The Voyage of the Blackwattle - Journal

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Journal Entry No. 20, entered 6th June, 2004	Back to Journal Index

Contents DAY 414 - 2nd May, 2004 - AT LEISURE IN FANTASY LAND - HURGHADA DAY 416 - 4th May, 2004 - THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING IMPORTANT - STILL IN HURGHADA DAY 422, 10th May, 2004 - WEATHER WINDOW WHEN? DAY 429, 17th May, 2004 - HEADING FOR THE GULF OF SUEZ - ENDEAVOUR HARBOUR DAY 430, 18th May, 2004 - PRESSING FORWARD - EL TUR DAY 431, 19th May, 2004 - THE 40 KNOT STING IN THE TAIL - EL TUR TO SUEZ DAY 432, 20th May, 2004 - ARRIVAL AT PORT SUEZ DAY 433, 21st May, 2004 - EXPLORING SUEZ DAY 434, 22nd May, 2004 - FIRST HALF OF SUEZ CANAL - TO ISMIALIA DAY 436, 24th May, 2004 - WONDERFUL TOWN ISMIALIA DAY 437, 25th May, 2004 - SECOND HALF SUEZ CANAL - TO PORT SAID AND THE MEDITERRANEAN

DAY 414 , 2nd May, 2004 - AT LEISURE IN FANTASY LAND	Back to top
I am sitting, towel wrapped over swimmers, on a high swivel stool made of some kind of grass matting at the Ocean Bar of the Abu Tig marina. I am dripping a little salt water onto my feet and into the warm sand below me. The hot Egyptian sun does not reach in here, beneath the coconut palm roof. From where I sit, on the one side I can see, past the cold Stella beer in front of me, the soft colours of the marina with its sprouting masts glistening and tinkling in the dry sunlight. The boutiques are doing a good trade this morning, full of German tourists from the nearby hotels. "Eine gute preis (sp?)" they tell me, "Wunderbar. Und allus ist inclusiv!" On the other side I can see the buoyed entrance to the marina leading to a gleaming azure sea. It is stretching as usual to the inevitable haze which buries the horizon - an alluring invitation always to leave, to leave. Beside me here at the bar there is a handsome Egyptian, dark shining skin, smart Gucci shirt, eating a Caesar Salad and talking Arabic fast and loose on a cell phone. He's a little overweight and he's wheezing slightly. Brain fast body slow. The pale German girl behind the bar is conducting conversations in English, German and Arabic according to need. Her voice is lazy, laconic, drained of spirit, and I can't help wondering why. On the other side of Ted, (yes, he's here - but he didn't swim - chose a relaxed beer instead) there's a French mother and daughter having an argument about whether daughter should swim again or not. Later, we'll coast back around the marina on our bikes, probably stopping to chat three times with fellow yachties on the way. There's the delicious French baguette to collect from the Patisserie on the way, and maybe a stop at the Internet café. Tonight, we'll probably eat with some local teachers we've met at one of these outdoor restaurants, and some yachties, or maybe both. We'll drift home in the warm night air having solved the world's problems, and it starts all over again tomorrow. There's a decadence in the rhythm of the days, and a hedonism floating like a warm comforting cloud around us. I feel constantly surprised in the mornings to be here - that the dream didn't go away in the night. A universe away from the experiences of the trip up the Red Sea.
Day 414 - Leggoland	But this is not Egypt. Constructed on a deserted shoreline of coloured sands and rocky outcrops, this is a totally self contained village with a marina at one end of it. It's Leggoland built huge. The small winding alleys, with cute-as-a-button tiny shops, the elegant sidewalk restaurants, the inviting shore walks on different levels, all built in mix-n-match pastel colours.
Beyond the marina, romantic four bedroomed two garaged villas are surrounded by lush vegetation created with carted soil and desalinated water. They're all waterfront with panoramic views of the bays and coral cays, and they sell for a song (US$80,000). German, English and French tourists are everywhere, and many of them are investing. It's Disneyland, it's even Wonderland, but Egypt it's not. After the pain of repairing the davits, using Egyptian skills, we settle in to enjoy our stay, and then wait for a weather window. The davits are stronger, and better constructed, but the stainless steel work is ugly and roughly finished. Ted spends spare time with a borrowed grinder trying to smooth the surface. But paradise is only a breath of wind away from reality. The sand keeps blowing in with the gusts, and most mornings we find the deck once again covered Our next challenge is to go through the Straits of Gubal, where we hear the wind fairly whistles, then up the Gulf of Suez to burst into the Med. The Red Sea has been kind to us - scarcely a blow over 25 knots, wonderful experiences at every turn - we've enjoyed it all, even the setbacks. But I've had the Red Sea now. I have loved my experiences of it, memories will be bright forever. I can't understand why people fear it now. But it's done. I now just want to get out of here, out of the sand blowing, the sudden high winds which gust great skyborne waves of sand across the landscape. I yearn to see a natural green tree, the lushness of vegetation. Since January 26 this year, it has been all desert desert desert.

