Of Foreign Build

by Jackie Parry

  That afternoon, we headed back to Mariah. Our budget could not accommodate us to stay in the hostel any longer, besides I needed some sleep. We failed miserably in buying supplies for the boat. We were so wrapped up in the feast of smells, sights, and sounds that we forgot we needed bread! We were a good team on board, but the normal living logistics left our minds when we ventured into new cultures. Waiting for the return ferry, we bumped into our New Zealand friends, Judy and Barry, from their yacht Theta. They had been in Singapore for the day shopping, sensibly, for food. They kindly donated a loaf of bread to us. I felt embarrassed and unorganised (and, of course, grateful!)

  We didn’t have a fridge on board, so our shopping was pretty simple. We used powdered milk and olive oil instead of butter. Over the years we had learned which vegetables and fruit lasts the longest and how best to keep them. Fruit with a thick peel keeps for a long time, along with cabbages, potatoes, carrots, garlic, and ginger. So there was plenty of time to cross an ocean before needing to reach shops to replenish.

  Our simple diet had erased the weight I had gained during the first flush of marriage. No fridge meant no meat. Constant sailing meant constant exercise. Humidity stole my appetite. I was svelte, fit, free of office stress lines, and I felt great.

  After the trudge of sightseeing and shopping, it was a relief to get home to Mariah. The marina at Nongsa Point was a bit of a coup for all cruisers. The marina itself was just eight American dollars a day and within a hotel complex complete with a swimming pool, hot showers, and cheap, yummy food. The hotel was mainly used by locals and holidaymakers from Singapore. As it was out of season, we had the run of the place. Sea gypsies lazed daily by the pool, talking about the jobs that had yet to be done on board.

  ‘I’ll do it tomorrow,’ could be heard wafting over the sparkling water. The most physical exercise was done while raising our arms to summon a waiter for, ‘Another club sarnie, if you please!’ We decided it was time for a holiday. Swimming, shady trees, and waiters filled our days. The covert luxury of lunch ‘added to our bill’ made us feel like millionaires.

  It may sound odd that we were exploring different countries and now we wanted a holiday. However, the fact that we had to basically keep our own mini city running (what with the engine, fuel, rigging, sails, etc) and maintenance and repairs, meant that we received little down time. We had to work constantly to maintain a safe boat and therefore safe passage.

  We were now within a good group of boats, Breakaway and Chinook. We had all left for Nongsa Point around about the same time, but as we did not have radar on board Mariah, we had battled straight through the middle of the numerous squalls that were prevalent in this area. Other boats had tried to go around them, using valuable fuel and time. Ultimately we all were hit by squalls, but we arrived at Batam two days before everyone else. Reefing the sails at night, clipping onto lifelines, and braving the elements had served us well. We now fully trusted Mariah. She was a strong, seaworthy boat that could handle nature’s elements better than we could.

  With all boats now safely in harbour, a party was on the cards within our small holiday haven, and one evening an impromptu celebration started on board Mariah. At one point, I counted eleven bodies squished into our small cockpit. Cruisers are used to making do within small spaced and utilising sparse cushions. We all settled into the normal rowdy cruisers party scene. Most people travelling on boats are on a fairly strict budget. It is an unwritten rule that when visiting other boats you take what you wish to drink with you and contribute to snacks or dinner.

  On board, as usual, there were at least six different conversations occurring at once. Some people told stories that made you laugh so hard your stomach ached. After the boat started spinning, I retreated to one of the bunks under a fan while the party continued. Noel checked on me, tucked me in, and resumed partying. A while later, after slipping in and out of consciousness, I woke up to Noel staggering into the v-berth to join me in oblivion; meanwhile, not eight feet away, the party continued.

  The next day was a write-off. Venue: poolside with plenty of greasy food, water, and dips in the refreshing pool. A couple of cruisers wanted to go water-skiing and tried to rope me in to drum up the numbers. I considered going, but realised that I was having trouble walking, let alone hanging onto a piece of twine, balancing on two planks of wood on water. I sensibly declined. I was realising that I didn’t have to please everyone in order to make and keep friends. My wants and needs should be just as important to me as someone else’s; that’s something I hadn’t given much thought to before. I was changing from a Corporate Girl into a Sea Gypsy Woman.

