Transcription of an MP3 Audio Diary, kept between Friday January 11th

and Saturday March 15th 2008. Part Three.

Thursday, 24th January

It's the morning of the 24th, the sea is like a mill-pond, we're doing a steady 16
knots, the sun is still behind a kind of haze, although it's not orange any more.
Later today we'll reach the latitudes of Sierra Leone, so there shouldn't be
anything coming off the desert any more. It's 28C in the shade and there's a
chance that they'll fill the swimming pool after the sun catches our starboard
side.
One strange phenomenon: this morning, for the first time, I had a touch of
queasiness. As I said, it's like a mill-pond out there. It's almost as if my
stomach-inner ear arrangement feels that it should be reacting to something,
but it can't work out what ! It's not nausea, just something vaguely in the
background. Yet when it was rough, I had a great time, I really enjoyed that.
Nice lunch and my queasy feeling from this morning has all but disappeared:
boiled beef with horse-radish sauce, boiled potatoes and carrots & peas,
followed by fruit salad with vanilla & chocolate ice cream. And I've learned the
Polish for 'bon appetit': phonetically: smʌtʃ neɪgəʊ.
When I said I'd enjoyed lunch, the captain made a wry observation of the Polish
cooks he had had. When they cook cauliflower, it's always a huge lumpy head
of cauliflower as a sort of centre-piece of the meal, garnished with 2 fried eggs
and mashed potatoes.

Kristian and the 3rd Mate are going to run a check on the 32-seater lifeboat in
ten minutes, and have invited me to 'observe'. As my jetsam-watching has
been remarkably unproductive, a couple of hours of that old British pastime
(Watching Other People Work) will fill out the afternoon quite nicely; I'd better
get down to B and/or C Deck, as it's 13:55.

Well, they were both down there working, but unfortunately they couldn't find
the right key to open the life-boat... so, just supposing something catastrophic
happened now, we'd be in a right mess ! I don't think the lock was full of rust
or salt, they just had the wrong key. However, while Kristian had been busying
himself with that, the 3rd mate had filled the swimming pool with 25.6C sea-
water, so I climbed as fast as my little legs would carry me back to my cabin, to
prepare for the first plunge of the year... though I will still take the camera in
case they do find the key.

This evening, Thursday, we had (excellent) fish and chips for dinner. And the
cook made English chips. The captain had to agree that they were particularly
good, but insisted it was because they weren't English potatoes !

I pointed out that no-one had briefed me on the ship's safety procedure. As we
have lifeboat drill on Saturday (26th) and there will also be a fire drill, we have
arranged that Kristian will give me a tour of the necessary after breakfast
tomorrow; I trust nothing untoward will happen in the meantime !

Friday, 25th January

At breakfast, the 3rd mate brought the updated schedule: we are now due in
Cape Town sometime on 3rd February, although Captain Böckmann says that it's
not infrequent that they have to sit things out overnight in Table Bay. I shall
call home tonight and then call Charles & Wynne and possibly sister Jenetta &
her son Stuart at the weekend, to find out how much time he can afford to
spend as my chauffeur or guide... and from where to where. It's then a matter
of juggling the train and bus timetables in order to spend as much time with
Charles & Wynne as possible.
I asked the captain about rejoining the Grey Fox in Durban, as it would be so
much more convenient, but, sadly, that's not possible. They will be replacing
the radar installation during their time in South Africa and will need my cabin
for the extra crew. However, I have his mobile number and he has mine, so if
there's any change we shall have direct contact, plus the added backup of the
Agents in Cape Town: King & Sons.

The chief engineer said that the sea temperature this morning was 28.5C,
which is warmer than the surrounding air. We're still just north of the equator,
so I suppose it must be the beginning of some season or other: do they have
summer-spring-summer-autumn at the equator ? Or summer-winter-summer-
winter ?
The pool has been emptied, so it should be even warmer when they fill it today.
But the chief engineer was not so happy. A sea temperature of 28.5C has
meant an engine room temperature of 45C+. They have to bear it. Luckily (for
them) we shall hit a cold water current in a couple of days, which is enough to
help bring the engine room down to a more liveable 38-40C.

