by Jackie Parry
In town, we were pleasantly surprised with the lack of tourism. I relish in the fresh feeling a new town holds, the weird smells, alien language, unidentifiable foods, and new customs.
Once again, we were the stars of the town: strange white people with brown hair with colourful, relatively scant clothing that caused quite a stir. We needed to find a bank and located young locals with some basic English to help. Once they realised what we wanted, they whistled to a couple of passing motorbikes. The bikes stopped next to us with two young lads sitting astride. We were motioned to hop on board. I sat side-saddle, as I’d seen the local woman and girls doing it this way. The journey was only five minutes, but everyone in town jeered, shouted, and waved as we sped past. My driver explained that I should have gone astride the seat, which was impossible in a long sarong. I think it had something to do with riding that way if the driver was your partner! We had learned to take the constant attention with a smile and laugh. Though, sometimes it was exhausting, we were gaining a small insight of what being in the limelight meant.
The main town was dirty, busy, and hot. We preferred smaller villages, so we quickly purchased some supplies and made our way back to where the Bemo had dropped us off. We had become the butt of many a joke from the locals hanging around. After a good laugh, it wore a bit thin, especially when about ten people climbed in the Bemo before us. Being a Brit, I’m a big fan of queues. Not really in the mood to play human sandwich, Noel and I decided to hitchhike our way back to Mariah.
We took shelter under a large, shady tree and it was not long before we were negotiating with a couple of local guys on two motorbikes for a ride home. I re-fixed my sarong and jumped astride on to my ride.
‘See you in hospital,’ Noel laughed as he sped off on the back of his ride. It was then I realised what we had got ourselves into. A huge grin appeared on my face and I hung onto the complete stranger, trusting that he was not having ideas of a kidnapping-ransom scenario. A passing thought was given to my dad, who would have had a pink fit seeing me without a helmet.
The rules of the road here were similar to Bali, but fortunately there was far less traffic. The cool breeze tugging at my cheeks heightened the sense of freedom. The riders kept overtaking each other, and Noel and I found it amusing to pretend to beat our respective steeds with a whip!
Back on board Mariah, on anchor, we appreciated the calm stillness and soft sea breeze that found its way into our home. While trying to keep up with my diary on the laptop, the battery power had become low. On board, we received power via two battery banks: one for house batteries (lights, TV, GPS) and one solely for the engine. We had a solar panel, which kept our batteries charged quite well. However, if dull days persisted, we needed to run the engine to charge up. We were both busy below, preparing the boat for departure. After a week on anchor, household items were left out and had to be stowed safely away. I also wanted to charge the laptop, so I decided to run the engine for a while, during which we both continued preparing the boat down below. After ten minutes or so, we heard voices calling and knocking on the hull. Noel stuck his head out to be met by a fellow cruiser.
‘I say, old chap, do you realise you are running around in circles?’ Much to my embarrassment, I had left the throttle in gear and we were driving around our anchor. Fortunately, we didn’t sideswipe any of our neighbours, as we were far enough away from other yachts and our anchor held fast! Phew! We got away with that one.
Back home, the support for our unusual lifestyle was unsurpassed. My mum and dad, who lived in Hertfordshire, thought us a little mad and worried a lot, however, they couldn’t do enough for us – handling our UK mails. Colin and Brenda did all they could for us in Australia. You can never fully escape if you want a bank account. Mail, taxes, and credit cards have to be looked after. We could not have our mail chase us around the world and messages on the Internet from our families were our sole correspondence.
We missed friends and family deeply, but rapidly made more friends. The Irish family on Breakaway and Chinook became close to us. Other cruisers would comment that they thought Noel and I were part of the Irish family. In one sense, we were. Having friends of similar ages and interests was something we had missed a little. I especially needed a girlfriend, and Kirstie and I became friendly. We were both learning about boats and the cruising lifestyle as we went, although she had dealt with the change in life onto water a lot better than me.