  Eventually, we thought that we really ought to continue on our voyage. We stocked up and prepared Mariah for the next phase of our trip. Quite a few of our friends were taking their yachts to Singapore, but we had already been there via ferry. So, we left Indonesia and headed into Malaysia. Our next stop was a place called Port Dickson, but first we had to cross the Malacca Straits.

  It seemed normal now to rest a few days at one place, sightsee, work hard at replenishing the boat, purchase and fit spare parts, and then head off once again. There was just no wind in this part of the world. We were motoring 95% of the time. Diesel was an incredible six cents per litre, and the seas were smooth and inviting.

  10

  Simple food and clear water

  Great sailing is when you put your cup of tea down and it stays put. But the Malacca Straits had other ideas for us. We could indeed put our cup of tea down, because the movement was not the problem, but rather the fog. We motored across, filled with dread. The soupy water seemed to thicken the fog that hung limply above, camouflaging other vessels. Huge monolithic ships continually glided silently up and down the busy, narrow stretch. To add to the fun, a strong current pushed us along sideways. Imagine sliding on your bottom on ice. You might be facing left, but your body is going forwards. In a strong current this is how boats behave. It is rather disconcerting when you are weaving between enormous ships that are moving at twenty-six knots. Our maximum speed, under motor, was about six-and-a-half knots. We put a lot of faith in our equipment on board, as well as our ability.

  We arrived at Port Dickson in the beginning of November 2000. So much had happened already; we had only left Australia in September. I felt like we had been sailing away from Australia for years.

  Port Dickson was oppressively hot. The marina, surrounded by tall buildings, prevented any breeze from reaching us. However, it was clean and well equipped with a pool. By now, we had seen a few pools and nice marinas, but that wasn’t what our travelling was about. However, we were grateful for the refreshing plunge.

  Port Dickson is a funky town in more ways than one. It contains almost everything you could desire except good bread and most western supermarket food, which was exactly what we needed. Checking in was dramatic – customs was difficult, and I don’t think my mindless wardrobe helped. I had forgotten to cover up and exposed arms and legs were a big no no; after much grovelling, they stamped our passports and sombrely let us go. The bus station was nearby, so without thought or plan, we jumped on a bus to Kuala Lumpur. The ride provided a welcome reprieve from walking in the heat. For two hours, with air conditioning blasting on our damp skin, we sat back and soaked up the scenery.

  Kuala Lumpur was buzzing, so it didn’t take us long to find the markets and barter for items that we just did not need. There were no clothing bargains to be had, as they were expensive, fake branded gear with very real prices.

  We walked through the town seeking an Information Bureau. We found it in an unremarkable basement, hidden, with no indication of its existence. Organised tours were ridiculously expensive, so we stole some ideas from the shelved brochures and set off on our own tour. We bumped into a German couple that were also sight-seeing; they gave us some other must-see ideas.

  Armed with knowledge, we first thought it prudent to check the departure time of the last bus – 9:30 pm – plenty of time to play the tourist.
We booked a Chinese buffet restaurant for dinner and a show and then hot-footed it to the Telecom Tower, which offered a staggering view of the city. Bustling with dozens of other tourists, we viewed the magnificent sights of Kuala Lumpur. We paid one ringgit (about thirty-three Australian cents) to use the telescope and found we had to fight to keep it. Malaysians had no idea of queuing and even less idea about paying. At first I thought they were ignorant, then I realised that they were actually quite smart.

  Soon we were heading back to the restaurant for the show and dinner. Of course we picked a night there was a school outing and we were accompanied with about one-hundred-and-fifty kids! Just as we were about to avail ourselves to the buffet, a secret signal was given and one-hundred-and-fifty kids stood up en-mass and charged towards the feast. The swarm of locusts eventually cleared, and we went up to pick at the remains.