I'm busy trying to catch up on this log before my 09:00 rendezvous with
Kristian for Fire & Lifeboat instruction. The welcome of the pool yesterday also
pointed up the warmer daylight hours during which I am loath to put pen to
paper, finger to keyboard or mouth to digital MP3 recorder. I hope they still fill
the pool when the sea temperature has dropped but when the air temperature
continues to rise. We have to be ready for some nights of 35C+, even with the
air-conditioning on.
At 7pm we are off the frontier between Liberia and Côte d'Ivoire: way, way off !
We're over 500 N miles out to sea. The First Mate says that's the best place to
be and tells me about what happened when he was on the cross-Atlantic run
from Brazil to Nigeria and Liberia.
There had been a revolt or putsch or rigged election (he doesn't remember
which) in 1994 or 1995. Ashore, the international merchantmen were under
protection of the military... while the off-duty military removed everything that
wasn't nailed down. While the guards were turning a blind eye, he had his
watch, money and shirt removed or confiscated. Even after several similar
incidents, he was always surprised at how the military and police behaved
when mob rule took over: in almost every case they used their uniforms,
weapons and 'position' in society to systematically break all of the laws they
had sworn to uphold. He thinks we in the West have much to learn from the
oriental mind, when it comes to self-control and self-respect.

I spoke to Rahel and Manoel this evening. Hannah is in Strasbourg at the

theatre, while David has a scout camp this weekend. Manoel has an important
handball match tomorrow, but several key players are not available.
Aboard, we put the clocks forward an hour tonight... but breakfast will be at
08:00. Tomorrow we have the Life-boat drill at 13:00 and a barbecue at
18:00...

Saturday, 26th January

Breakfast with the captain from 08:00 until 09:50. Far-ranging discussion about
imports & exports, with the need to make changes to the rules, sooner rather
than later. The captain very rightly cited the problems of 'dumping', where
prices can put local produce out of business. The US carry a very moralistic
banner into battle, but in my field particularly they have very little leeway. The
movie industry is a multi-billion dollar business. Once a US film has covered its
costs in the domestic market, profit from overseas sales is pure profit, and
rental prices are adjusted to what any new market will pay or can afford. This
means that a blockbuster movie can be sold to a broadcaster with relatively
few viewers (i.e. Switzerland) for as little as €5,000 an hour, or even less,
whereas British TV might pay over €1m for the same film, because we share
the same general (meagre) cultural background and common language.
Hollywood is first and foremost business, and cut-throat enough that prices to
France, for instance, are kept to such a low level that French TV or cinema
companies are hard-pressed to produce programmes with the same production
values (although some of us might say 'lack of production values') in order to
compete in their own market. And if they can't compete in their own market,
they have very little chance of competing outside the French-speaking world,
and none at all in the appetising US market. In the UK we view the situation
rather differently and are often at a loss to wonder what those Johnny-
foreigners are complaining about. And nowadays my old RADA classmates
David Warner, John Hurt and Ian McShane look on Hollywood as an essential
source of income, while American stars look on London's West End as a place
where they get some real acting experience.
The US government and industry would argue that what they do with films
bears little resemblance to what they are trying to stop emerging countries
from doing with their produce, but when you think about it carefully, you see
that there is a lot in common and IF the multinationals prevail, it is only
because we minnows still subscribe to the adage: 'Might IS Right'.

I went up to the bridge at 09:55 and Kristian said: “You were not in your cabin”.
Apparently I hadn't done anything wrong, but I HAD missed crossing the line at
about 9 o'clock... AND a school of dolphins that had accompanied us for a
quarter of an hour; I'm still limited to those strange flying fish, with only an
apple and a dubious kitchen chair as results of my jetsam-watching. Crossing
the equator was just a piece of information; from my point of view, not as
important as the missed opportunity of seeing the dolphins.
60 years ago, 'Crossing the Line' was a much grander affair: lots of fun with
shaving cream, coconut shell bikinis for Neptune's assistants, and Neptune
himself doing the full John the Baptist. I still have a certificate for each crossing
in 1948, together with a printed menu for the Children's Tea Party. Today, I'd
have preferred the dolphins.

