by Jackie Parry
‘You are in Egypt,’ (really?), ‘this is my country. You do as I say, otherwise there are problems.’
Well, we really didn’t want any problems in this country, so we smiled politely, thanked them profusely, and toddled off to anchor while muttering unprintable words about our welcome into Egypt.
Once again we anchored. Surviving the Red Sea’s howling conditions was hard work and at times frightening, but getting through it and doing what had to be done was fortifying.
Anchoring had to be quick, clean, and precise, especially in strong winds. The protected water may be calm, but the wind was still howling against Mariah and causing her to swing erratically.
Much to our delight, a couple of hours later, a large catamaran puttered into the bay. These were our American friends, Chris and Roy, on board Solmates with their two English setters. After they completed the paperwork with the Navy, they anchored not too far away and called out, ‘Come on over!’
Launching our dinghy could be a bit of an effort, but over time, as with everything else, we were becoming quick and efficient. Our dinghy was a little timber boat, which sat upturned on deck and lashed down securely. We would untie it, roll it onto one side, attach a halyard to the pre-rigged bridle within the dinghy, and use a winch to lift the rope and therefore the dinghy. The main halyard was a rope that runs to the top of our mast that was used to haul the main sail up. It took the weight of our dinghy, and I winched while Noel guided the little boat over the railings. It was smooth and relatively easy.
Now, we were an Australian registered boat, visiting an American registered boat – you’d think this perfectly normal. However, between our two boats was Egyptian water and the Egyptian Navy, and they would do everything they could to remind us of this and their power over us. They watched us launch our dinghy, and suddenly they were upon us in their dinghy. Our freedom suddenly felt uncomfortably squished.
‘You cannot go to another boat unless we give you permission.’ The irritating Egyptian’s voice bounced over the water, coated in a thick glob of smart-arse power. He stared at us with what felt like a challenge. It took but a moment before Noel and I gathered our wits.
‘Please may we have permission to visit our friends, sir?’ I asked in my best British accent.
‘You can go only if your meeting is about your journey and the boat.’ The power-wielding maniac continued.
I didn’t think it was appropriate to announce our intentions of enjoying civilised company, with the distinct possibility of behaving most foolishly with copious amounts of alcohol running around our veins. Instead I said, ‘Of course, sir, it is related. They have a problem with their engine, and we need to discuss how to fix it and the best route to take from here.’ I valiantly tried to conceal the sarcasm that so desperately wanted to escape my lips. A nod fit for royalty was bestowed upon us, and we headed for our good friends, interesting company, good food, and alcohol.
And it was here that things declined rapidly, the main culprit being the rum and vodka, which were supposedly mixed with a less innocuous drink. I think Chris waved my glass of vodka at the tonic and hoped the fumes would catch in the glass. Soon raucous laughter interspersed with, ‘Sod the fake discussions,’ was heard bouncing around the water.
Day after day, we had all been punching into nasty weather, eating boring food, and coping with the company of our partners in confined spaces. Radio relieved the monotony of speaking to the same person each day, but humans need other humans, and we all enjoyed new company.
As the evening progressed, the Egyptians came over to ask why the meeting was going on so long. Like naughty children, we picked up the strategically placed charts and navigation tools and tried to act in a serious manner, toning down the raucous conversation and furrowing our brows in concentration.
‘You must return soon,’ we were instructed.
Just for something different, the winds continued to howl from the north and, again, we were thankful to be tucked in safely. On the radio we heard that boats had found shelter; the couple that didn’t had to hove to and sit it out. Hoving to, simply put, is just a technique to prevent a boat moving forward. It helped prevent the loss of any ground and could prevent damage to the vessel (and the occupants) if conditions were particularly bad, so it was a neat trick to learn.