DAY 416, 4th May, 2004 - THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING IMPORTANT	Back to top
Ted is away in town and I am busy below when I hear the first shouting. Quickly on deck to see if our boat is anyway involved, I see that all the crews of the neighbouring boats are on their decks, watching. On the marina sidewalk there are crowds walking, and all eyes are turned in the same direction. In the middle of the marina waterway there is a large speedboat, with four people on board, three men and a woman. One of the men is punching another, who gradually sinks from sight being pummelled all the way - the aggressor is still punching the unseen body below. The other two people are trying to drag him off. He turns, furious, and punches wildly at the man and the woman. They cower back. I now notice that there are three small speedboats circling the larger one, but not approaching. "What's going on?" I query Derek on Tehani-li next to us. "It's crazy - I don't know why they don't just call the police. He has rammed another large motor cruiser over and over and put many holes in it. If they are below water we can't tell. He has damaged Sea Raven, but not badly apparently. I think he is drunk or crazy or something." (Sea Raven is one of the boats with us, travelling north as we are.) The boat is now careering all over the marina, in bursts of speed, forward, reverse, and is coming our way. One man is trying to hug the crazy one, who won't give up the controls of the boat. Every now and then he leans on the wheel, apparently crying. Then a fit of temper appears to strike him again, and he careers out of control fast ahead, threatening the nearest yachts. Next door to me, Derek from Tehani-li gets a boat hook to fend off if necessary, and next to him, Terry from Virgo's Child has an oar for the same reason. Once long ago I tried to fend off with a boat hook, and it merely bent the boat hook in half. I get a fender, and stand with the others on the bow of our boat. We wait while the circus continues, the speed boat beating a crazy path all over the marina, the three speed boats carefully trying to circle so as (we think) to prevent him doing any damage. We ask the question again and again. 'Why on earth don't they just call the police?" Finally it's our turn. As he approaches our boats, there are three of us standing shoulder to shoulder in defence of our boats. Derek with his boat hook, Terry with his oar, and me with my fender. Admittedly, Derek, standing tall on his bow, red hair aflame in the sun, would have looked threatening. The man is now screaming abuse at Derek, and the repeated question,. "Where are you from?" Derek (American) won't answer, and is now trying to placate "I don't want you to damage your boat, or mine." "Get out of my country you dirty Israeli." The screaming goes on, but one of the surrounding boats has sneaked a line onto a cleat, and is surreptitiously dragging the crazy boat away slowly. Crazy man's attention is drawn by something else, he speeds away, and we are safe for the minute. The circus lasts for another half-hour, and we watch fascinated. Finally, he roars out of the marina, and as he heads for open waters, we see a man dive overboard. But no one stops the boat from leaving. We learn later that the man being punched was a marina official, who boarded the vessel to try to take control, and he was also the one who dived overboard to prevent from being 'kidnapped' by the crazy boat. We also learn that the reason no police were called is that the perpetrator was the son of the former President Nasser, and too important for the police to be called. A few hours later, the owner of Sea Raven suffers a heart attack and finishes up for a couple of days in the El Gouna Hospital. The next day Nasser Junior apologies for having shamed his family, and promises to pay for the damage to Sea Raven, and to fund their return to England for further testing. This IS Egypt.

DAY 422, 10th May, 2004 - WEATHER WINDOW WHEN?	Back to top
Day 422 - still in Abu Tig Marina	The weather forecasts are amazingly inaccurate, and now we desperately put together all the forecasts - Grib Files, Buoyweather, Windguru, Navtex and the German Weather Net. .. If one can find any consistency between these, it's some cause for belief. Often they are diametrically opposed.
We wait for the promise that the constant strong winds will abate, day after day, the artificial pleasures of the marina wearing thin, the proximity of the other boats a little too close. Impatience is increasing, smiles getting a little droopy..

