by Jackie Parry
I am just horrid when I am tired, so needless to say we gave him the worst job of flaking the anchor chain. He did a good job and turned out to be quite a nice man. We did give him our business – after I’d slept!
‘We want to get off the boat as soon as possible,’ Noel said to some friends.
‘Great, join us on our organised trip.’ All of a sudden we were on our way to Cairo to see the pyramids. We had been making friends along the way and having gained enough confidence to chat of my boating abilities, I was meeting people with a vast array of experience. Some cruisers had been living on board over ten years, some for one year, some were fledglings that had just joined as crew. We had been on board for three years. I was learning something new each day and had gained the courage to ask others for advice or information. I came to realise that everyone, whatever his or her level of experience, had something to teach us. Much to my amazement, I learned that I had something to teach others, too. I was feeling comfortable in my watery world.
I had changed so much, not just with learning to cope with new words, new items, and new ways of life, but my morals and beliefs had changed. I used to think that everyone should have a proper job. If they didn’t have a good reason as to why they weren’t working, I just viewed them as reprobates! I used to mount my moral steed and spout how I was paying taxes and paying them to be layabouts.
Being unemployed by choice, I lived on a tight budget. I had no regimented times to be anywhere. I was free. I shed those bigoted blinkers and realised how I had misjudged the world and my fellow humans. Now, I viewed people ensconced within the nine-to-fine with having no idea! Go and explore, have adventures, I wanted to preach. I had to learn to keep my opinions and views in check – just because I had found the freedom I had craved, didn’t mean it was right for everyone.
Happy to once again step onto terra firma, we set off early with Joy (a Brit and a crew member from Alien III), Jimmy and Tineke (Dutch, on board Gabba), and a family of three from a French boat named Balloo. After a couple of hours drive into the bustling, dusty city of Cairo, we stepped into Cairo Museum. This huge gallery was stuffed full of tombs, statues, treasures, mummies, and even bread that was thousands of years old! But the best was the treasures from Tutankhamen. I hadn’t realised they were here, the famous, stunning gold mask right there! The treasures from the young, handsome king’s tomb were not found until 1923. So well hidden was the tomb that robbers hadn’t found it, so present-day folk can enjoy the amazing sight of the most famous Egyptian king’s burial treasures.
The discovery of Tutankhamen’s tomb was one of the most exciting finds of modern archaeology. In 1922, Englishman Lord Carnarvon, an art collector and great traveller, had already invested about fifty-thousand British pounds in financing numerous excavations in Egypt, all of which had been fruitless. Lord Carnarvon and his mission director, Howard Carter, had almost given up hope of discovering another tomb. But in 1923, they had their day. Of all the precious objects in the sovereign’s tomb, the most impressive of all was the great sarcophagus, which was a single, enormous block of quartzite that housed four gilt wooden containers placed one inside the other like Chinese boxes. Within these sarcophagus’, there were three ornate coffins. When they lifted the tonne and a half granite lid off the third coffin and looked into the interior, they saw only discoloured linen cloths. When the cloths were slowly cast aside the king, though, the gold gradually appeared: a wooden sarcophagus entirely plated in gold and inlaid with glass and semi precious stones. But the most moving thing of all was a small garland of flowers, possibly laid by his young wife, Ankhesenamun; after thirty-two centuries those flowers still conserved a bit of their original colour!
In summary, Tutankhamen was in ornate coffins, the third was twenty-two carat solid gold, weighing 1,170 kilograms, the material itself was priceless in value. The carvings on these coffins were simply beautiful. After the coffins, he was placed in a beautifully carved sarcophagus and covered in shrines. Tutankhamen was special, being the young pharaoh of transition who brought back the capital to Thebes, reviving the ancient cult of Amon-Ra and other gods. He was nineteen when he died, and he received the most royal of burials. They must have been building his tomb when he was born! His mummy was covered in jewels, and his huge tomb was crammed full of gold, precious stones, gifts and offerings. I found it amazing that this tomb with kilograms of gold had managed to keep the immortal remains of the great king hidden from the eyes of the world for so long.
