And that’s my busy day. Adventurous. Accomplished. Successful. Interesting.
But it also felt futile, pointless and lonely. So much so that I now question, what on earth am I doing here?
I certainly hadn’t felt this way while I’d been exploring Hong Kong.
So what’s different? I decide that it’s two things.
The first is that Jon is no longer by my side spiritually. I just can’t feel his presence anymore.
Until today, I could feel him with me every moment of every day. Guiding me. Supporting me. Looking out for me and caring for me. Sometimes I could even almost hear his voice, his laughter, and his encouragement. But I woke up this morning knowing for sure he’s gone. Had he just been hanging around like a guardian angel until I knew my own mind again?
Because that’s the second thing. I woke up this morning feeling upset but also reenergised.
I feel like a different and braver person today. I feel positive, calm.
I feel like I’m breathing properly and I’m thinking about life rather than death, as though a fog has cleared.
I’m seeing things clearly for the first time since the day of my wedding.
And in that clarity, I’ve come to a happy decision.
Singapore is a beautiful city, but it doesn’t make me feel happy in the way Hong Kong does.
So I’ve decided I’m going to kick back and be rebellious again.
I’ve broken my own rules before and today I think I should do it again.
Since arriving here in Singapore, I’ve been racing around like a crazy person, trying to tick off specific tourist destinations while missing out on almost everything else. I haven’t really been enjoying myself. So why am I following this plan and all these notes?
Setting out on Jon’s quest had seemed the right thing to do at the time and, of course, I’m grateful the plans led me to Henri, but now it’s not Jon to whom I feel connected and it’s not his words on repeat in my head.
It’s Henri’s words that haunt me now.
So I’ve decided that I’m going to cancel my flight tomorrow morning after all. I’m not going to Kuala Lumpur to dutifully tick off any more sights and places. I’m not going to travel to Penang just to eat meals and have drinks. I’m not following a nostalgic and redundant honeymoon itinerary. I’m going to stay here instead. I’m going to gamble and take a risk.
I’m going to meet Henri when he sails into Singapore harbour tomorrow.
I take a taxi back to Raffles with a silly smile on my face and, once back in my beautiful suite, I fully appreciate the cool, orderly, and distinguished ambience of a room that yesterday felt like a gilded cage to me. I make myself a gin and tonic from the mini-bar and sit outside on my terrace in the afternoon shade. I check the time on my phone.
It’s early evening. Henri has been sailing for twenty-six hours now.
I reckon he has perhaps another fourteen hours to go before he’ll sail into safe harbour. With my heart swelling with excitement at seeing him again, I try to imagine him out there right now on the sea, hundreds of miles away from land in either direction, having faith in himself and his crew, and bravely taking a chance on the possibility of victory. I see Henri’s brave quest as a fine metaphor for taking a chance in life and winning.
Chapter 21
The Hong Kong to Singapore Boat Race
I dress and go down for a casual supper in the library known as the Writer’s Bar off the lobby, where I feel like I’d stepped back in time and fully expect to be seated next to Ernest Hemingway or Noel Coward. I’m offered a menu that looks like an old leather-bound book and I eat while happily congratulating myself for finally making what I feel is an entirely good decision to stay in Singapore and return to Hong Kong with Henri.
Back in my room, I relax on a pile of comfortable pillows on the bed while flicking through the channels on the TV, hoping that one of the local news channels will be covering Henri’s race and perhaps giving out details of early placings.
If cosmic ordering is to work for me once again, then surely Henri’s boat will be in the lead right now, about to break the race record and take first place, because I’ve put so much effort into my wishing. Finding the weather channel instead of the news, I sit bolt upright on the bed with my heart thumping because the presenter is talking about a tropical storm that has suddenly formed in the South China Sea.
There’s also mention of The Blue Sea Classic Race and how ‘a severe, low-pressure weather system is hampering the rescue of dozens of yachts caught up in the storm winds and high seas’. I freeze with fear. Rescue? What? When? How was this happening?
This doesn’t make sense to me. The weather had been perfect at the start of the race yesterday and here in Singapore it’s been nothing but blue skies today.
I press buttons on the remote control until I find a local news channel. They’re busy talking politics but at the bottom of the screen there’s a red ticker tape news message saying that a typhoon had developed ‘out of nowhere’ in the South China Sea.
They call it a ‘super typhoon’ and the storm being described by the same name as Henri’s boat sends a chill through my bones.
I turn up the volume as the news anchor begins to report on the storm and I hold my breath as a meteorologist appears on screen to explain this phenomenon. ‘We haven’t seen a storm this powerful develop this quickly before,’ he says in a tone that sounds horribly grave, ‘And this immensely powerful storm is now barrelling down the same stretch of water as the yachts competing in The Blue Sea Classic Race between Hong Kong and Singapore.’
‘Can you tell us why this storm is a problem for these highly experienced sailors?’ The news anchor asks the expert. ‘Can’t they just batten down the hatches and sail through it?’
‘What makes this storm so dangerous is not its size but its ferocity and the speed with which it has formed. These boats and their crews are no match for a storm of this kind because they will have been hit head on, taken completely by surprise.’