So we learned, you have to sit and wait for “windows” that arrive every week or so in-between the howling gale force Nor’westerlys. This, I bet, sounds okay, lounging around on a yacht. Well, stick yourselves in a room, thirty feet long and eleven feet wide. Sprinkle over some sand, add more than a dash of salt (over everything in and out), takeaway all yummy foods, leaving just the basics of flour, baked beans and peas (all tinned!), and ration out the ever depleting water supply. Add to that constant creaking, scraping, and the banging of all equipment on deck. Add to that a view of sand, rock, more sand, more rock, and the odd camel. It could get a trifle tedious.
One day, at another anchorage, we asked Solmates for some flour to help boost our sad diet. Anchored about twenty metres away, we watched Roy kit up into his diving suit with air tanks. He plopped into the water, which though it wasn’t sporting any huge waves, had a number of wavelets that made swimming a challenge. Chris passed Roy a package, tightly wrapped in plastic – our flour. We thought they would launch their dinghy (easier to launch than ours as it sat on the back of the boat on davits and could be hauled up and down with blocks). Roy took the opportunity to check all our anchors, but first he delivered the flour. Our knight-in-shining-wetsuit swam towards us with a bag of flour above his head, wrapped securely in zip lock bags (the flour that is, not his head); it was a sight to behold. He checked our anchor and informed us that our chain was nicely wrapped around all the rocks that were at the bottom. Oh well, at least we weren’t going anywhere.
I spent a few hours rummaging around, cursing, and folding myself into compromising positions to view the back of the galley cupboards where all those boring foodstuffs lurk, all that gear you never fancy as it is too healthy and invariably tastes like cardboard. Using my special recipe (which means I am too embarrassed to reveal the ingredients), I cobbled together a batch of Samosas and Chapatis.
To pass a bit of time between staring at sand hills and the odd camel, while cursing the relentless wind, I had been writing out copies of crew lists for an easier entry in to ports. Meanwhile, Noel changed the oil and replaced the water pump seal.
At last, we felt as though we were making progress. We passed Sudan and only had about another three days until Safaga. Our excitement built at the prospect of visiting Cairo and Luxor and seeing the Pyramids at Giza and the Valley of the Kings.
Once again, we were on our way, and there were reports of good weather for a few days. We wanted to take advantage of this, but we were approaching Fury Bay, which reportedly had amazing snorkelling. Decisions, decisions: do we stop and enjoy one of the best places in the world to snorkel or pass it by and take advantage of the good weather? In the end, we stopped. We were definitely never sailing these waters again, so why miss this opportunity?
The water was extraordinarily clear; it felt like we were floating in air. The mountainous, lively coral scattered across the ocean’s floor like a giant marble set, left to grow their own vivid garden with vibrant fish flicking, frolicking. Stingrays glided past, the waving seaweeds swayed in rhythm. There was a cliff of coral dropping off into the deep blue, providing the stomach turning illusion that we were suspended over a cliff face. Fan corals waved us on, while the fish fought the strong current alongside. It was hard not to smile too much and allow the water into our plastic masks. The silence of snorkelling and free diving transported us to another world. It was hard to imagine that hunting exists within this tranquil atmosphere. I felt as though I could see for miles, but wondered what could glide up the vivid cliff face to eye me up for lunch.
Back on board, lack of drinking water was now the issue. This was far more serious. We were at yet another anchorage, waiting fo
r calmer winds. Our view was like a stone quarry where sand filled the gaps. A couple of small timber huts dotted the beach; within the huts a few uniformed bodies sat, and we hoped they would be our salvation.
We launched our dinghy and slowly rowed ashore, wondering what our welcome would be. As we beached the dinghy and took steps on terra firma, I gathered up our trading gifts, and the armed guards approached and smiled. Through miming and gesticulating, the guards were happy to provide us with water. They also gave us some thick, rather strange looking, purple fruit juice. Our bodies absorbed the goodness in moments; peas and noodles did not contain the same sort of vitamins! In return, we gave them colourful magazines, full of Hollywood stars and gossip. We also presented them with some boiled sweets and a little koala toy. They were delighted by these gifts and excited to see the American women in their splendour. We were relieved and equally thrilled with our bounty of water.