All the orange sand has been washed away from the white paint-work; attuning
your ears, you become aware of several sounds that are continuous, with slight
variations: the throb of the engines and the turn of the single propellor, the
gentle rattle of objects that are not locked down, the creak of woodwork under
stress and the more eerie noise of metal buckling and straightening, liquid
splashing occasionally in the air-conditioning and the noise of jets of fresh
water from various parts of the ship, occasionally accompanied by an
unintelligible human voice.

At 13:00 we have fire and life-boat drill. We have to dress completely, proper
shoes, as many layers of clothing as possible and carry the life-jacket and hard
hat which will go under our bent legs. (The 'total immersion' suit is something
we have to study, but not put on: it's rather like a diver's wet suit). We need to
drink and eat as much as possible before we get into the life-boat. Apparently
on the last trip some Philippino sailors arrived with everything they hoped to
save, including the kitchen sink; we've been told to grab documents and cash
(although the captain has my Swiss passport). What do I have that's non-
replaceable ? Really there's only this journal and the photos that I've taken on
the trip. Everything else is just 'property'. So I've backed up the photos and
text onto a USB key that might survive in a pocket somewhere.
I've no idea how long the drill will last (if it's done thoroughly, it could take 2
hours); what I DO know from yesterday's exercise is that it will be VERY hot
inside the life-boat. We would not be allowed to drink in the first 24hrs, then
rationing begins. If I got it right, we start off with 1 decilitre (100cc/ml) a day
and by day 10 are down to a quick suck on a damp rag. Day 10 ? Well, in
24hrs or so we will be over 1,000 miles from the closest land...
But when it's all over, I intend to ask a question that I wanted to ask 60 years
ago (but was told to “Shush. They're busy. Don't ask stupid questions”). I can
now think of 2 or 3 answers to my question, but even in 2008 there's a little
boy inside me who still wants to know : “Why are we doing it now when the
weather's fine and there's no danger ? Wouldn't it have made more sense
before we went into the Bay of Biscay when everybody thought we were going
to sink ?” We shall see.

It's 13:26 and I've just come back to my chambers from the muster point on B
Deck. They've finished with me, but the rest of the crew are now going through
their fire drill, where each of them has a specific job to do. In case of
abandoning ship using the additional life-rafts and 6-seater life-boat, the
steward and I have to put ourselves at the disposal of the cook and load what
provisions, water etc are possible. But to go back through the last half hour...

I tried to play it by the book and do what I would have done, had the call been
real. So, presuming there was an emergency, I changed out of shorts, T-shirt
and sandals into thick cotton trousers, socks & shoes, shirt, pullover and multi-
pocketed Chinese hunting/fishing jacket. Filled the pockets with what I
perceived to be essentials: cholesterol-management pills for 2 weeks, aspirin,
painkillers including Colchicine against a gout attack (!), 2 Swiss army knives, a
torch, chewing gum, 2 packets of spelt biscuits with thyme & sea salt. Round
my neck I hung 2 pairs of cheapo-but-robust reading and distance glasses
(leaving my lovely Vietnamese progressives in the cabin) and one of the MP3
recorders that I'd brought with me. I slipped two USB keys with last night's
back-up of this diary and my on-board photos into two of the Chinese pockets.
Then, together with my life-jacket and hard hat I took a full bottle of water for
general use down to the 32-seater lifeboat.
The captain wasn't there, but whether he was intending to follow the rule of the
sea and go down with his sinking ship (Kristian says the captain's never been
inside the life-boat) or was simply staying on the bridge with the 2nd officer for
as long as possible, I don't know, but as the cook was also missing, Darek the
steward looked after me and got me into line.
There is no ship's cat, but the tomcat smell as we climbed down into the life-
boat was pretty dreadful. When you look at the photos, you'll see that the life-
boat is on a chute or ramp which is the hypotenuse of a 3, 4, 5 triangle; apart
from the driver, everyone is seated facing aft. It's 7.40m long, 2.66m wide and
1.07m high, but that's not as bad as it sounds, because you're walking
'downhill' going into the life-boat. You have to wriggle into the seat and, first
thing to do, attach your seat-belt and adjust it to be really tight. Your life-jacket
and hard hat go under your thighs and the back of your knees, and your head
should fit into the neck-supports as protection against shock when we land in
the sea from a 25m dive. The steward is expected to make sure the passenger
is safe before putting on his own seat-belt. The dark orange life-boat was hot
before the crew went inside; with the added body heat, it was very quickly like
a sauna. I'd followed instructions about wearing extra clothes, but it seems I
was the only one. Anyway, it was incredibly hot. I had a window seat, or would
have had, had there been any windows, and my space for the next 2, 5, 10+
days was already growing smaller and oppressive. The chief gave a long and
obviously detailed explanation and even answered questions, but everything
was in Polish. Darek did a good job of listening and translating the gist of what
was said, but for a moment or two there I felt very cut off and alone. Then we
tried the engine ! It didn't take too much imagination to think “Chocks Away!”
and wonder if I'd really made the best choices for a survival kit during my last
few minutes in my cabin.
I was the last one out of our landing capsule; wiser to wait, rather than join the
muscled scramble for the hatch.
Now I've transcribed that onto my iBook G4, I think I'll go for a quiet swim...

