Date:     Thu, 22 Feb 2007

To:         touring@phred.org

From:    “Michael Ayers” <michael@terminalia.org>

Subject: Gondwana - The Most Annoying Ocean

Hi Phreds,

Two months was too much (two months between Stages, that is.)

When I first decided to commit to only crossing the oceans via sea transport in my early planning for the Tour, I knew that getting from Africa to South America was going to be very difficult. Then, way back when I was in Tibet, I learned that the only passenger-carrying ship on that route would be departing Africa on exactly the day that I thought would be the best for my schedule. Of course, I snapped up a cabin right away, and that became:

Plan A:

A ship called the Conti Malaga from Durban, South Africa, departing on November 15 02006, arriving in Rio de Janeiro eight days later.

Durban was not exactly where I wanted to end the African Stage, and eight days was perhaps a little too short for me to complete all of the work I do during the transfers. Also, with my delayed arrival in Africa, and the addition of Ethiopia to the route, it was going to be very tough for me to get to Durban in time. Nevertheless, this was a good option, and I had enjoyed not having to worry about the next crossing for several months.

Of course, all that changed about a month before the sailing when I learned that the Conti Malaga would not stop in Africa after all, and instead sail directly from its home port in Asia, to Brazil. At that point, obviously, all of my plans were thrown into chaos. I tried contacting the shipping line to see if they would take me on another ship on the same route that did not usually take passengers, but apparently all of their ships had stopped calling at African ports. Then, I offered to charter a boat, or even a helicopter, to take me out to the ship as it sailed past Africa, but, as you might expect, that idea was not well received.

There are five or six agents around the world that make bookings for container ships, and I have dealt with all of them. Most, however, are not particularly creative when it comes to arranging complicated plans in uncommon parts of the world. So, I was left to my own devices to search the ‘Net and come up with:

Plan B:

The MSC Geneva was due to sail from Cape Town on December 15, bound for Europe, but with a stop at Spain’s Canary Islands, off the coast of Morocco, nine days later, along the way. I would disembark there, and wait three or four days for another ship, the Cala Pintada to call, and board that one, bound for Rio, to arrive another eight days later.

This was probably the best possible situation, and I was very pleased when I had it all worked out and booked. Cape Town was where I really preferred to end the African Stage, and with an extra month, I now had time to get there and see all the parts of Southern Africa I had in my original plan.  Also, the longer journey would now be enough to let me accomplish everything I needed to do during the transfer, yet still get me to South America at a reasonable time, in the first week of January.

With that taken care of, I completed the rest of the Stage with a slightly more relaxed pace, which was nice. Of course, the string of bad luck that plagued any sort of plans, arrangements, or other logistical matters while I was in Africa continued, and, only three days before I arrived in Cape Town, I learned of the latest problem. Specifically, the Cala Pintada was no longer going to call the Canary Islands on its way south. I offered to fly to the mainland and join the Cala Pintada in Barcelona, its last port before crossing the Atlantic, but the agent would not book that for me, as they did not believe that I would be able to make the connection in time (as it turned out, they would have been right.) Not wanting to give up just yet, I tried to book the Barcelona to Rio sailing with another agent, and only then found out that the Cala Pintada would not have allowed me on board in any case, since, for some unexplained reason, they won’t take U.S. citizens on board (I was told that was due to “insurance reasons”, but I really doubt that.) I have no idea what would have happened had the Cala Pintada not cancelled the Canary Islands call and I was only told about that when I tried to board, though I can assume that considerable stress would have resulted. My bad luck still continued. As it was then too late to abandon the whole endeavor, I had no choice but to depart on the first leg of the crossing, and try to work something else out on the way, with the very real possibility that I would be effectively stranded on the Canary Islands.

It was very nice, for a change, to be able to ride into the city from which my ship was to depart. As well, the MSC Geneva, ended up being delayed by two days which gave me one extra, and greatly appreciated, day to finish the ride and one extra day to visit Cape Town. Boarding was easy and straightforward, the local shipping agent was quite helpful and, for once, the whole process didn’t feel rushed. The MSC Geneva was only 6 months old at the time, and was probably the nicest ship I have taken so far. I had been told that on newer ships, the accommodations are not as nice as they used to be, and that seemed to be correct based on my previous sailings. However, that did not seem to be the case with this ship, as everything was quite nice. My cabin was probably the best I have had and there was, for once, a well-equipped recreation room, with some new exercise machines, a jacuzzi, and even a sauna. Unfortunately, though I felt very good physically at the end of the Stage, it had still been a long haul, and I spent most of my time relaxing and never got around to using any of that, a fact that I now regret. Like the previous ships, the officers were mostly Germans, and the crew was from the Philippines.  However, this time there was one female officer on board, a pleasant lady from Finland who spoke English well, and didn’t seem to mind spending six months of every year alone with a bunch of sailors.