With exhausted jubilation, nearing the end of April, we arrived at Safaga, Egypt. The much needed social relaxing with fellow cruisers was put on hold while we dealt with the officialdom of checking in and taking on fuel and water. At the fuel dock, a huge oil slick managed to attach itself to Mariah, but at that moment we could not have cared less. We just wanted to get off the boat and have a decent meal.
Before we knew it, we were taking a two-day trip to Luxor with our friends Faith and Cindy from Carmen Miranda. A four-hour bus ride through amazingly arid, rocky terrain transported us to Luxor. Getting off the bus, we were literally bombarded with agents trying to convince us to stay at their hotel or go on their tour. Through advice gleaned from other cruisers, we knew where we were going and were soon settled into a reasonable hotel.
Luxor is one of the greatest capitals of the ancient world: charming and evocative. The Nile banks are lined with modern hotels. The feluccas sail along the quiet waters of the river and the Bazaar comes to life at night. This is the great ancient city of Thebes, capital of the Egyptian empire for almost one thousand years. The Pharaohs who succeeded to the throne left their mark by extending the temple or adding halls and chapels. The temple dedicated to Amon (Egyptian deity who was revered as king of the gods) is astounding because of its size. It is the largest temple with columns in the world; apparently it could contain Notre-Dame Cathedral in Paris within its entirety. In short, it is stunning. That evening we explored the temple, with its professional lighting creating eerie shadows and voices from the past imparting their grand history. The sphinxes that line the entrance stare hard at the thousands of trespassers. The imposing columns that stretch to the sky are filled with carvings – ancient words and pictures; the almighty statues stand guard. It’s a remarkable sight with a heavy air of mystique.
Into the swing of being back on land and forever thankful to be safe, the next day we explored the tombs of the kings and queens, in the great Valley. In the middle of a desert, within steep, peaked mountains lie ornate buried graves. The hieroglyphics, carvings, and paintings completely cover the ceilings and walls of the tunnels that lead you down into the bowels of the rocks. There lies a huge granite coffin, extra rooms for the extensive gifts, and, in one, the skeleton of an unborn baby! Our guide orated a brief history lesson in each tomb as we stared in wonderment and touched where we could – where ancient hands touched before. I was awestruck and right in the moment; Noel was hot and bored. To him the tombs were all the same; to me they held the enchantment of the past.
We both got “the bug” and spent the last day avidly stuffing bottom-blocking tablets down our throats, in the hope that we would survive the return bus trip. There were no toilets on the bus or bushes on the road; if we did come across a café (and I use that word loosely), the toilet would be a hole in the ground. This hole was surrounded with stuff you do not want to tread in, but have no choice. It stinks to high heaven and probably contains some sort of life form you don’t want to know about. Much to our relief, we made it back without an embarrassing incident, loaded up with fresh foods, and took off. We felt off colour, weak, and tired, but the weather was calm. We needed to take advantage of calm seas.
Mostly, the 240 miles towards Port Suez were calm and pleasant. We were on target to arrive in the afternoon. During our last night, a strong wind kicked up with vengeance. Windy and his mates tossed and buffeted us all night and did not give me a moment’s rest. Fortunately, Noel had managed to have a sleep before the tumultuous weather bullied us north. In the morning, I was tired and cranky, but the forty knots of wind whisked us along at full pelt through the narrow, freighter-packed stretch, insuring our adrenaline was kept pumping at full flow.
Then the storm hit.
