a line out to us,
between them holding us clear, though there hardly seemed
much more than a yard either side.
There was another lock beside us already occupied by
another ship which at each stage was one step ahead of us.
The gate closed behind and we rose on third the necessary
height, finding equilibrium with the depth of the next
hold. Then the gate ahead opened and we moved forward
with the help of our guides, the gate closed again behind,
and we rose the next third.
It was by then 0300 and I thought to get some sleep.
I'd been locked out, which was a nuisance: I didn't like to
go down to the poop deck by the outside stairs then up the
inside to get back to my deck, not wanting to get in the
way of the crew. Earlier one of the officers on the bridge
had seen me out on the wing two decks below him where I
was getting quite a good view of the goings on. He yelled
something but I couldn't tell what he said nor whether
he was even talking to me but to someone further below.
I hoped it was the latter and retreated to my own deck.
But I did not run into anyone getting back inside,
and I read a while in my cabin and napped again. I got up
occasionally to noises or shudders from the ship or various
boats helping us along. At 0500 I got up and went back
out on deck. Now we were in the canal proper, I supposed,
winding and narrow and then widening with little islands on
either side. The air has lately become warm and full of
moisture and it was a little jungle-like. Then as it got
brighter I watched the mist coming out of the valleys in
the hills inland and took in the wonderfully deep green of
the trees and the brown-green water. There were new birds;
I watched one circling over perhaps its own private island.
And bats! screeching and flapping along in pairs then
flocking together through the sky.
Now we and five or six other ships are anchored in
a widening-out. There is a small port with another big
ship, but I don't know that we're waiting to get in there;
we'll see.
Oh, and between napping and marveling at the canal
I finished reading Demian, which was much more like the
Steppenwolf I enjoyed so when we were cycling round the
South Island than The Journey to the East, which was the
other Hesse James lent me and I didn't really get into.
I am much pleased with what I have managed to read on
this trip.
Tue Jul 13 07:29:38
Spent yesterday afternoon on the deck above with the rest
of the passengers watching us come back down the locks.
It was much the same as what happened early that morning
only in the daylight I could see the workers' faces,
the crew of the ship going through alongside us, and two
gatherings in bleachers on the shore, tourists gawking
at tourists. I figured I should get at least one picture
of myself.
I was also reminded about a part of the proceedings which
had struck me that morning but I forgot to mention above.
Just as the ship comes into the lock proper a small
boat is rowed out from the shorter finger of
the two which guide her in, taking a light line across.
It was refreshing to see among all the powerful tugs and
working boats and the larger-than-life mechanics some good
old manpower.
Then we anchored again for the night. This morning I woke
up to the engine not wanting to start and then to a crew
member's alarm clock going off after he'd left his cabin.
There are between twenty and thirty ships anchored out
here, it is quite something. We've just weighed anchor
and are coming into the port.
Tue Jul 13 08:34:51
Just spun around and did a little parallel parking.
I don't know what the name of this port is but it's too
hot for me out there.
Wed Jul 14 07:29:35
And back at sea we are. The view out of my cabin is still
blocked but up forward there are several gaps where they
used to be containers. They keep dangerous cargo foremost,
I suppose so that if anything goes wrong it's as far away
from us as possible. Gone from there are the tanks of
flammable materials; all that are left are two containers
of solid sulfur cyanide. . .
Thu Jul 15 00:06:43
Just in time! Or rather, soon enough after the deadline
to still be aboard ship. Shore leave ended at midnight;
I came on just as they were undoing the netting round the
gangway and right behind who I think is the pilot.
As I tried to exit the puerto through the
wrong salidas I was assaulted by taxi drivers
who cared less about port security and more about getting
a fare, only I obeyed the drowned out official and went
round to the pedestrians' gate, then I was assaulted anew.
I waved my hand no and insisted I wanted to walk.
But one determined soul said, you want to walk, okay,
and strode along beside me, both of us soon sweating in
the hot evening.
It was pleasant to walk along those sidewalks among the
stray dogs and cats past houses their doors wide open for
the heat and a television set playing in the front room.
The people all dressed colorful and light and lazy
and summery. And the motorcycles! so many motorcycles
and everybody drives very impatiently with much use of
the horn. Crossing the roads was a nightmare.