The other big difference about this voyage compared to the three previous ones was that for the first time I was not the only passenger on board.  The other one was a nice man from the UK, who had made a visit to South Africa, sailing down and back on container ships. The chance to have several pleasant conversations was a nice chance of pace, and made the trip seem to pass more quickly. In fact, the whole voyage seemed to pass rather quickly. Without any intermediate ports of call, and mostly the chilly waters of the south Atlantic, which were rather devoid of marine life, to cross, there wasn’t too much to occupy our attentions, most of the time, that is.

However, this ended up being the most festive of all my sea voyages. Along the way one of the crew had a birthday and I learned that traditionally, whoever’s birthday it is gets the task of serving drinks to the rest of the crew while they all engage in a big party. That, as usual, revolved almost exclusively around the always amusing activity of karaoke. Listening to Filipino sailors sing classics by such luminaries as The Beatles, The Stones, and Englebert Humperdink, is an experience that gets old after about, oh, five minutes. Also, because of our late sailing date we had the chance to spend Christmas on board. The previous year I spent the Holiday alone in Kratie, Cambodia, which was quite nice, but it was also nice to have some company this time around. The ship’s cooks really outdid themselves with the big dinner they put out for us. A roast pig, beef Wellington, and a turkey were all excellently prepared, complete with all the trimmings. The turkey tasted so good that I could have eaten the whole bird myself. Afterwards, the crew all received a gift bag containing chocolates, candy, and nuts, and, to my surprise, there was a bag for the passengers as well! Later, more karaoke was in store, but overall the whole evening was much appreciated. As soon as that sailing was complete, however, things settled down to more dreary routine.

While on board, I spent considerable time studying my maps and the calendar in order to work out what to do next. The least expensive, though still very costly, option would have been to fly to mainland Europe, then take one of the main flights to South America, probably to Sao Paulo.  However, the total flying distance involved with that would have been considerably longer than if I had flown directly to Brazil from South Africa and, considering how much trouble and expense I had already incurred to avoid long flights, I just couldn’t stomach doing that. The only semi-direct, and reasonably short air option was to fly from the Canary Islands to the Cape Verde Islands, in the Atlantic off the coast of Guinea, then connect to the northeastern Brazilian city of Fortaleza.  However, my last big schedule concern is reaching Tierra del Fuego, at the southern tip of the continent, before the weather turns. Had Plan A worked out it wouldn’t have been a problem, and Plan B would have been ok too.  However, it would have taken at least three months to ride from Fortaleza to Tierra del Fuego, and even starting in early January, as I would done if flying to Fortaleza, I would have arrived too late. That left only:

Plan C:

Taking the MSC Geneva to the Canary Islands, then catching another ship, the Repubblica Argentina, from mainland Spain to Buenos Aires, Argentina, for a voyage of an additional 26 days (which actually turned out to be 29).

In spite of the long sailing time, starting in Buenos Aires would get me to Tierra del Fuego one month earlier than flying to Fortaleza would have.  Though I would have much rather started earlier, this option would only involve one fairly short flight, which was much more palatable to my tastes, and would still allow a reasonable, though probably chilly, schedule for the start of the Stage. So, while still onboard the MSC Geneva, I finalized my arrangements for Plan C.

Unfortunately, that also meant that I had to cool my heels for what turned out to be two weeks between sailings. Las Palmas, on Gran Canaria, the capital of the islands, was a pleasant town, though I really didn't take advantage of my stay at all. I really should have done some cycling around the island while there, and there appeared to be some nice routes, but since I had not yet overhauled the bike, I never got myself to do that, another thing I now regret. The port in Spain where I was to board the Repubblica Argentina was Bilbao, in the Basque region. The air transfer there was straightforward, but still a big hassle. The town was quite nice and I found a good place to stay in the Old City, but apart from finding food each day and checking up on the ship’s arrival, I didn’t do very much, once again. That was made worse by the fact that the ship kept getting delayed, and so there was just that much more time to do nothing.  It would have been much better for me if I had used the two weeks between sailings to keep up my fitness, at least a little, but I just couldn’t get myself to do that.