  The show consisted of Asian dancing. The girls looked bored and only one of the guys knew what he was doing. Still, it was colourful. We finished our scraps and all too soon we were on our way back to the bus station from hell.

  The bus station was underground within an enormous concrete coffin. Since building the airless tomb, newer buses had been built, which meant bigger buses. Unfortunately, the concrete coffin had no way of expanding. The engines grunted and groaned as they were slammed backwards and forwards, trying to edge their way into the tiny bays. It took a surprisingly short time for the basement to become thick with lung clogging fumes. No vents or windows meant the fetid air had no escape. The black exhaust fumes smeared walls and covered any lighting that may have been there and our lungs disintegrated with every breath.

  Our bus, the last bus, had broken down. We waited an hour for a replacement. Even though there was a language barrier, the ticket-selling attendant managed to indicate that we should buy tickets when we stepped on the bus. It was getting later and later; we were becoming a mite sceptical of getting home. Spending far too much time in the deadly basement of buses, we awaited eagerly for our transport home. Finally, it arrived. The trip was once again pleasant: comfy seats, cool air, and thought of our cherished home waiting for us. I dozed and Noel chatted to a friendly Indian man, who subsequently gave us a lift back to the marina from the final bus stop (with wife and two children in one car). We were to experience endless helpful gestures such as these in every country we visited.

  We arrived late back to the marina, and all the gates were locked. No security guards were to be seen. Our Indian friend helped us break into the kitchens that were part of the restaurant (causing no damage), where we could make our way back, through deserted buildings, to the sanctuary of Mariah.

  The next night we opted for a quieter option. Barry and Judy on Theta were coming over to Mariah for a quiet dinner. First, they were having cocktails on Fraden. Early in the evening, after our swim, Noel and I strolled past Fraden.

  ‘Come on board,’ Francina and Denny called out, ‘we have made some punch we’d like you to try.’

  ‘Oh, okay only a quick one,’ we said – famous last words. Two hours later, after meeting new cruisers and sharing unique, strange, and mostly hysterical stories with the added ingredient of plenty of punch, we were ready to hit the town. A group of about ten international sailors set off in three taxis to a highly recommended Indian restaurant. The group consisted of Australians, French, Americans, New Zealanders, and English; needless to say, the joviality continued, as did the flow of beer. The food was delicious and the company great. My shyness had all but evaporated, I wasn’t sure anymore if it was my confidence, knowledge gained, or that I was simply quite drunk most of the time in this particular port!

  The clock was ticking and it was time for us and our knackered kidneys to leave. We travelled from Port Dickson in a convoy with two American yachts. All of us reluctantly steered over fishing nets, as there were too many to avoid. The worry of what might happen at these times was exhausting. Fouling a propeller in an ocean meant someone would have to dive overboard (with a snorkel) to fight the waves and rolling boat in order to untangle the tenacious fishing line, all the while hoping the boat didn’t sail off into the sunset without leaving him or her. Of course, being tied on with a rope and having a competent partner on board should allay these fears – but it was still a concern. Fortunately, we did not have to contend with this drama.

  It was now 9 November, and we made an overnight trip to Lumut. The night stint contained the normal hair-raising fishing boats with indecipherable lights speeding around us in all directions. We made it through the night safely, and at dawn we were almost there. We had chosen this destination to take the opportunity to head up into the hills. We wanted to see the tea plantations and longed for some cooler air. With Mariah safely tied up on her own in a small marina, we arranged to catch a bus the next day into the hills.

  Cameron Highlands tea plantations looked like a green velvet carpet, and the air was cool, clean, and crisp. It catered for tourists, but it wasn’t over-run with the travelling breed. The taxi driver recommended to us accommodation that a friend of his owned. Our room for two nights was clean and cheap: a double room with a bathroom down the hall to share, all at 30 ringgit per night (about ten Australian dollars – a great bargain). We even asked for extra blankets that night! It was so refreshing to be cool again.