Gustavo led me to what he called the one bar of
Cartagena. I had a few beers with him but I ran out of
dollars soon enough: I hadn't wanted to carry too much
on me. I made a deal we'd walk back to the puerto
and I'd get some more money so he could take me on a tour
of the old town in his taxi. But on the way out I met the
cook, the bosun, and another sailor from the ship coming
into the bar and I decided to come back and carouse with
them instead.
On the way back we stopped at a corner store for
another beer which we drank out there on the street.
There the beers were two dollars instead of three,
explained Gustavo.
When I got back from the ship Gustavo was gone but
another taxi driver assured me he'd charged him with
getting me back to the bar. In Cartagena there are
muchas senoritas, no? he laughed when I was in
the cab. I agreed. He said Cartagena has two number ones:
the senoritas and the cooking.
Back at the bar I joined the Filipinos from our
crew for a few cervezas, then after perhaps
undgignified behavior on the part of the cook they left
and I had to make friends myself with a Carina, a Miguel,
and needless to say my determined Gustavo still hovered by.
Miguel was generous enough with his white rum, then I was
pressed for ``just five dollars'' and he returned with a
new bottle. I lost all the surplus money I'd gone back to
the ship to retrieve but I am quite pleased with what I
got in return. Though I had to disagree with a girl who
thought I owed her a dollar since ``Where you come from
money is easy.'' Yeah, it's just falling off the trees.
My Latin may have helped my percieved Spanish, for I
have none. But I guessed at something along the right
lines at words for `I want to walk back alone', `good,
very good', `a cigarette?', `another beer, please', `it's
very hot!', &c. The only word I learnt which was alien
to my previous knowledge was caminar, to walk,
which I employed to no use. At midnight in Cartegena there
is mucho peligro, or, rather, there is much money
to be made out of giving tourists taxi rides.
Anyway, I am very glad I went ashore. The other
passengers did not, put off by the rain (still plenty of
lightning and trueno) and by the lateness of the
customs officers.
I have a view after the latest juggling of containers,
and right now that view is several flashes of lightning
a minute illuminating the cityscape of Cartagena as
we depart.
Buenos noches.
Fri Jul 16 19:21:05
Tonight we change the clocks one last time, which is funny,
because I just watched the sun set off our port bow,
which would seem to mean we are headed somewhat west by
north. . . I suppose we aren't actually; perhaps it is
just we are still south of the tropic. I haven't done
very well well at this knowing our bearings. But who
cares? let it happen, enjoy it and rather than pre-empt it.
GPS-guy says he saw Haiti this morning and we would
have been off Cuba this afternoon. He also thinks he saw a
porpoise yesterday from the stern. Perhaps I do not spend
enough time out of my cabin. But it is awfully warm and
the air choking, though pleasant enough in the evening.
I watched the sun set still quite high over the horizon
into a hazy bed of cloud.
I have been spending my time learning make
and a bit more awk and writing some
troffmacros, going over again a publication system
in order to avoid getting around to what such a system is
supposed to facilitate: writing. Just read a short story
from the Hemingway omnibus (same publisher and format
as my prized Chandler omnibus). Missed dinner tonight.
I've done this once before, getting ready to go down on the
hour then realizing that you just waited for the mealtime
hour to finish rather than begin. Both times I have gone
down to the mess some time after 1800 to find a plate at
my place covered in tin foil. This is how the officers
on night watch receive their meals and there were one or
two similarly covered plates with their names written on
the foil. Underneath mine was a big slice of pizza.
Sun Jul 18 12:46:39
What a fine penultimate day! This ocean more pacific
than the Pacific, the sea flat and deep undisturbed blue,
the sun right overhead, the sky as deep as the sea but
brightly so you can see forever into it in all directions,
the horizon a hard line.
This morning and last I watched flying fish from in
the fo'c's'le. I thought about what it would be to see
them and not know what they are. It was still a surprise
to see them, to see how small they are and how far they
can fly, sometimes dipping the tail in a wave but still
going on, finally to plop back in a fair way ahead and
perhaps slightly downwind. But what a surprise it would
be if I had no idea such a thing could be! I probably
kid myself too often that in the past there was more real
and general experience. But I do hope there will always
be some mystery out there for us, for me. Something to
delight in and to stare at like an animal at some strange
behavior. Something to catch your attention and refuse
to be dismissed.
We have Florida abreast but a few hundred nautical
miles off. It is too soon I arrive. Still, perhaps I can
afford to say that now that I have the luxury of arriving.