Finally, the Repubblica Argentina arrived and I made my way on board. This ship was different from all the others in many ways. Primarily, it was not a true container ship but sort of a hybrid, mostly roll-on/roll-off vehicle transport ship that also carried a small number of containers.  When I saw that, my first thought was that the port operations would be very slow, and that indeed turned out to be the case. The ship was also quite a bit older than the others, and quite honestly, a little dingy, with the smallest cabin I’ve had so far, (though it was perfectly adequate for my needs.) Another difference was that the ship was operated by the Grimaldi Lines, an Italian company. In this case, the entire crew was from Italy, and only the officers spoke much English. So compared to the Filipino or Kiribati sailors on the other ships, it was harder to converse with the crew. That also meant that exclusively Italian meals were served.  I, rather naively, expected that to mean pasta and pizza every day.  Instead, the two main meals each day (there was only a minimal breakfast) were primarily Neapolitan cuisine, each with three courses, the first pasta or rice, then seafood, and then meat, with fresh fruit for desert.  It was usually rather good, though I never realized that the Italians had such a taste for cephalopods.

The most notable difference between the Repubblica Argentina and the others ships that I’d used was that, while some container ships take a few passengers primarily to provide company and break the monotony for their crews, the Grimaldi ships make an effort to carry a number of passengers.  This time, there were nine in total. The other eight were all Europeans, five from France, two Germans, and one from the Netherlands. A few spoke some English, though some did not, and while it was nice to have the company, I occasionally felt out of the loop. That also made me realize a rather unusual situation. In the early days of the Tour, I noticed that my ability to pick up words and phrases in new languages was improving. Now, after moving in and out of so many linguistic zones, I think it’s getting worse. I seem to be frequently jumbling up words from different languages, which is often a bit embarrassing. Hopefully, in South America, where, with the notable exception of Brazil and to a lesser extent the indigenous areas in the Andes, I will only need to concentrate on Spanish.

Most of the other passengers were just at the very beginning of long trips, and I, now on the downhill side of mine, felt like the wise old veteran at times. However, most of them were traveling in motor vehicles which they brought on the ship with them, so I was probably not able to pass on much useful advice. Nevertheless, it was a nice change of pace to have more company along the way. The reason that this voyage was supposed to last for a very long 26 days was that there were many scheduled ports of call before our arrival in Buenos Aires, five in Africa, and five more in South America (though, for some reason, passengers were not allowed to end their journeys at any of those, only at Buenos Aires.) Once finally underway again, it was a big relief to know that once, and for all, this most annoying crossing would eventually be complete, though I certainly felt somewhat impatient and anxious to get on with the next Stage. After only a few days, I passed my 43^rd birthday, the second I have had since the Tour began (spending my entire 42^nd year in other parts of the world gave me a real understanding of Life, the Universe, and Everything). However, this time I declined to mention that fact to anyone on the ship in order to avoid spending an evening serving drinks to the whole ship.

The first port in Africa was Casablanca, in Morocco, and I was the only passenger who opted to pay the “new” visa fee in order to go ashore. I liked the town quite a bit, with its blend of Middle Eastern and European characters, and I had a good time strolling around the Casabah. The next port was Dakar, Senegal, and our arrival late in the afternoon meant that there was not really enough time to do very much sightseeing, but it was nice to go into town anyway, if only to walk around for a while, pick up some snacks to bring back to the ship, and have some non-Italian food for a change. After another short sail, was Banjul, the capital of The Gambia.  We had essentially a full day there, and it was a nice change of scene to visit the town, which had a much more African feel than the others. Up next was Conakry, the capital of Guinea. Conakry has a bad reputation for security among seamen, and the chief engineer on the MSC Geneva told a story, where several years earlier he was on a ship that was so concerned about break-ins that its captain has the doors to the ship welded closed for the duration of their call. Unfortunately, there were general strikes and a lot of civil unrest going on just prior to our arrival, as the population of Guinea is trying to remove its old, corrupt president.  Everything was calm the day we were there, however, the Captain was too worried, and we were not allowed to go on shore. That was disappointing, since it looked like an interesting place to me. There was also no shore leave at the final African port, Freetown, Sierra Leone. That was due to a supposedly short stay in port, which turned out to be rather long one, and not due to the fact that Sierra Leone is only a few years past a bloody civil war, one largely fuelled by conflict diamonds. I was also interested in going ashore there, and was disappointed once again. However, after we cast off from the docks in Freetown, the Repubblica Argentina finally turned west and set out across the Atlantic. It took much, much longer than I expected, but I was finally on my way “Out of Africa.”