Just seeing all these treasure made the day, but there was more to come. We jumped back on the bus, en route for Giza, where the Pyramids stand. The magnificent pyramids are on the edge of the town. They are in the desert and spread over about two to three square miles. Our next decision was whether to walk, take a horse or take a camel. We opted for a camel, as it wasn’t an everyday occurrence to be able to ride one and I felt it more apt.
After some serious negotiations, we were soon two to a camel, with four camels all tied to each other. Joy was in front with our guide. I had read that camels can be lovely friendly creatures. Alas, these camels had had the rough end of the deal and were completely fed up with being bullied into walking around the same triangular pile of stones day in and day out. They were not happy camels. When we approached them, they bared their teeth to such an extent we could see right down their throats. With protection from the handlers, we jumped on as fast as mounting a camel allowed us to. We were second in line; Noel was in front of me on our beast. We rolled along with basic instructions, but there was not too much to do, as we were tied to the lead camel. We were able to pad right up to the pyramids and the huge sphinx; the place had a magical feel, a feeling of ancient times gone by. Our guide was fun and full of history titbits.
Halfway there, we dismounted for photos. The camels expelled an ugly moan, bark, and groan. We were all giggling, bouncing, sliding, and rubber-necking around the vista, having a jolly good time. Later, when we remounted, the guide ensured we were all on, and he tried to hop on when his camel jumped up. Now, some sort of power play came in. He swiftly and violently whacked his steed right across its ears with a whip. I hate this sort of thing and promptly had a go at our guide. But the camel was perfectly capable of fighting its own battles and retaliated with the most violent bark. He was that angry a huge inflated bladder like bubble ballooned out of its throat into its mouth and beyond its lips. I was a little concerned that something quite horrible was about to occur. These camels were big, far stronger than us, and we were securely tied to the one with the ‘ump (pun fully intended). We had no method of control whatsoever. With a few minutes of vying for supremacy, the handler finally won. It wasn’t a pretty sight. We were somewhat relieved that we were safe and not about to be galloped off into the desert sunset dragged by an incensed camel.
After about half-an-hour of riding these beasts, my horse-riding background kicked in, and I was urging our camel on with my heels, using my weight to steer and trying to overtake the leader, much to Noel’s disgust and my delight. At the end, we had a sprint finish and I was in my element, unleashing my competitive side.
We came to halt and the camels were prepared for the dismount. I was acutely aware that when the camels lie down, we’d be thrown forwards (as their front legs folded), then backwards (as their back legs folded), and braced myself in anticipation. I was in the front at this point and as the camel tipped us forward, Noel became unseated. As the camel’s back legs crouched down, Noel lost all control of his body and his equilibrium with gravity and, beautifully, rolled straight off the back. I then had trouble dismounting, purely because I was in pain from laughing so hard.
Back in Suez, we spent a day or two in town provisioning. One evening, we fancied a beer and were guided to a place named St. George. An inconspicuous, shed-like shop was revealed after stepping through an unremarkable green door from the street. The bar was filled with men: strong Russians, frowning Polish, thoughtful Taiwanese, and serious Japanese who all worked at the Su
ez Port on the big ships. The small room was filled with once-white tables, timber chairs, and a general grubbiness beneath the haze of lingering smoke. There was no music, just the clatter of scraping chairs, deep masculine laughter, and hum of kindred spirits.
Timid at first, Noel and I sat quietly together and were just glad to have a cold beer. After a couple of beers and curious looks in both directions (from us to the port men), Noel was at one table and I at another! We both ended up in deep conversations with people from all over the world, all while only understanding one in ten words! I met George, from Greece. I could speak not one word of Greek and he could speak no English. He would start talking in earnest, and I would place my chin on my fist and nod at various pauses as if I understood; this would go on for a few minutes. Then I would grin and so would he. I started to laugh and so did he. We both performed these theatrics over and again and spent most of the evening in a fit of hysterical laughter. There were few words passed between us that were understood, we both grasped ideas of the meaning, or least thought we did. We said goodbye with a mutual respect – we both knew we would have become good friends, if only we could talk to each other!