Mon Jul 19 06:10:07
Good morning. Out my porthole just now (I have a decent
view for this last stretch from Cartagena through
Philadelphia) I watched to starboard the sun come up
orange behind thick clouds and to port another container
ship pass, each event happening as slowly as the other.
Then I felt heavy warm rain drops and brought my head in.
I did not explain in the last entry what I meant by
`penultimate day'. Tonight if not this evening we expect
the mouth of the Delaware, then I suppose it is one more
breakfast, tip the cook and steward, settle my slop chest
account with the master, and hope someone is at the wharves
to pick me up. Perhaps I didn't fully realize before
I left how difficult it might be to know when someone
should come. After all, it's not an airport:
no arrival/departure board. One should be able to learn
of the ship's arrival from the papers; but when will I
be disembarking? I can only hope I don't put Cecilia or
anyone else out.
Mon Jul 19 18:22:26
Just before dinner the ship started giving disconcerting
little shudders. We have come to a stop, though there
is no land I can see. We are waiting for the pilot,
who isn't due till 2200 or thereabouts. Perhaps we must
stay in international waters until then. When I went up
to square with the master over my slop chest purchases he
came to the door without his pants on: he will be piloting
from 2300 to 0700, he explained; he was taking a nap.
Interesting feelings bubbling round in the mess
this evening. I asked the vets how this passage measured
against their wealth of experience. They said it was good,
though the stretch across the Pacific wasn't the best.
They seem to do this so often as a relaxing mechanism.
The other fellow says he would do a smaller trip again
but not one so long. Myself, I would gladly never board a
plane again if I could always afford to sail. We'll see.
I have vague plans to see the west coast, so I won't swear
off air travel just yet (though it would be something to
hitchhike across).
Today there are dragonflies about. I saw a ship this
morning and another at midday, and as we came to a halt
just now there were small marker buoys. The boy was up
the mast again when I was in the fo'c's'le. I have my
tips ready for the cook and the steward tomorrow morning.
Still worried about whether I'll see anyone I know when
I land and what to do if I don't.
I suppose that unless something which needs to be
immediately noted happens as we navigate the Delaware,
this is it from sea. I'll tie up in a final entry when I
am ashore. I don't know that it's been much of a diary.
Perhaps I didn't say enough about the ship. It is called
Cap Beatrice and is from Monrovia, Liberia, a place I know
very little about. The officers are Russian or similar
and the rest of the crew Filipino. Two days ago we had
a drill. We went out down to our lifeboat in our life
jackets and hard hats and answered our names and that
was it. The crew had other drills to perform but we just
had to go up to the bridge and joke with the captain for
a minute or two.
Oh, and the second officer conducts a gymnasium of
sorts on the next deck up from mine. He and two other
young guys use a bar and some railing up there o do some
exercises. I learned just before I left that the greek
word gumnos whence `gymnasium' means `naked'.
Well, I went up there once with a book to read and found
blocking my path the all-but-naked second officer bridged
between the funnel and the accomodation like a star.
He had is back to me and I considered passing through under
his legs, but one of his disciples alerted him and he moved
aside. Later he asked, ``What about you?'' indicating
the bar. I declined, though of course I secretly desired
to join them in their manly pursuits. The fact that I
was reading the virile Hemingway was not any consolation.
Wed Jul 21 15:45:01 EDT 2010
Well, immigration came aboard the ship about 0700 and all
crew and passengers were summoned to see them. I declared
a can of soda pop and half a carton of cigarettes and I was
free to leave the port. I suppose I could have smuggled
a whole lot of drugs if I'd wanted.
At the port gates we said goodbye to GPS-,
mid-life-crisis-guy, as he walked off towards Philadelphia.
I caught a cab with the other Australians to the train
station: they were going straight on up to New York.
I thought I'd catch a train from there but the cabby was
only too eager to keep the meter running and it shouldn't
have been much fun to haul all my luggage about while I
found the right platform &c., so I stayed on in the taxi.
Apparently I was a day early. Cecilia had known the
ship had arrived that morning but as I exspected didn't
know what to do about finding me, so it was good the way
it all worked out.
Here it is muy caliente, just like Panama
and Cartagena. To make matters worse my room is on the
third floor right under the roof. I'ma have to get an
air conditioner up there.
Ah well, it was a good trip. And it looks like
I could soon be driving across the country. My cousin
Alex just graduated in Seattle and I'm going to drive out
and meet her, drive back together. Another adventure.
Perhaps another diary?