Once we were in the middle of the Atlantic two situations became known that underscored the crew’s worries about security. Sometime, probably while the ship was in Freetown, someone broke into the camper owned by the two German passengers and made off with a lot of useless junk, and a big wad of cash. A few days later most of the useless junk was found stashed in a corner of the cargo hold, except for a pair of sunglasses, a pair of shoes, two flashlights, and the cash, of course. The couple who lost their belongings had quite a run of bad luck during the voyage, and I hope that things turned around for them later on. The second incident became apparent shortly after, when the crew discovered a stow-away hiding in the cargo hold (know in Italian as a “clandestine”.) He was a 16-year old boy from Conakry, and was undoubtedly trying to get to Europe. I believe he was quite shocked when he learned that the ship was heading for Brazil instead. After he was discovered, he was locked in a cabin for the rest of the way to South America, given a t-shirt to wear (he did not have one of his own) and, presumably fed from time to time. The rest of the way across was less eventful, though there was more marine life to see than on any previous voyage. No whales, but many dolphins, a big sea turtle, and my favorite, a group of masked boobies, which spent a day circling the ship preying on the many flying fish scared out of the water by the ships bow wave.

Five days at sea brought us to land once again, and I finally was able to cast my eyes on South America, at the port of Vitoria, Brazil. However, we were forced to anchor offshore for almost an entire day while the authorities decided what to do with our clandestine (apparently he was simply turned over to the Brazilian police, after that we have no idea what happened to him.) There was a chance to go ashore there, once we finally arrived, but the weather was a little drizzly, so I didn’t do much more than walk around a little, get a haircut, visit a supermarket, and sample some Brazilian cuisine. The next port was Rio, where I was supposed to arrive, had either Plans A or B worked out. There was only a short time available there, but I wanted to go ashore anyway since I was thinking about coming back later on, and I wanted to see if that looked like a good idea. Normally I don’t like to include big cites to my route for obvious reasons, but Rio is Rio, so I thought I might make an exception. As it turned out, I was pleasantly surprised and thought the city was rather nice, so I think I will try to return later. The next port was Santos, near Sao Paulo, which was rather unremarkable, but nice enough to stretch my legs in. Last in Brazil was Rio Grande, but we were only there during the night, so there was no chance to go ashore.

Finally, we arrived in Argentina, but in a typically teasing fashion not in Buenos Aires, but first in Zarate, a port far inland from Buenos Aires, a slow haul up the Parana River. It was evening when we arrived there, but I went ashore anyway to get some Pesos, and to check out Argentina. It was a long walk from the port to the town and for a long while the town seemed like not much at all. However, eventually I made it to the centro which was surprisingly alive and active and a nice place to stroll around. If the rest of Argentina is like that, I will have a great time.

However, I can’t get past the ominous feeling that I am about to suffer from the excessive length of this crossing, and my unfortunately sedentary behavior during that time. When transferring from Asia to Africa, I was completely exhausted at the start of the transfer, but the one month in transit proved to be just long enough for me to recover, and when I began again in Africa I felt great. This time, I was in excellent condition when I arrived in Cape Town, and felt ok for the next few weeks. However, as the second month began, I could feel myself rapidly falling out of shape.  Unfortunately, once onboard the Repubblica Argentina there was not much that I could do about it. The exercise room was non-functional, and, unlike the other ships where, at least, my cabin was six stories above the mess hall, resulting in several trips up and down the stairs each day, I only had the ten-meter walk down the hall for activity. By the time we hit Brazil, I could tell that I was completely out of it. I felt cranky, stiff, fat, and soft. It’s amazing just how fast that can happen. I know that once I get started riding again, I can reverse that situation fairly quickly, but I am expecting considerable anguish in the process.

Oh well, I am finally in South America, better late than never, and there are so many amazing things here that I can’t wait to get started. Not a moment too soon!

Thanks,

Mike

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The Tour of Gondwana

May 02005 - ???

http://www.terminalia.org/tour