Nice swim, an unexpected hum of voices from A Deck below me. Nosey goes
for a look-see... There is a suckling pig roasting on an open barbecue ! That I
certainly don't remember from 1948.
Some of the off-duty crew and the sailor's wife are laying a long table and there
is a sign 'Engine Pub' over to port, with potted plants and succulents growing
on a windowsill inside the engineers' day room. A barbecue. But are we
supposed to dress for the occasion ? I'd better go and ask Darek.
False alarm. All that was needed was a clean T-shirt. I planted my offering of
two bottles of vodka on the tables, took a few photos, then went to cook my
pork chop and tenderloin steak. Everyone seems to have their own way of
BBQing meat and this crowd is no exception. I managed to get my two pieces
cooked the way I like without getting involved in the general arguments and
helped myself to vegetables. Spring onions chopped together with the same
quantity of a very mild crumbly cheese, white & brown beans in lemon and oil
and... fresh fruit salad... as a vegetable ! Very nice indeed.
We sat and talked after the meal and, when the chief came off watch at 20:00,
helped ourselves to a portion of suckling pig and warm baguettes. One of the
oilers, the one married to the lady who is travelling, has been on board since
the ship was commissioned; this afternoon and evening he took care of 'oiling'
the suckling pig.

The captain said he was 'going home' some time ago and I have just wished
the rest of the crew a pleasant night. Kristian's 3rd BBQ is the first one without
rain. The evening could only be called balmy: but it's still hard to come to
terms with being on the equator and the temperature being well below 30.
However, during my second swim this afternoon I managed to burn my nose
and cheekbones, so I'll have to take more care tomorrow.

Sunday, 27th January

09:45 on the bridge. We're 950+ Nautical miles from land, which is probably
the Congo. The day started out clear, but we now have a cloud covering.
Nevertheless they'll fill the pool after their coffee break at 10:00. A swim
without sun would be just what the doctor ordered: my face is still rather red,
so I intend to play safe today. It's a good opportunity to do my laundry. I
intend to wash the heavy winter clothes that I shall leave on board, ready for
re-entry. Though my big denim jacket will have to wait until I get back to
Bussigny, as it's far too heavy and bulky for the washing machine. I've
discovered there is another machine below the poop deck for the crew, but it's
the same size as the captain's machine, so I'll just have to leave the jacket. It
will be a good opportunity to start Nadine Gordimer's “Get A Life”.
So basically a day inside, listening to recordings and re-viewing 'The History
Boys'. Then I have to call my (half)sister Jenetta this afternoon/evening. The
phone link is excellent, but the problem of delay associated with umpteen lines
going down one piece of cable somewhere is exaggerated, meaning that it's
better to leave a tiny pause between answer and reply, which would make a 3-
way conversation between Charles, Wynne and myself, all 3 of us needing ear-
trumpets, a great way of using up my phone card without really communicating
anything. So it will have to be Jenetta in Johannesburg, and possibly my
nephew Stuart (who I've never met).
Lunch started off with a new old friend, first met in Budapest. A cold soup
made with sour cherries. Today's Polish version incorporated additional pasta.
I've only cooked it once at home (minus the pasta), when the reaction from the
kids was consistent: sorry, you must be joking, THAT's not a soup. But if I'd
served it as a dessert I'm sure two of the three would have eaten it and
probably enjoyed it.