On 4 May, we departed from Suez with an impatient pilot on board. We had waited over an hour for him to arrive. As soon as he jumped on Mariah he started shouting, ‘Come on, hurry hurry, must go now!’ Thankfully, our experience of working together smoothly meant we were ready to leave quickly.
To traverse the Suez Canal, you hire two pilots. It takes two days to traverse, one pilot per day. In the first instance, a few days prior to departure, an official comes on board from an agency called Prince of the Red Sea, which Noel aptly renamed Prince of Thieves. The official took measurements and calculated our fee. No one had any idea how the calculations were made. We believe he comes aboard to assess your worth by the size and grandness of your boat.
As with all officials, we just tried to be as polite as possible and hoped he was in a good mood. We had been warned from other cruisers that he asked for shampoo for his wife and cigarettes and baksheesh (bribery being part and parcel of life here). We gathered these items and were ready to use them as bargaining tools to hopefully keep the price down. However, we were slightly thrown when instead of asking for soaps and cigarettes he asked, ‘Do you have any computers or mobile phones I can have?’ Noel and I looked at each other, then, blankly at him. ‘What about binoculars or radios?’ Our stunned silence continued, with the imaginings of a huge fee, as we could not bribe this particular official. ‘I’ll just sit here and wait until you find something for me,’ he said!
The Egyptians truly believe that they are fully entitled to own everything you own. After some rummaging, we found an old mobile phone that didn’t work. He wasn’t too happy and left the boat rather abruptly, while we worried what our fees might amount to.
Surprisingly, our fees were not too high, in the region of a few hundred American dollars. Some boats were higher, some lower. We were quite happy with our quote.
The day came when we paid the agency fees, pilot fees, baksheesh and more baksheesh, and set off. This was the easy part, except you had an Egyptian on the boat.
Fortunately, our two pilots were nice; we provided a nice lunch for them both. The conversation was reasonable and, as per other cruisers’ instructions, we did not let them below decks (except to use the head) – rumours of stealing were rife.
We knew that when we dropped each pilot off at the end of the day, we were required to give him or her a gift. The pilot’s administration office advised that five American dollars was enough, plus a few packets of cigarettes. They actually asked us not to give any more and lift the pilots’ expectations for the future, as it could create resentment. Of course, the pilots do not think this is enough. To save an argument on board your boat, we were told to wrap up the dollars (baksheesh) and the gifts tightly with plenty of tape and on no account give them their gifts until they were literally stepping off the boat. This was not as easy as it sounds, as they spent the last four hours on board continually asking for their gift like petulant children. As the pilot boat came alongside Mariah to collect our pilot, he was almost begging for something from us. We handed over the packages of soaps, shampoo, and money. Wildly, he tore at the gifts like a demented man and was instantly annoyed that we had given him just five American dollars. With resignation he stepped off Mariah and did not say farewell.
That night, on 5 May, we anchored at Ismailia, an overnight stop half way through the canals. After the first day, it was a relief to be in protected waters. At 6 am the next morning, the pilot boat dropped off the next pilot for the second and last day. As they approached, I had only just got up, so my hair was sticking-up in every direction, and my face still creased. I was drowsy as I tried to pull up the anchor, which was, as usual, splattering cold water and mud all over me as the chain wound in on the gypsy. As the pilot boat approached and asked for baksheesh for those on board, I gave them such an angry look that they withdrew the question. Noel, the pilots on the boat (about half a dozen), and the entire anchorage became quiet. They just gawped at this medusa looking woman who was splattered in mud, giving them a piece of her mind. Still, it worked and they left empty handed, leaving their slightly worried pilot on board to travel the last part of the canal with us. We all enjoyed a pleasant, easy going, final day in the canal under clear blue skies.
15
Finally ignored
At Port Said, the package-ripping pilot stepped off our boat, and we contemplated staying the night after receiving a weather warning.
‘What d’ya reckon?’ Noel asked.