  The next morning, we organised a half-day tour. Honey bee farms, markets, butterfly farms, and best of all, a tea plantation. BOH plantations were the biggest in Malaysia and carried the most tantalising smells. Tea comes from the original wild plant, Camellia Sinensis. The leaves are fermented, dried, and rolled differently to give each tea its particular flavour. A nice pot of tea and a bun was the perfect end to a touring day.

  The second night we stayed in our accommodation and watched a complimentary movie. Continuous sightseeing could become tiring. Noel and I enjoyed meeting the locals in their environment and other travellers/visitors that had their own goals in life. We didn’t need to keep seeing the latest tourist attraction – sharing a home with different people of new cultures was just as thrilling.

  Most off-putting was the ridiculously loud music that was blaring from two enormous speakers, which swamped the town, and prevented any ideas of having a conversation. This was quite common in Malaysia, and we never found out exactly why this occurred; it presumably held some religious connotation. We just settled back in our own egotistical summation that large speakers were the worst objects to arrive in Malaysia.

  Arriving too early at the bus station for the journey home the next day, we started a conversation with a couple: he German, she Thai. They were heading for KL, so we could share a taxi part way together. Racing down a steep, winding hill in a bus that would have been lucky to have had a service in the last fifty years, was not a prospect we were relishing. We were all glad to share the cost of a private car. We stopped at the waterfall again on the way down. Noel and I wanted a blowgun (we had had a practice with one in a shop in the Highlands, blowing small darts through the tube – not poisoned projectiles though!). We found an authentic Malaysian gun, which we proudly mounted on one of Mariah’s bulkheads. I wondered what future customs officials would make of it.

  Arriving home was, as always, a great joy. Although tired from travelling, we both had this continual need to move, and so that afternoon we prepared Mariah and left the following morning at dawn.

  Twenty-four hours of motoring later, we arrived in Langkawi. This was our last stop in Malaysia. Our next stop was Thailand then, unbelievably, Sri Lanka. Were we really going to sail all the way to Sri Lanka? I asked myself in my disturbingly regular soliloquies. It would seem so.

  My parents booked a flight to visit us. We had a few weeks up our sleeves before they arrived on 21 December. There was painting and varnishing to be done, and we were only permitted to stay one month in Thailand. We decided to anchor in Langkawi and set to work. Noel was becoming more accustomed to my strange ways – my soliloquies one of many oddities. There were times when I would say so
mething to him and he would ignore me. I could be quite snobbish and get really offended, finding this behaviour rude. However, it would seem that I often chatted to myself more frequently than I realised. Noel had tried to talk to me when I was talking to myself. I, apparently would tell him off quite sharply, saying, ‘I’m talking to myself, not you!’ Quite rightly, thereafter, he was never quite sure who I was talking to, him or myself!

  Before anchoring in Kuah, Langkawi, we anchored near the entrance, between a couple of islands inhabited only by wildlife. Anchored between sheer cliff faces without neighbours was heavenly. The water was, at last, much clearer. It was still slightly a green-pea colour, but certainly cleaner than it had been for some time. We spent two days watching the wild monkeys trapeze in the trees before dipping in the water; the wild pigs tentatively rummaged on the small beach, and the graceful eagles glided and swooped for their dinner. The anchorage was tranquil, still, and a calming balm for our moving souls. Thick, green jungle gave relief to our eyes; the clear and crisp azure skies with white birds cutting a gliding arc consolidated the serenity.

  Langkawi had two marinas, both of which required taxi rides to reach town. One marina meant a lengthy taxi ride and was expensive. The other marina was a lot closer to town, but continually buffeted by the wakes from the constant ferries. Anchoring was easy, safe, and free. It also had a cooler breeze, and we liked the price. We liked Langkawi.

  To get ashore we took our dinghy into a small lagoon, tied it up, and climbed up a bank into the town. We had heard through the grapevine that there was a bar here called Jimmy’s, which was popular with the cruising folk. The town was not huge, so on our arrival we walked around the dusty streets trying to locate Jimmy’s. We stumbled upon a hotel, and seeing as how we had plans to call home, using the hotel’s phone, we decided to have a quick beer. The hotel beer was incredibly expensive; this was certainly not Jimmy’s!