The list of crew members has been changed ! Not that we've changed any
crew, simply that the list on the board was that from the previous trip. It has
now been updated and I learn that Darek is actually named Dariusz. He says
that's too posh. He also says the crew thanked me for the 2 bottles of Finlandia
Vodka I gave them for the barbecue last night and although none of them said
anything to me at the time, today two or three have exchanged more than the
usual few words of greeting.
When I went up to the bridge after lunch, I gave a copy of 'Mr Bean's Ultimate
Catastrophe Movie' to the 2nd mate, who seems to be the general organiser for
the crew. It was the only DVD that I found with Polish subtitles. I'll take the
Swiss chocolates (that I brought from home and popped into my fridge when I
came aboard in Antwerp) down to the crew's mess at dinnertime: with their air
conditioning on full blast, the chocolates shouldn't melt too quickly.
Posh... I still think the etymological definition that has become folklore (Posh
Out Starboard Home on one's Passage to India) is much more apt than any
other, because it so defines those (often nouveau riche and nearly always
social misfits in British provincial society) who made our Umpire the jewel in
the crown... Owzat'agen ?
The sun is out... and I have an hour to kill before my appointment with the
electrician to change one of the bedside lights in my chamber. It's much too
nice not to swim, so how to proceed ? I never wear hats and yet I put a
'Wrangler' cap in my backpack. Before leaving home, I went to my favourite
barber in Lausanne and told him to cut my hair in such a way that I wouldn't
need another trim until I arrived back in March. Naturally enough it was very
short and he also went to work with the thinning scissors. So, as we had been
having cold weather, I thought I ought to cover my bonce and not tempt fate. I
didn't need the cap before, but it came in really handy today. In spite of the
fact that it ought to be worn back-to-front like a film director from the 1920s, its
peak protected my beak and burnt cheekbones, as the sun was almost
overhead mid-afternoon at the equator. So I swam as much as I wanted before
showering down and dressing for Sunday dinner: orange shorts and orange T-
shirt with 'ITALIA' across the chest. I also took the Swiss chocolates that I'd
brought for the crew.
The captain, filtering news from DeutcheWelle, talked again about the changes
that are being called for in the United States and elsewhere, but as I only have
his distillation of what is happening, I have nothing to compare it with.
News reporting...
When I did the 30min 'News in English' for Canale 48 in Florence in the mid and
late 70s, I never reported JUST what I had gleaned from the BBC (although I
firmly believed that to be my best source for objective news). The 'Daily
American' newspaper carried reams of Voice of America and NBC transcripts
and the RAI's transmissions had all been 'accepted' by whichever political party
was in their driving seat, leading to often wildly differing versions from the
socialists, the Christian Democrats and the Communists. I also ploughed
through Le Monde and those essential oracles: Gazzetto dello Sport, Corriere
dello Sport and Tutto Sport, which have nothing whatsoever in common with
the UK's 'The Daily Sport'. As a result, we sometimes had news far ahead of
other local sources and led with a few minor Italian scoops. Listening and
assimilating. Listening and drawing opinions. Listening and forming
prejudices. Only partially listening and reinforcing those prejudices...
Listening to these seamen who have sailed into and out of dozens of countries
and ports around the world, sometimes in peacetime, sometimes during war or
revolution, sometimes immediately after a terrifying natural disaster,
sometimes in the aftermath of a personal disaster, you realise that all
generalisations are indeed lies, but that generalisations are the necessary
means to help decrypt the minutiae of countless everyday happenings, some
banal, others earth-shaking, leaving a baggage of prejudice that is permeable
in only one direction, inflating the bladderwort until it is unsinkable. It's a
survival kit.