It wasn’t your average thunder, lightning, and rain, but your face-stinging sand storm. Suddenly, the horizon turned peachy orange, as if someone had turned on a coloured light bulb. The horizon and its peachy companion came up to meet us. We turned on our navigation lights. Our below-deck lights were on, too. The sand was thick; it felt as though we were being sandblasted. It was scary. I was trying to think in two directions at once. We couldn’t see past the bow of the boat. Sand worked its way into every orifice, completely covering the boat. Just as our stress levels had reached stroke-inducing levels, I thought that, surely, it couldn’t get any worse. Then, I spotted the bow of an enormous, 300-foot freighter dead ahead, not thirty metres away and about to run us down! These behemoths can move through the water at twenty-six knots. As the monster loomed out of the gloom, I shouted to Noel, ‘Quick hard to starboard’. I swore with the invention of a few, new colourful obscenities, my heart coming through my chest. We squinted through the peachy-fog and gasped as other ships emerged from the murkiness. Within a few moments, we noticed that the ships weren’t actually moving. With tear-making relief, we realised we were in the middle of the anchorage! There were umpteen ships at anchor waiting to traverse the Canal. The smog was so thick we hadn’t seen them until almost upon them.
As we approached our intended anchorage area, the sand started to clear a little. We entered the famous canal and travelled about half a mile to our designated area (the rest of the Suez canal trip had to be arranged by handing someone lots of money and taking a pilot on board). As we made our approach, there were more rather large freighters coming down the canal, and we passed these monsters within a few metres. With forty knot winds buffeting Mariah at their will, I was becoming more anxious. At least now we could see the ships, and it felt as though the wind was starting to ease a bit.
Just as we were about to anchor, the winds started to gust up to forty knots again and put on an almighty final display, reaching fifty knots, supplying us our greatest shot of adrenaline. I was operating the anchor winch, and Noel was steering. We were both keenly aware that anything could happen – equipment could fail, engine could die, we could get hurt. The winds had really gathered momentum now, and I was nearly blown clean off the deck; we were careering sideways in a tight anchorage. Somehow, Noel steered us to a good spot and I let the anchor go at the right time. We held our breaths, hoping that the anchor grabbed. It did, and the anchor chain pulled tight and finally gave a little; we were held firm for the first time in what felt like forever.
Some cruising buddies, who had already arrived, were full of congratulations, ‘It’s a real milestone you’ve just completed.’ We were exhausted, our nerves completely rung out. We didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
Noel looked at me, his crinkled eyes exuded warmth, love, exhaustion, relief, and gratitude. He smiled and asked, ‘Are we having fun yet?’
Boat jobs were tackled in a hurry; putting on sail covers, and the usual checks had to be done. It was a bargain of give and take: Mariah looked after us, we looked after her. Eventually, and at the earliest opportunity, I hopped into bed. My limbs were so heavy, my eyes so sore, I wasn’t even able to undress. I had missed my sleep shift through the night and had been awake all day with adrenaline galloping through my veins.
‘Hallo, hallo,’ interrupted my slack-mouthed dribble a
s I floated off almost immediately. A local guy was hanging off Mariah’s stern, looking into the cockpit. I got up to see what he wanted. Noel was still busy finishing off the anchor duties I had neglected, like tying on elasticised strops to ease the harsh movement. A warm welcome into a new country was always appreciated, and I usually asked visitors on board; this time I didn’t. I was absolutely exhausted and my patience had become gossamer thinner.
The skinny, brown man, with a crooked smile and white teeth, asked, ‘Do you want fuel? Water? Tours?’ He was relentlessly trying to ensure our business went through him.
I couldn’t get a word in edgeways and lost any sort of reason. ‘Bugger off,’ I said, and then I went back to bed.
He disappeared only momentarily. Just as I was drifting off into oblivion, I heard, ‘Hallo, hallo, you have to move; you are in the wrong spot.’
A couple of tears escaped my eyes through exhaustion. That’ll teach me for being rude, I thought. Once again, I got up. Noel was still busy ensuring everything was how it should be on deck. The whole episode started again, but this time I asked our visitor to come on board. However, I didn’t offer him a cup of tea.
‘Okay, if we have to move, you have to help us re-anchor.’
I could see his mind forming the reason why he couldn’t help us. But then he looked at me. My hair hadn’t been brushed for several days and had two attempted sleeps mussing it further, my eyes were dark, my mouth down, and I was tense. I could have taken lead role as a mad, murderous woman. Our new crew member swallowed and astutely thought about where he was and his options. Then he agreed to help.