DAY 429, 17th May, 2004 - HEADING FOR THE GULF OF SUEZ - ENDEAVOUR HARBOUR	Back to top
Day 429 - A beautiful sight - not Ted, the dinghy back in place	We're finally away, we're promised a good long window of calmer weather, and we're taking it easy, as there are only 180 miles to cover. First day to Endeavour Harbour. Let's see what the wind is REALLY like out here It's wonderful to be on the sea again, the shine of the water, the open skies, far horizons the gentle lift and fall of the boat moving under us. Exhilaration, freedom.
Endeavour Harbour is lovely - fine beaches, clear aqua water, fish all around the boat, yellow desert islands around. What a pity not to stay and explore, but we must take the weather window while it is promised.

DAY 430, 18th May, 2004 - PRESSING FORWARD - EL TUR	Back to top
The wind is slightly up this morning, so we press on cautiously to another anchorage, El Tur, to spend our second night. It looks like a large commercial port, not worth exploring we think. We are now past the straits of Gubal, and into the Gulf of Suez proper. We've crossed the shipping lanes and the median strip between them to get here, and we've started to see oil rigs in the distance. On the evening sched we receive news from the German Weather Net(the most reliable of all) via Inike from Xenia that the wind will go up tomorrow night and remain high for five days. Whatever happened to that promised long window? If we go straight to Suez from here, it will be an overnight sail. Maybe we should have kept going tonight to try to beat the wind. It's too late, we're anchored and settled down, and maybe it won't be so bad. We'll start off early tomorrow and hope for the best - otherwise we could be stuck down here for four or five days. Surely the Red Sea won't sting us on our very last leg.

DAY 431, 19th May, 2004 - STING IN THE TAIL - EL TUR TO SUEZ	Back to top
The Gulf of Suez is narrowing, and we now have land on each side of us. There are high beautiful, but hazy mountains on both sides, an unusual thing after so long at sea. And now we're also surrounded by the weird shapes of hundreds of oil rigs. Some are like giant stick insects, crawling across the sea, others are more like dragons, even breathing fire at the sky. None are pretty, function being all and form obviously nothing in this expensive grab for oil. Some have multi-coloured box shaped bodies high in the air, splashes of red and yellow and pale blue, balanced on impossibly tall legs, arms splayed out as if calling for help, belching fire at the fingertips. Then there are the dead bodies, cut off at the knees, black skeletons, left to rot and rust. They all have something miserably Dickensian about them, grotesque and threatening. But there's something slightly wrong. The sea is too high for the amount of wind that we have. It's an increasing choppy short sea. Soon the boat is rocking forwards like a toy boat in a bathtub. Our 20 tons of boat is behaving like a plastic tug boat. One minute we are heading for the sky, the next minute plunging down into the sea. And now the wind begins to rise to match the seas. It's getting dark, and we know there are some unlit oil rigs. It will be a radar night tonight. We keep in touch with the two other boats that are closest to us, Early Dart and Vahana. From Vahana we hear that the western shore does not have the wind that we have at the moment, and thinking there might be some protection from the lee shore, we cross the shipping lane again. This is fun and games, as the ships are rocketing down the lane about two miles apart - sounds a lot, but one doesn't want to get too close to one of these monsters. We head for the tail of one ship, and motor pounding, race behind him across the three miles of the southbound lane to the other side, while the next ship bears down. We don't breathe a lot in transit. Vahana and Early Dart both put into anchorages. We're past the one, and won't get to the other before dark. We decide that we will continue, rather than anchor in the dark, and there's always the thought that we really want to get through, not get stuck for a few days. We put a second reef in the main. Now it's dark, and the oilrigs are brightly flaring monsters, but we are not finding any that are unlit. So far so good. The wind is on the nose (naturally - it's the Red Sea isn't it?), and at about 25 knots. We have the motor going - otherwise we would get nowhere. I am sure some of these waves have rocks inside them, as they seem to stop the boat dead in its tracks. We're having to do very short tacks into and out of the shipping lane, in case of unmarked obstructions that may not show up on radar if we get too far away from the main channel. The autopilot really can't cope with the gyrating of the boat, so we must hand steer. We realise that we'll probably not get much sleep tonight, as there are multiple tasks - watching Cmap (computerised chart) which is below decks, hand steering, watching the radar and the real world for ships and oil rigs, which are more and more plentiful. It's getting cold, and we both end up scurrying into lockers to find warmer and warmer gear. The wind continues to rise. First to 30, 35, then 40 knots, and every third or fourth wave is cascading right over the top of the boat. Thank heaven for the targa - cockpit cover - or we would be getting a face full of salt water with every wave. The sides of the targa - the clears - are not lowered, as we need to see out the side easily, so the water sprays splashes and drips down into the cockpit wetting all surfaces and anything in contact. After each big wave the air is full of flying salt mist. This is a bit of a shock - we've never had a wet cockpit before on this trip - since we've had the targa. With the motor roaring, we're still only making about 3- 4 knots. Meanwhile the seas only get worse. One needs to stand to steer, feet wide apart for stability. The boat continues its crazy rush at the heavens, and I'm looking at the stars through the salty windscreen, there's a millisecond pause at the top, a weightless feeling, then a plunge downward and downwards until we spear the coming wave But Blackwattle's a beauty. She comes up every time, smoothly as she's meant to, obedient to the wheel, riding the rush of the waves like the good seaboat she is. My heart is in my mouth for only one reason. Should anything break.... Should the motor stop... We keep each other going with cups of coffee and tea. If there is a break of clear water ahead, who is not steering dozes in the cockpit for as many minutes as possible, but there's not much of this. It's hard to doze and balance at the same time, specially when the world is dripping spraying salt water all over you. Anyway, the adrenaline is up, and neither of us feels tired. We're now prepared to stay up all night, and so what is a little missed sleep?! The night passes eventually, and when day dawns, we are greeted with a sight we haven't seen for 14 months. It's a gray miserable day, just like Sydney can produce. Dark dull clouds, a bleak daylight, nothing like the tropics and the blue and white heavens we've had for so long. Here is the true realisation that we're nearly in the Med, back to the possibility of cold nights and storms, and wintry days. And also the realisation that the Red Sea had a sting in the tail for us after all.