Monday, 28th January

We're on the same parallel as Ascension Island, but a thousand miles to the
east.

In 1948 the most exciting event at Ascension was the diving. Not men in thick
grey rubber and glass portholes on their helmets, but young children probably
older than me, but no taller. They climbed up the Winchester Castle and
mimed & shouted unintelligibly what they intended to do. All the passengers
had to do was throw money. Into the sea. Some of the divers were as keen on
bartering as the young male passengers were who were trying to impress the
girls, and haggling sometimes became quite heated. But in the end 'an
additional sum' changed hands and the young men or young women threw the
token silver coins over the side. One of the divers, quicker off the mark than
the others, caught one of the coins in mid-air, followed by the boos and catcalls
of the passengers, but once in the water, he duck-dived for other coins as they
rained down. Half an hour later he and his friends were back on deck, climbing
higher and higher, aiming to be King of the Castle and reap the just rewards.
When the officer in charge decided that enough was enough and told them it
was their last dive, they mysteriously produced baskets of home-made trinkets,
shell necklaces & bangles and proceeded to haggle once again.
I for one didn't understand why I wasn't allowed to go into the water too;
perhaps not off the deck railings, but they weren't any bigger than me, were
they, so why couldn't I try... ?
I forget how the afternoon finished: probably in a quickly organised game of
deck tennis. But I DO remember our arrival in St Helena some days later,
young boys clambering up onto the rails and, after one of them dived and
caught a coin in mid-air (the same boy, I was sure), I went round the dining
room that evening telling the grown-ups that we had a 'stayaway' on board
who could sleep in one of the spare bunks because he could obviously afford to
pay for his ticket. Or did he work for the Union Castle Line ? Nobody wanted to
answer me.

The 5th and final member of our breakfast/lunch/dinner table on the Grey Fox is
the Chief Engineer, who, because he always seems to be on call in order to
catch emergencies before they happen, rarely sits down to table with the rest
of us. He has a stubbly beard, a stammering stutter and staccato hand
movements, the air of a bespectacled university professor who can't quite
remember what it is that he's mislaid, a voice that flutes between breathy
hiccuping intakes and ultra-quiet phrases that occasionally produce a renegade
syllable that jumps out alarmingly two octaves lower than the rest of the
sentence... and a very subtle sense of humour, even in translation. The sea
temperature has now dropped (we've entered a cold current) and this has
helped cool down 'his' engine room to a mere 41C, but he says that's still too
hot to really welcome guests properly. I feel I shall only be able to go below
decks during the return trip...
Our ETA Walvis Bay is still 31/01/08, but the agents have warned that there
could be a delay. In addition, Cape Town is now pencilled in for the 4th & 5th, a
longer stop in Port Elizabeth and first arrival in Durban on the 10th. The Grey
Fox leaves Durban on 17th for Richards' Bay (18/02-21/02), then goes back to
Durban from the 21st to the 24th, arriving in Cape Town again on the afternoon
of the 26th, to leave South Africa on 27th February. The SA internal schedule
should remain fixed, but we might drop another day or even 2, depending on
the number of other vessels at the container piers and if any of them, with a
good following wind, have arrived ahead of us, in which case they may jump
the queue.

But it's looking as if I shall be able to spend a complete fortnight with the
family provided I can juggle the trains. The family all seem very worried about
me using Pietermaritzburg Station, which they assure me is no place to spend
any time at all; a shame, because it was where Ghandi was thrown out of 1st
Class and off the train, before he had his all-important meetings with Jan Smuts
(who -fame by association- came to S.A.C.S. to address the school while I was
there in 1948, just before or just after he was voted out as Prime Minister). But
as the only direct train Cape Town – PMZ arrives at 4.59am, I can't really ask
anyone to meet me at that time, so I will probably bow to their local knowledge
(or paranoia ?) and accept Jenetta's son Stuart's offer to come and pick me up
in Johannesburg and take me directly to Hilton by car. For the return journey,
I'm still secretly hoping that Captain Böckmann will be able to bend the rules a
little and let me rejoin the ship on its second stop-over in Durban on the 22nd;
otherwise I need to get to Cape Town by the 25th...