We met people from every corner of the world. I was delighted with my life and the freedom I had claimed. My relationship with Noel was growing into a deep friendship, and I was starting to handle myself in this world. I was incessantly grinning and happy to chat to everyone about anything, my energy never waned.
In any situation, whether you are satisfied in your life or not, you still have to live with yourself. I believe that we all have our demons, or downsides. Sometimes, we simply get depressed, or in a bad mood for no reason at all. I was learning a new way of life, but witnessing more about humans and their eccentricities and that included me. I had everything a girl could want but there would be days when I had a mood swing and became grumpy. A tiny thing could set me off, and Noel was the same. The ability for Noel and I to talk about this after the mood had finally waned, was like a good medicine. I was extremely argumentative, and if I felt like having a good ding-dong of a row, I would do my best to get one. Noel wouldn’t argue, and this would infuriate me. But after, when he had given me ample time to calm down (safer then), he’d point out the pathetic reason I was moody and explain that arguing back would cause us both to lose our cool and say things we would only regret. We were by no means perfect, our well thought out ideas and rules for moods didn’t always work, and we did have our arguments, but it was something to work on. Soon I caught onto the idea (and even though it was nearly impossible for me), I bit my tongue and was amazed at the results.
I tried to live graciously, but it didn’t always work. I’m not sure what these times were linked with, leaving one life for another, missing folk back home, or taking the time to dwell on unhappy events in the past. Just because life was an incredible adventure, I still had to live with myself, and sometimes I just didn’t like me very much.
Emotions were given a freer rein, or it was simply that I had more time to think. With just the company of my own thoughts, night watches could be a cauldron of tearful memories. During these lonely, dark times I had time to reflect on where I had come from, how I had got there, and where I was heading – to Malaysia, on a ten-metre boat!
This would lead me back to the events in my life in the UK. Martin had been my fiancé. A handsome, fit, fine man, he had had a routine doctor’s appointment and blood test, resulting in the knowledge of his leukaemia. We vowed to beat it, and I just knew with my positive thinking and strong will that we would beat it together. For six months of hideous chemotherapy, he lived in the hospital; I lived there too, in a chair. I left at 5 am to go shower and then go to work. I’d try to work all day and return straight to the hospital and my chair. Only to comfort a man who spent most of the time in incredible pain and fear, wasting away each day as the almighty cocktail of drugs would not share his body with food. I recalled with too much clarity his final days, his sorrow, his pain. Every expression, every line on his face etched in my mind. I knew his face would never fade from memory.
Martin had asked me to marry him before he died. As I organised our wedding, my dad had pulled me aside. I waited for the down-to-earth lecture, with only my best interest at his heart, about how I was going to be a widow, and to think about things – instead, he said, ‘Anything you want, anything at all, you’ve got it, just ask.’ I was speechless and so emotional that I couldn’t even thank my dad, his whole body urged me to believe he meant anything, if I had wanted the moon he would have gone and got it himself. But what I wanted wasn’t going to be possible.
Two days after the two-week diagnoses, Martin passed away in my arms. The cold world suddenly became too harsh, too brig
ht, too loud. I wanted the world to whisper, to dull and be still. I had wanted to die.
On Mariah, absorbed in guilt during the night watches I would think about this; some nights I would cry so hard I would make myself sick. With the fires of hesitation extinguished, just six months after losing Martin I had run away and met Noel. I certainly didn’t give myself enough time to grieve properly. My night watches became my grieving time, which worked for us both. Noel was supportive and I could talk about my feelings and worries, but he didn’t need to see my crying and witness my tangible sadness. It was all mine, I just had to get through it. I didn’t cry for me, or a love I wanted back. I wished Martin had his life back. I grieved for a life lost, a good person, taken for no reason, for the senselessness of it all.