DAY 432, 20th May, 2004 - ARRIVAL AT PORT SUEZ	Back to top
Suez is a flurry of activity. This is a habit I find hard to get used to. Arriving at a haven at last, all one wants to do is get settled, turn the engine off, maybe share a celebratory drink, tidy the boat, and then, only then, ready oneself for whatever the new shore is to bring. Even more so this leg, as neither of us has had any sleep. But O no. As soon as we contact the whimsically named "Prince of the Red Sea", our agent for the transit through Suez, which we must do five miles from shore, he immediately wants to know if we want fuel. The answer is yes, so we're directed to the fuel wharf, which is a most dangerous looking stone wall full of jutting rocks. Filling the tanks is a comedy of spilled diesel (always is) and detergent everywhere, strange blokes tramping all over the deck, shouted negotiations about prices and quantities, the son of the Prince of the Red Sea asking if we'd like to wash the boat now - ""The water it's free," he says encouragingly, "and then we help you to tie up the boat to those two mooring buoys over there" - pointing. Where he points are double rows of moorings, without lines. Without putting our the dinghy in the water, it will be impossible to tie up to the fore and aft buoys, and even then difficult, as the person left on board has to handle fore and aft lines as well as steer the boat. "Someone will then help us with a dinghy? You don't go away now?" "Yes yes no problem, we will be there" - and so now we're pushing off again heading for the water pontoon. Yes, we're tired, but the allure of fresh water for our salt-water-sodden sand filled boat is too great. Tie, up more shouting and yelling by multiple Egyptians on shore. Fantastic free water, except that there's a fat smiling wily Egyptian gripping the hose with determination and insisting on hosing the boat for us. "Madam I do. Captain here I do it." O no it's a scam to get baksheesh. He sprays the boat with gleeful abandon, getting our cockpit cushions, washing on the line, me, Ted, and just one side of the boat, as the hose won't reach to the other side. Suddenly the water is off, the man vanished, and we're left dripping in all the wrong places. Confusion, he didn't wait for his baksheesh. Ok ok, so this is Egypt. This finished, we push off from the pontoon, but suddenly all the people have gone, and there's no dinghy in sight. We stooge around, getting hotter and hotter in an ever-sunnier day. In the meantime, small boats arrive saying "Laundry Madam?" "You want a tour guide Sir?" "Here is bread and eggs sir" "How much?" from Ted "Whatever you like." comes the answer. It's madness everywhere, but finally, with memories of our overnight sail still dominating our thoughts, the dinghy turns up, we are tied up safe and sound at the Suez Yacht Club, and can flop down with a serious cup of tea to ruminate on the sea trip just past. We compliment each other and the boat on what a great team of three we made, and sleep the afternoon away.