Tuesday, 29th January

We put our clocks forward again, so today, having got up very early, I decided
to make the most of it... Breakfast with the captain finished around 9 o'clock.
As usual we danced around the subject that has been disturbing him for some
time until we came back to: “Something's got to happen”.
The Chinese ? The USA's decision to.... what ? South African devolution or
secession ? Sarkozy's bid to take over Europe ? (all topics that could go in a
multitude of directions...).
No, it was Kenya. He filled me in with the latest state of play. His personal
certitude that the only way for change in Africa is for the people to change it
themselves without outside help, aid or intervention, had been re-ignited by
the news that two Germans had been killed in the general mayhem. And he
seemed to be taking it very personally. I think he thinks that all Africans view
every situation that touches more than their immediate family and neighbours
as tribal. If I extrapolate the idea, there's a certain logic: tribal warfare has
always been with us, producing a winner who dominates and a loser who is
vanquished, subservient, even slave-like. This rapidly becomes the status quo.
Whites have dominated black Africa for generations, so they accept whatever
the white bastards do because that's how things have been, are and will be.
Until the wheel has turned enough times and real change happens. But we
liberal whites truly believe that we will have caused this change and the black
man would be incapable of causing it himself and, god forbid, that we all sit
around and wait for that to happen, anyway. Yet black (South) Africans accept
and welcome the reconciliation process without the cry for vengeance that any
self-respecting white would demand. Perhaps the whites have not yet evolved
enough...

I was on the bridge for some time until the 'coffee break', after which the pool
was filled. Yesterday the water was up to my chin, but an hour later was half
way down my chest: Kristian doesn't have the wrist-power to turn off the
escape valve. But today it was over my head and I had the pool to myself for
the rest of the morning.
Lunch was soup with chopped spaghetti in it followed by boiled beef with a
light horse-radish sauce, carrots & peas and boiled potatoes: the first meal that
has been repeated since I came aboard... and just as nice as the first time.
Another interesting conversation, where the captain talked about the time
when he was 1st mate, before he got married for the first time at the age of 30.
We also discussed the differences in swimming training for his 6½yr-old
daughter now and our own time in the pool 50+ years ago... and what his near-
neighbours across the border in East Germany had to put up with to become
world-beaters. We moved on to old sailing ships and the possibility of using
sail commercially today. He said that the 'Flying P-liners' would be a good bet;
Germany had produced them from the 1880s until the end of the 1930s and
they were the closest thing to a production line of interchangeable ships you
could imagine, although they were not sister ships. They did 17½ knots, which
is more than we do and, because of standardisation, could be refurbished and
turned around very quickly. I told him about the Finnish converted 85yr-old
sailing trawler 'Estelle' that is used by European Fair Trade and Green
movements as a totem, schoolroom and conference centre at various European
'Millennium Goals' Actions and Initiatives, and that also carries cargo to and
from the 'south'. He thought it sounded like an expensive toy that crafty
would-be mariners had conned the EU into financing. He wanted to expand on
this idea, but was called away to discuss a 'potential management problem'
involving a crew-member.
As soon as I got away, I went to trawl through my laptop files and found some
info on the Estelle that I put onto a USB key for him.
Then I took Nadine Gordimer out to the pool. The deck was far too hot to stand
on, let alone lie, so I spent a great deal of the afternoon in the water, trundling
up and down my 9m x 2½m domain. I've become quite adept at not burning
myself and the Wrangler cap is a godsend when I'm facing the sun. We had
one solitary cloud that seemed to hover directly above us and gave me the
most refreshing, gentle shower possible, but within 5 minutes the sky was
cloudless again, our little cloud had seemingly given its all and promptly
evaporated. Soon I was miles away once again (as looking at the waves, flying
fish and Atlantic swell had taken away all sense of time), when the 2nd mate
came down to B Deck. He told me it was 17:50, although the sun was still high
in the sky. High but not burning: I could walk across the deck without problem.
I threw on some respectable clothes and ran down to dinner.