The camera swings back to the news anchor. ‘All we can hope and pray for now is that the rescue effort is a success and no one loses their life in this unexpected storm.’
I yell at the screen in angst as another expert, this time a climate change activist, begins talking about rising sea temperatures creating ‘perfect storm conditions’ and how we all need to act now before it’s too late. Well I’m in full support of fighting global warming, but at this moment I’m in desperate need of a mention of those in trouble and those who have been rescued.
As far as I’m concerned, they could talk about what caused this storm later, because right now there are lives at stake. I grab my phone in frustration and go on to social media to find out more about the rescue. Thank goodness Pia pushed me to learn how to use Twitter.
I see people using the hashtags #SuperTyphoon and #BlueSeaClassic and find worried families of the crew and those following the race tweeting for more information on specifically named boats. I see there’s some information from the Hong Kong race administration offices that mentions some of the boats retiring from the race and turning inland to find safe harbour. I hope with all my heart that Henri and his crew are amongst them.
I click on the source of this information and follow links that lead me to the race website and a banner reading:
ATTENTION: STORM SITUATION UPDATE
Here I find a full list of all the individual vessels entered in the race, many of them with the words ‘RETIRED’ or ‘REPORTED SAFE’ in red text next to them. I anxiously check through the list until I find Henri’s boat and, although the Super Typhoon is listed, there’s no note to indicate its status.
In desperation, I go back to Twitter.
I type a message quickly –
Any news of the yacht called Super Typhoon? #BlueSeaClassic
Then I turn my attention back to the TV and flick manically through the news and weather channels. It frustrates me to think that while I’d been strolling aro
und today, happily sightseeing, ticking off Post-it notes and mulling things over in my mind about Hong Kong and Henri, he and his crew and everyone else in the race had been battling for their lives in this terrible storm. Why hadn’t I thought to check on his situation sooner?
Now it’s dark and late in the evening, and I still don’t know if Henri and his crew are safe.
I switch from the weather channel to the local news and to my shock and horror, I see they’re now showing recorded coverage from a camera positioned on the front of one of the racing yachts while they’d been in difficulty. It gives terrifying first-hand visuals of what the race crews were facing and it’s horrific; the vessel in question is being thrown from side to side on a surging sea and being hit by truly massive waves. The water is wild, undulating, and foaming. The sky, or the occasional tumultuous glimpse of it that’s displayed, looks to be black and thunderous. The sound coming from the recording is loud and haunting, the wind howling. Although voices of the crew can only just be heard, it’s clear that they’re very afraid. I have to press my fist against my mouth to silence my yelps of fear as I watch the yacht being tossed about like it’s in a giant washing machine.
A message ping is emitted from my phone and I see it’s a reply to my plea on Twitter from the account of one of the other boats in the race.
I hear Super Typhoon sent out a mayday distress call at 6.15pm today @SeaQuest.
I stare at the message in horror. That was two hours ago. I quickly type my response.
Do you know if they are safe? Where are they now? @MayaThomas.
I wait with bated breath for more information from the Sea Quest, but it never comes.
I click back to the race administration website again to find the Sea Quest listed. I see it’s been marked as retired and safely accounted for so I assume the information is sound, and Henri had sent out a distress call. The thought that he could be lost at sea or worse fills me with petrified nausea.
There are still six yachts on the list, including Henri’s, with no updated information.
What can I do? I feel so helpless!
Then, on the race administration website, I see there’s a telephone contact number.
I punch the numbers into my phone but get a busy signal. I keep trying while also watching TV. Seeing the coverage of those massive waves breaking over that yacht being shown on loop on the news makes my stomach roll. Then an agonising thought occurs to me. Am I fated to lose the only two men in my life I’ve ever really cared about?
Am I destined to live a lonely tragic life?
Why was I being so cruelly punished by the universe and for what? What did I do?
Suddenly, I’m furious in my retaliation and raise my fist to the ceiling.
‘How bloody dare you!’
But then I remember Guru J telling me that speaking in anger is no way to talk to the Divine. So, I decide to apologise. I humble myself and sit in the lotus position with my eyes closed to chant mantras and then to meditate as best I can because lives depended on it.
I evoke thoughts of calm seas, blue skies, and safe returns.
I praise Lord Shiva and ask for his love and forgiveness.
Then I use all the skills I learned and practised in India to manifest a cosmic order to the universe. I call for salvation for Henri and all the lost crew and for courage and faith for myself. Then I speak to Jon. I’m not sure if he’ll still hear me but I hope and pray he can do something to help. When I open my eyes, the red ticker tape news reel is still giving weather statistics.
The super typhoon winds are in excess of eighty knots with gusts up to one hundred knots.
Information like that would mean something to a sailor like Henri but I just have to assume it’s bad.
‘Oh Henri! Wherever you are right now … please be safe and come back to me!’
I really don’t know what else to do or where to go next for information.
The coverage on the TV begins showing new and updated news. There’s a live video feed from a rescue helicopter that’s hovering over a violently boiling sea lit with a search light and littered with the debris of capsized yachts. Crew members are being shown either inside waterlogged life rafts or clinging to the sides of them.