DAY 433, 21st May, 2004 - EXPLORING SUEZ	Back to top
Day 433 - Suez Yacht Club	We go ashore to explore the 'Suez Yacht Club' and then the town of Suez. Marvellous shady waterside verandahs are littered with rubbish and broken chairs, but the bougainvillea is blazing in a bright symphony colours of orange and magenta and firetruck red. It waterfalls gracefully from the awnings over the verandahs, defiant of the general decrepitude around.
The buildings are paint-peeling, falling down and dirty, the grass grows wildly in the gardens, evidence of natural rains, but, in tune with the bougainvillea, the ponsiana trees are blooming - brilliant red patches of colours above and around. The place is just a slowly collapsing shell of what must have been a thriving yacht club in the past, like an old lady sadly neglected by her new family, but proudly keeping her lipstick fresh. A few guards sit around the place, half asleep, AK47's lolling at their sides. There's no English spoken, but words of the 20th Century are universal - bus, internet café, train, 'Hello' 'Welcome' - and with a little sign language a sense of humour on both sides, we get by. Beyond the marine environment baksheesh is forgotten - the locals in the streets have fresh naïve smiles and are keen to talk. Teenaged girls practise their English, shake hands in the street, unusually open and unafraid, and we exchange names. It's a sweet experience, and we return to the boat with good feelings about the Egyptians.

DAY 434, 22nd May, 2004 - FIRST HALF OF SUEZ CANAL - TO ISMIALIA	Back to top
Day 434 - First ship of today's convoy	Early morning, and there's a seriously large diesel engine growling nearby somewhere. I fly up on deck, blinking and still half asleep, to see a huge container ship, silhouetted against the early rising sun, passing within a 50 metres of the boat as it enters the Suez Canal very close to where we are moored. It's the first in today's convoy.
I am transfixed by the wonder of it. Here we actually are, in our own small boat, about to transit one of the great canal creations of all time. First thought of 1500 years BC (but not to join the Med to the Red Sea), it's had a tumultuous recent history. de Lesseps built it, Nasser closed it, Israel attacked over it, Britain and France were humiliated because of it. But we must wait for the northbound convoy to enter the canal, and then five yachts, all boats we know pretty well by now, will pass in our own tiny convoy. Each boat will have a pilot, provided by the Suez Canal Authority. We've had our safety equipment checked, we've been measured and charged according to how much cargo we can haul. (I know I know, but this is Egypt) At 10.15 we're away, and I am unexpectedly excited. * * * * * *
Day 434 - The way ahead - mosque and church snuggled together	The excitement is for the idea of this passage, and doesn't last long, The reality is that it's mostly a pretty wide uninteresting waterway, on the western side, the edge of the Nile Delta - palm trees and vegetation - and to the east the Sinai Desert - undulating sands of yellow, salmon and burnished red.