Kristian and the captain told me their impressions of Walvis Bay. The captain
mentioned Lüderitz (a town in German SW Africa named after Adolf Lüderitz, a
merchant from Bremen who bought the small port of Agua Pequena in 1883)
which is a few hundred miles down the coast, plus another German 'ghost'
town nearby with no population, but a constant flow of photographers. But
there is a closer German connection: a German town that is only 20 miles away
from Walvis Bay and which he would like to visit one day... So I provided an
official invitation, taxi and lunch included ! He was very enthusiastic, but will
have to check when we arrive in port. There is only one container wharf in
Walvis Bay, so we would have to anchor outside the harbour if the pier were
already occupied. At the moment, the schedule is 09:00 on the 31st until 06:00
on the 2nd. I asked him to try and be free on the 1st February for our joy-ride.
This 'German' town was co-founded by Dr Heinrich Göring, father of the
Reichsmarschall...
After dinner I copied the photos that I have taken while on board onto another
USB key to give to Kristian. He gave me a MACS company promotional video,
shot on the Grey Fox.

Wednesday, 30th January

It's been a grey morning, overcast with little indication of change. The Chief
engineer, who was in the Persian Gulf for 6 years, says he's cold. But then all
he has to do is go back into his engine room !
At lunch, Captain Böckmann asked me a few questions about the European Fair
Trade trawler Estelle, then launched into the background of his own expensive
hobby.
Since 1994 he has been one of the 580 club members who own an ice-breaker:
the 'Stettin' (ʃtɛˌti:n.) Bought as scrap from the German government, he and
his friends have renovated the coal-burning ship and now take out passengers
on the Elbe and onto the ocean from Hamburg. Fuel is a major concern, as the
Stettin gets through 1 ton of coal in 1 hour, at cruising speed; she carries
enough coal to sail day & night for 15 days. The ship's cook is the Chef from
the Ökö (owned by Hamburg Sud) executives' dining room. He told me an
anecdote about an injured passenger being treated by a sooty stoker – who
turned out to be an eminent surgeon in real life. Two of the 'club' members are
the ultra-competitive brothers who owned the Adidas and Puma factories. We
also discussed the effects of 'Brands' on young people, school uniforms,
corporal punishment and how people with power reinforce the concept of
hierarchy so that everyone takes it for granted.

The afternoon has been as grey as the morning, but the pool is still enticing.
Yesterday the deck was too hot to walk on, today someone has brought a
bench beside the pool, but the sun refuses to come out. Still, I let the wind dry
me and read a whole chapter of Nadine Gordimer's 'Get A Life'. It's quite hard
going, a bit like reading James Joyce, but it's rewarding in the end. However,
I've lost count of the number of sentences that I have re-read in order to make
sure that I've understood what she means: no (or idiosyncratic) punctuation;
stream of consciousness; subjective monologue skipping from 1st, to 3rd, to 2nd
person while she's writing from the point of view of just one character...

I've seen signs of life off to starboard: two dorsal fins about 30 metres away,
obviously not interested in any possible sustenance from the Grey Fox, as
they're swimming parallel to the ship towards each other; dolphins I think, but
they hardly broke the surface, so they could well be something else about a
metre and a half long. I also saw a solitary small black bird practising landings
and take-offs about 50 metres away. And today's flying fish are larger,
resembling much more the one that flew onto the deck and which Kristian
photographed on Grey Fox's last trip.
At dinnertime, the captain announced that the Walvis Bay agent had said we
would go straight to our berth without having to wait outside in the roads. But
he said it with a lopsided grin. He also said we would be leaving Walvis Bay on
the 1st and not the 2nd, so the Germantown visit might be off; on the way back
to Europe we are scheduled for a 12hr stopover, so that's not very promising
either.

I've just come down from the bridge, still in wonderment. Whales ! A whole
education department of whales ! Passing us by on the port side, so much in
sync that they looked like 20m-long sea snakes undulating through the swell
like 4 formation swimming teams. This really was one time when I wished I had
had my video camera with me. With its much more powerful optical zoom I
could perhaps have taken some better-than-average snaps. And of course to
follow them on video for a couple of hundred metres would have been
something else again...
Tomorrow we should see land for the first time for 12 days.