‘I reckon we can handle it,’ I replied confidently, ‘I’ve had enough of being constantly nagged for hand-outs.’
Usually we would anchor and await favourable conditions. But the port was exceptionally busy and full of Egyptians. We’d had enough of the constant nagging for money and gifts, so with proven faith in Mariah we ventured into the Mediterranean Sea and into gale force winds, and hurtled towards Cyprus. I knew I could cope in these winds, my experience now providing the courage.
For two days we bumped along, clinging white-knuckled and riding out nature’s offering. Noel had picked up a nasty cold in Suez and was tired, so I tried to maintain longer shifts to give him some much-needed rest. This resulted in us both being exhausted, but we made it in to Cyprus safely on 7 May. Throughout the windstorm, I had done much of the boat work, sail changing, navigation, and watches by myself. These thoughts provided me with a self-satisfied grin that I carried around for several days.
Cruisers in front of us made a big deal of our arrival, as did we when boats arrived after us. It was quite a feat to traverse the Red Sea. Not just the threat of piracy, but ferocious weather and, of course, the Egyptian officials.
The first week in the port of Larnaca, we did nothing except eat enough meat to make up for our vegetarian diet over the last two months. We slept, rested, and gloated mightily at the fact that we were surrounded with cheap, nice wine, and way too healthy olive oil. I noticed, and felt somewhat guilty, that other cruisers had streams of washing out to dry the day after they arrived. We didn’t tackle ours until about a week after landing. We had better things to do. I wanted to enjoy terra firma, quaff wine, and indulge in the Mediterranean way of life.
Different boats arrived each day, friends reunited and stories told. The social life was terrific. We felt mightily relieved just to be ignored as we walked the streets. Not one person harassed us or asked for money. It had been sometime since we were just one of the crowd.
We loved the Med but, as with everything, there was always compromise. We may have been gleefully ignored, but food prices were much higher than they’d been for a long time. It was what we expected, and we took more care with our expenditure, as you must when earning so little.
Our cruising budget came from savings. Over the months, we watched those savings dwindle. Before leaving Australia, I had completed a writing and photography course w
ith dreams of earning a living via pen. Since heading off, I had tried my hand at fiction and had no success. We knew, in England, we’d have to bolster the coffers.
We didn’t indulge in luxuries on board, but we could indulge ourselves in thoughts of reaching England; we were so close. It seemed incredible we had sailed the entire way here. But we had achieved this by baby-steps – one port at a time.
With thoughts in our heads of England, money, and work, we knew it unlikely we’d be back in Cyprus any time soon, so we wanted to explore. It was funny that Noel hired the largest motorbike on the island, but he deserved a reward for getting us thus far safely; we set off for Mount Olympus and Troodos. Avoiding large towns, we kept to the smallest roads and explored quaint little villages that speckled the countryside: beautiful crumbling churches, narrow cobbled alleys, crooked steps, and cheap stone walled cafes. We loved the unmistakable white buildings scattered between dried greens and blue waters and the friendly folk – all beneath sunny skies.
Back at Larnaca, we turned our minds to important tasks; we still had a long way to go. Our last week was spent hauling Mariah out of the water and slapping on some more anti-foul paint. We were happy to see that everything below the water was where it should be and that all our hard work last year had paid off.
Suddenly, we were casting off to Turkey. The first day out was calm, the smooth waters easing us into the three dimensional movements. Having been on the hard (out of the water) for a week, our sea legs took a while to re-appear. But the seas were kind and we were happy to be moving again.
Relaxing into the sail, we started to wonder what all the fuss was about sailing the Mediterranean. We had heard it could be quite a chore with either strong head winds or no wind at all. One day we’d learn to listen properly, as the next day the wind picked up. It wasn’t super strong, but fifteen-to-twenty knots on the nose made for quite a bumpy ride. We were a little out of practice, having indulged so heavily in Cyprus; we became tired and scanned the charts for a more favourable course, a direction that was more with the wind, than fighting it. We altered course to the island of Rhodes. Suddenly Mariah calmed down and we skimmed along comfortably.