I had thought my life was over, and at times I still became sad and had trouble understanding. I still felt the anger at the injustice. At times, I wondered if I would have left work and gone to Australia and met Noel had this not had happened. I’m not saying I’m glad I had something to spur me on to wringing everything out of my life I could, but it did give me the shove to go out there and find what else goes on in this world. Life has a strange way of guiding you on to another path. The nightmares continued, but Noel was an amazing listener and a patient comforter. It was through this time he truly became my best friend; we created an incredible bond that would never break.
In my new life, Noel kept me in check. I tell him my dreams, he knows all about my vivid nightmares. I dream of things I wouldn’t tell anyone but Noel. He gently wakes me from my sad whimpering and draws me away from my nightly horrors. Noel has saved my life in more ways than one.
Sometimes nights were filled with horrors, but conversely my mind seemed to be two-timing me. I also had a few dreams of great happiness, where I’d laugh so hard I’d wake myself up, still laughing. I think I was a little unstitched at this point in my life.
It is said that time is a great healer. I don’t entirely agree with this sentiment – you don’t heal, rather over time you simply get used to carrying the indescribable pain; the grief matures into a settled sorrow.
At this point, my relationship with Noel was still building. I missed everyone back home so much. They had carried me through my darkest days. I’m sure I scared Noel a little by telling him that he wasn’t only my husband, but my friend, girlfriend, mum, and sister! I just meant I could talk to him about anything and he understood.
With all these thoughts, we were still preparing to leave Borneo. Carrying water via jerry cans in the oppressive heat created a need for a cool wash, which also meant that we had to carry more water. Finding food we could identify to stock up with became a challenge we could do without; finding more space on board evoked dreams of a larger boat. The memories of the wedding and orangutans kept me positive. I wondered if our adventures could get any better. They did.
9
Singapore Sling
I felt like a bit like Alice in Wonderland, as the journey became curiouser and curiouser. On 23 October 2000 at 3:20 am, we crossed the invisible equator. Noel had a wee nip of a thick, warming liquid, with a good measure offered to Neptune. Two days later, we arrived safely at Batam, Nongsa Point in Indonesia.
I can tell you that this part of the world keeps you on your toes. The day before we arrived, I was on the graveyard watch. On board our bobbing world, we were surrounded by hundreds of dancing lights of various shapes and sizes.
‘Is that a large boat far away or a small boat up close?’ I asked aloud, trying to dispel my fears. It seemed that in this part of the world marine regulations were as popular as tax revenue. Navigation lights were regulated through the choice of the locals’ favourite colours.
On boats the night-time lights are red for port side (left) and green for starboard side (right), a white light at the stern, and, if motoring (and not sailing) a white steaming light at the front. This helps to identify which way the vessel is moving. The locals favoured green; a good start you would think, a nice bright starboard light. However, the green would be an all-round light, on its own, which made it a trifle hard to work out what the beejeezus was going on.
The night was as thick as soup and as black as a mine. Our three-dimensional movement created quite the challenge in working out other traffic’s courses. Only a few months before I would have made Noel stay up with me all night to weave between the walls of surrounding traffic; now I was handling the boat, figuring out and understanding other vessels’ movements, and controlling my fears. I was alone and managing to control the ship, this thought boosted my confidence, which was sadly about to be dashed.
At first, I was a bit dismayed with the odd and indistinct navigation lights, but as the night went on my dismay morphed into unmitigated gratification for any visible navigation lights at all. At about 3:30 am, I became tired and my feet were sore. I had been standing up for the entire time on watch. Noel and I had worked up to doing about six hours on, six off, so we could get better sleep. With over twenty boats around us at any one time, I was constantly taking bearings with the hand bearing compass, frantically jotting these down and noting direction of every vessel. Suddenly, I heard another putt-putt engine, but I couldn’t see another boat. I checked our motor and it was making the same dull noise (there was not enough wind for sailing); the new noise I heard was different. Out of the darkness, a man appeared, then another. They were on a fishing boat skimming around our stern, and they had not one light on. I still, to this day, have no idea how they missed us. I grabbed the spotlight, which threw a solid white beam into their eyes. I sliced up the air with angry words; they understood how angry I was even though they didn’t understand my language. I used one or two of those words that everyone can identify. This really shook me up. They were so close that I could have shaken their hands, although I felt like punching them on the nose. Eventually, their engine faded into the night, and the gentle lapping of waves reclaimed their rhythm on the night.