Day 434 - War footing - military bridge ready to deploy	Every 100 metres or so there are military posts on the western side, bored soldiers wave to break their day as we pass. We also pass three military 'temporary' bridges. They lie in blocks along the side of the canal, ready to be launched and put in their allotted place by giant outboard motors. Our pilot tells us they can deploy the bridges, get traffic across and clear the canal in a two-hour period. Impressive.
Our pilot is a quiet, well-dressed man, who joins us for tea, cokes, salad lunch. We give him magazines and replacement batteries for his small radio. All goes well until we arrive at the midpoint, Ismialia, at 6.00pm, and his job is finished. He is now to return to his post half way back to Suez, and we will have another pilot for the next leg to Port Said. We have been careful to ask our agent, the Prince of the Red Sea, what is appropriate to tip. His reply is "Good service good tip, maybe $10. Bad service no tip. Maybe $5 or $2, what you will." Ted hands over $10 and three packets of cigarettes. The man is angry. He wants double. There are angry words on both sides. Finally Ted, normally understanding and conciliatory of different cultures so far this trip, does his block. We are tied up at the wharf now. "Get off my boat or I'll thump you" says Ted. Thankfully the word "thump" is not in this man's vocabulary, as he goes on talking about how we must pay for a taxi back to his pilot station. Ted, no doubt worried that he WILL thump him, gets off the boat himself and walks away He tries to shake my hand, but I refuse, the most awful insult in Egypt. "I am your friend" he says. "No you are not my friend" I reply, "You give Egypt a bad name." He is off the boat now, leaning towards me, his hand obstinately out. "Yes, I tell you, I am your friend." We do like this several times. "No you are not my friend." "Yes I am your friend." "No you are not.." Until the comedy of the situation strikes me, and I have to hold back a giggle. He walks away, still calling over his shoulder, "Yes I am your friend." The sched tonight has news that none of the boats left behind have yet been able to move on. Some went out of their shelters, but returned after striking 35-40 knot winds and impossible seas. Of 11 yachts who left Hurghada together, only 4 have made it - the rest are strung out in different bays and ports along the way, and a couple of the single-handers, without HF radios, have not been heard from.

DAY 436, 24th May, 2004 - WONDERFUL TOWN ISMIALIA	Back to top
We thought we would go visit Cairo from here in Ismialia, but when we went biking through the town, we were so entranced that we decided to spend and extra day here and forget Cairo. (We'd both 'done' Cairo before anyway) Here is where it all started - the modern Suez Canal. Originally, therefore, a French town, the architecture is both grand and graceful. Ferdinand de Lesseps' house is a prominent landmark, the people are curious and welcoming. This is not a tourist resort, which, of course is really charming. We visit the small Museum, full of artifacts - funeral masks, water jugs, Mascara applicators, needles, shovels - of every era from the Old Kingdom to the Byzantine period. To Aussies where the oldest building is 200 years, this small town museum is just mind blowing. We wander the markets, mobbed by locals wanting to help - there's no English, so purchasing the wonderful fresh vegetables is a comedy, with lots of good nature on both sides.
Day 436 - Sundowner in Ismialia	We meet the other yachties on the lovely 'terrasse' beside the boats for sundowners, as we have each afternoon here. Tomorrow we're away on the second half of our Suez Canal journey, bound for Port Said, and finally, finally, finally, the Med!

DAY 437, 25th May, 2004 - SECOND HALF SUEZ CANAL - TO PORT SAID AND THE MEDITERRANEAN	Back to top
Todays' pilot, Mohammed, has warmly sparkling eyes. I examine his eyes and expression closely, and his body language, to see any sign of perfidy. I should have done this on the last leg. I cannot see anything but real goodwill, and this turns out to be true. He is a delight to have on board, and assists not only us, but the other boats as well, to tie up at the pretty difficult Port Fuoad Yacht Club in Port Said.
Day 437 - The Anzac Bridge written large	The day has been full of interest again - more incredible bridges, one resembling an oversized Anzac Bridge, looping high enough for any ship to sail underneath, another on a giant swivel. We see dolphins riding the waves behind the great ships, and Mohammed proves an excellent tour guide as well as companion.
The mooring in Port Said, however, is not comfortable. If a wind comes in, we would be in trouble. We decide instantly merely to get our clearance from Egypt now and set off immediately. We explore the city at night - like all old ports, this one owes much to its past, and the walk is rich with interest. However, there's an underlying sadness tonight, as we've been keeping in touch with the other boats who left with us and are stranded in the Gulf of Suez on our daily sched, and not one has as yet made it to the canal. It's the end of the wild and charming Red Sea for sure. Goodbye flying sand, goodbye backsheesh, goodbye warm underwater wonderworld, goodbye coloured desert sands, goodbye ferocious seas and sweet remoteness.. Fourteen months ago, we let go the mooring lines of our former life, without knowing what the future would hold. So far we have become familiar - only with unfamiliarity. I have a curious reluctance to cross that dotted line which has us re-entering the 'Western World' of the Mediterranean. No doubt there will be English newspapers, radio broadcasts, and we will no longer be protected by remoteness from the madnesses of the 21st Century. There will be noise, tension, crowding, discord, pollution, the horrid polemic of nations and our politicians. I fall asleep wishing just a little that we could turn around and go back down the lovely untamed Red Sea to the sweetness of our dear Indian Ocean.