I watch with tears streaming down my face in angst because it’s all truly terrifying.
I see the helicopter is attempting to airlift casualties to the safety of a nearby ship, but the power of the wind, spray and waves is clearly making the rescue incredibly difficult.
Coverage switches to a rescued crewman on the ship, who is explaining how he’d been airlifted. He told the camera how he and his fellow crew members had been trying to sail through the midst of the storm in the hope of offering assistance to another yacht, called Blue Moon, which had transmitted a mayday call before it disappeared.
‘Conditions got so bad we couldn’t reach her. We fear she may now be sunk. Her crew are still missing …’ The man breaks off as he begins to cry. It’s heart breaking.
Another yacht, called Amazing Grace, is reported as capsized. Footage shows the mast had snapped, falling and trapping the man who’d been steering the boat. Thankfully, a coastguard boat had arrived just in time to offer help and to rescue the whole crew. The skipper of Amazing Grace, a middle-aged man who looks horribly traumatised by his terrible experience, speaks to a news reporter over the video link straight from his rescue boat, saying that he’s never experienced anything like it in all his years as a yachtsman. ‘I’ve never steered through wind and rain and white water like it before,’ he says. ‘It was terrible. Just when we thought we were getting through it, it just kept getting worse.’
Another crewmember, a young woman aboard the Amazing Grace, tells how they’d had the radio on the whole time. ‘An’ we kept hearin’ all these mayday calls from stricken boats that had been rolled and how crew were in the water. We managed to get our storm jib off just as a wave hit us. Next thing I know, we’re upside down. I can tell you I thought it was the end.’
The news reporter says that the rescue service deployed to deal with this amounted to military helicopters and lots of civilian boats and large ships in the area that had responded and detoured to assist. I scour the screen for a sighting of Henri’s yacht and turn up the volume on the TV to listen for any mention of Super Typhoon. Unfortunately, the commentators in the TV studio, who are having conversations with their storm experts over the visual coverage, don’t help because they keep talking about the super typhoon storm and my heart almost stops every time they say the words.
I fear the worst if Henri’s boat isn’t found soon.
I’ve been constantly redialling the race administration offices at the marina in Hong Kong during this time and I’m so relieved when eventually my call gets picked up. When I speak, my voice is high, shrill and breathless with urgency, I stammer out the name of the boat and Henri’s name and explain how I’ve been told by someone on Twitter that he had been sending out mayday calls and that I’m worried sick.
‘Can you please help?’ I plead to the woman on the other end of the line.
‘Can you please slow down and give me your name?’ Her voice is so calm and methodical that I can hardly believe I’m speaking to a person rather than a machine. But right now, she’s my only hope, so I do as requested. ‘My name? Oh, yes, of course. I’m Maya Thomas.’
‘And, you’re making an enquiry about the Super Typhoon and Henri Chen, is that correct?’
Maybe she was specially trained to be both stern and calm in an emergency?
I’m sure she’s been answering the phone for several hours, speaking to concerned family and friends.
I suppose she needed to be careful what she says and also what she doesn’t say. Because no one wants to be told the worst over the phone after all.
‘Yes. That is correct,’ I say slowly and clearly. ‘And I want to know …’
‘Ms Thomas, can you please first tell me what your relationship is to Mr Chen?’
I’
m taken aback by this question. What can I say?
That I’ve only known him two days, but they’d been two amazing days with a man whom I’d found attractive and utterly fascinating?
That after losing Jon, I’d honestly thought I’d never meet anyone else with whom I’d feel comfortable enough to be myself? Someone to laugh with again and with whom to feel happy.
I can’t possibly say all that to her, but I have a feeling that if I don’t say I’m in a close relationship with Henri then she won’t tell me anything at all. She might even hang up. ‘I’m his … girlfriend.’ I tell her boldly.
‘His girlfriend?’ She repeats, in a tone that indicates she might not actually believe me.
Maybe I needed to sound more convincing?
This situation is the same as when you call a hospital ward and ask about someone’s condition and you’re asked who you are in relation to the patient. To get the information you must be immediate family or a spouse and being just a girlfriend doesn’t really count.
‘Actually, I’m his fiancée,’ I state.
‘Fiancée?’ She repeats back to me.
Oh, my goodness. If I’m going to have to speak this slowly and she’s going to repeat everything I say and then write it down, this is going to take forever.
‘Yes, that’s right. Can you please tell me what information you have right now on his wellbeing and his whereabouts because, as I’m sure you can imagine, I’m worried sick about him?’
‘Yes, of course. Here at race HQ we’ve been collecting data and I can tell you that we’ve published a list of skippers and crew who are accounted for at this time on our website. I can confirm that Henri and his crew are not currently on this list. But that’s not to say they are not safe. Henri is an excellent skipper and he has an experienced crew, so please don’t worry too much Ms Thomas. I have your phone number now, and I promise I’ll call you back the minute I hear anything more.’
The Backpacking Bride (The Backpacking Housewife, Book 3) Page 23