Soon after Noel woke, he said that he hadn’t heard a thing. I was just glad to go hide under the covers, knowing I was in Noel’s safe hands. Dawn was brightening the horizon, and we would be in a safe harbour tomorrow.
Good, I thought, I could do with a quiet, boring day for a change.
‘Here we are in Singapore,’ I said. It seemed that verbal acknowledgement was needed to make it real. We had sailed to Singapore! Actually, we were in Batam, Indonesia, at a place called Nongsa Point. We could see Singapore from the marina, just across the water.
It was muggy and sticky; the cloying atmosphere had hung around for weeks. Every day, a thick cloak of cloud sat over us, blocking the flow of air. I learned a hard lesson that the clouds did not block the sun. I burnt. Feeling perpetually sticky and continually sweating was no fun and caused tempers to shorten.
With Mariah safely tied in the marina, we caught the ferry for a short ride to Singapore. I was like an excited five-year-old, with another county to explore that I had always wanted to visit. But the hot air took its toll on Noel and worked its way through his thin layer of patience. Growing up in the strong sun-rays in Australia had made him far less tolerant of the heat, he’d had enough of it. In the midday heat in the middle of bustling Singapore, we stubbornly almost went our separate ways, like two-five-year olds sulking. I wanted to explore, and Noel wanted to find somewhere – anywhere – cool. Before the situation became completely out of hand, I remembered my tried and tested remedy to keep us all happy. My skills for boat handling were not the only skills I had developed: husband handling was becoming my other profession.
‘Come on, follow me, I have something to cure all your ills,’ I said. Noel looked at me and wasn’t quite convinced, so I went on to explain, ‘I’m taking you to Raffles for a Singapore Sling.’ A smirk played on his lips, and he followed like a good puppy wanting to please, knowing he would receive a reward. I’m sure if he had had a tail it would have been wagging.
This plan worked well. The famous Raffles Hotel is unassuming an
d easy to stroll past without noticing it. On the outside it appeared colonial and small, but step behind the facade and it is immense, gorgeous and opulent. It houses history museums, every kind of shop you can imagine, umpteen cafes, restaurants, and bars. They served Singapore Slings in the Long Bar, which opened at 11:30 am. We were the first through the doors, not quite, but almost, drooling.
‘Singapore Sling, sir? Madam?’ They can spot a tourist a mile away. I felt like I wanted to explain that we were not tourists, we were sailors. Didn’t they know we had sailed here on our own? The drinks were already made up and were served in a tall glass, vibrantly red and suitably exquisite. The Slings were a combination of gin and, well it seems to be a bit of a secret, but they were scrumptious. Unfortunately, so was the price at thirty five American dollars for two drinks. We savoured every mouthful.
After enjoying a heavy dose of alcohol, a cool breeze, and a couple of cigarettes, Noel was ready to hit the town. ‘Bring it on,’ he said with his cheeky grin, only a flicker of self-deprecation played on his lips.
We ventured around China Town, weaving our way between colourful stalls, weird and wonderful food, pirate videos, and CDs. Dodgy blokes behind combed moustaches offered us pretty much anything we could desire. Animated characters scattered throughout the markets called to the punters as they strolled by. Noel spotted vibrant Chinese silk dresses; they looked beautiful on the hangers, but on me they were stifling, badly cut, and frumpy.
The night in our cheap, and not-so-cheerful, hostel was a long one. Doors crashing, women screaming, and men shouting could be heard at alarming regularity. I kept my left eye propped open all night, convinced that somebody was about to crash through our paper-thin door. I was never so happy to bid farewell to the dark side of dawn. With only the cockroaches in the bathroom to contend with, we then bid a hasty retreat.