PELNI Ferry Round 2: Jakarta to Batam and Singapore.

The entire bus ride to the Tanjung Priok ferry terminal, I was bracing myself for the worst. I would once again be getting on an ekonomi class PELNI ferry. I had no choice really. There was no other means of overland transport to Singapore, and I couldn’t afford a first class ticket.

Ninda came to see me off, and her moral support dearly helped me the through the psychological stress that was overcoming me. Every place the bus passed triggered nightmarish flashbacks of my ferry ride from Kupang. A family boarded the bus and I had visions of the mother and son puking by my bed. The bus passed a large gutter and I saw streams of garbage being thrown overboard into the sea. We passed a gardener watering a bush and I was brought back to streams of urine flowing from lifeboats onto the upperdeck. These visions, I was soon expecting to again be my reality.

Things, however, started to look up once we arrived at the port. Where I expected to see throngs of humans cramming through small gate openings, I saw sparse, orderly people calmly passing through check-in. When I made it to the ship, I found a ferry that was twice the size and transporting less than half the number of passengers as the previous one. I was overjoyed to find that there was actually space to walk on staircases and hallways. People actually had assigned beds on their tickets. And best of all, there were people collecting garbage and cleaning the place!

Sure, there were still small cockroaches crawling around my bed, and the food was still bad enough to reverse the digestive process, but to me this might as well have been the Titanic. Once you’ve stared into the pit of hell, any glimmer of light is a gift from heaven.  Even though they were less torture chamber-y than before, I did still make a (successful) pact with myself to avoid the bathroom at all costs.

In contrast to the previous 3 day horror show, this pleasure cruise was a mere 29 hours, and arrived exactly on time. As I strolled down the gangplank in Sekupang, Batam Island I looked to the north. Through a dense haze from Sumatran forest fires, I could see the distant, faint, ethereal skyline of Singapore.

Within 30 minutes of being tied up at the port, I had made the quick jaunt to the neighbouring ferry terminal, bought my ticket, cleared customs, and was in a fast boat dashing over the waves to the 6^th nation on my tour. 

Sailing the Timor Sea

When I strolled up to the Tipperary Waters Marina to meet the people and yacht with which I would be sailing across the Timor Sea, I was ready for the worst. After my previous experience of drifting into a rocky bay during a thunderstorm, at night, in a broken ship with an incompetent captain that was navigating us towards rocks, I was a tad apprehensive. However, before I even stepped on board, all of my worries had vanished.

The 50 foot yacht was obviously, even to an untrained eye, fully equipped, gorgeous and ready to go. The entire crew was on board getting the ship ready to go. Not only was everyone joking and getting along well, but they were all pretty good looking too! There was Scott, the Kiwi Captain, who has been sailing his whole life and has been a navigator on cruise ships for nearly a decade. With his American girlfriend Alyssa, he is heading up to Thailand to start a charter business. Hitching a ride for part of the journey was Martin from France, Moniek from the Netherlands, and Tobias from Denmark.

When we eventually pulled away from Darwin and Australia sunk into the horizon, the experience just kept getting better. It turns out that Martin is a world class chef and has worked at top restaurants from Brazil to French Polynesia and has cooked with the celebrity chefs such as Gordon Ramsey. The pasta dish that I ate that night underneath the glow of a moon rainbow (there were even friggin’ moon rainbows!) was one of the best I’ve ever tasted.

The weather that night, like it was for the entire trip, was perfect. A slight wind and calm clear seas made for easy work while keeping watch every night. Our watches, in pairs of 2 for 4 hour blocks every night, comprised mainly of occasionally check the radar and look into front of us to make sure we didn’t hit things or stuff. With the autopilot working its magic, this meant that our main challenges included drinking tea and reading.

On the second day for at least 30 minutes, we got swarmed by 20-30 dolphins that were jumping around the boat and having the time of their life darting around the bow. All of us went camera crazy as we let our feet dangle over the front and splash down just feet away from the slippery sea swimmers. Not being content with merely getting his feet near the dolphins, Scott hooked up an ingenious rope system from the top of the mast where he could sit in a safety harness and hurl himself overboard to splash down in the ocean without being dragged away. Jumping overboard into dolphin filled waters in the Timor Sea was not something I could not pass up.

I think Scott may have done that a few times before, because I did not look nearly as graceful when I flung myself over the side, spun around furiously, smacked into the ocean, swallowed 10 liters of sea water, and then swung back into the side of the boat. It was definitely enormously refreshing, although, the safety strap the cut deeply into vital groin areas almost made come back on board as a woman!

That night our imaginations got the better of us for a few hours. A phantom ship constantly appeared and then disappeared both from sight and the radar. Sometimes approaching within 2 miles of our location, we had visions of pirates or boat people (illegal immigrants to Australia, who arrive not by hopping a border but by crossing seas) looking to plunder our booty. For me, this possible threat to our booties was overshadowed by the splendor of the phosphorescence that danced behind our boat. Disturbed by our movement, the micro-organisms emit a dazzling sparkling light show, like a tame version of what you can see in Life of Pi. This serene source of beauty left me able to worry less about being pillaged by pirates and to instead contemplate important things like when did pirates decide to adopt the pirate accent?

Just two and half days after leaving Australia on a boat I woke up for the final shift on watch. Stumbling onto the cockpit at 4am, I saw it. I could only see the faint outline of a tiny island, but here it was for the first time, Asia: the largest land mass. Not only was it a sweet sight, but also a sweet smell. The air was noticeably more agreeable in sight of land than it had been at sea. Even though the 300 km from Darwin had brought me to a new world, at that time of day, and at that distance, it could have been anywhere in the world.

As Scott steered the yacht into the harbour, we got to see the world wake up. The sun rose from behind the island and we got to see the warm orange glow bring a city to life. First, the silhouette of a modern factory revealed itself and then slowly, so did the people. Small fishing boats began to dart around the bay and scooters began to spped around the city. By the time we dropped anchor the city was alive under a high hot sun.

After the idyllic weather, great company, delicious food, and amazing scenery, I think there is an important lesson to draw from this. If you find an opportunity online to blindly join a group of strangers sailing across a foreign ocean, do it.

Outback Day 3: Maree - Coober Pedy

Shortly after getting under way on Day 3 we pulled up beside the south shore of Lake Eyre, the world’s 4^th largest lake. As we gazed at the water, or salt, I couldn’t be sure which is was, we become even better acquainted with what is by far the worst part of the outback: the flies. Never in all my life have I come across flies so enormously and consistently irritating. 

No matter where in the outback you may be or pull over, you will be instantly swarmed by flies which won’t be content until they land in your ears, eyes, nose, or mouth. I had to constantly swat all around my head like a crazy person to get any relief (I have since been told this is called the Australian salute). It makes no sense to me how there can be so many flies everywhere in this seemingly lifeless environment. What the hell are they doing the 99% of the time when there’s no humans or big animals around?

The flies go away at night, which is good, but what am I supposed to do the other 10 hours of the day? When we pulled over in Coward Springs, I got my answer. When we arrived I was greeted by, I think, the owner who displayed his horrifying method of coping with the flies. He adopted the “if you can’t beat ‘em join ‘em approach.” All over his nose, mouth and ears there were at least 20 flies furiously scurrying and filling in every facial crevasse. Even with the most neglected and sickly horse or cow, I have never seen such a dense population of insects on a single head. Coward Springs is pretty much the only tourist attraction along the Oodnadatta Track, and other than fly-infested faces it is just a grimy lukewarm spring/ hot tub that is most welcome to anyone who hasn’t showered in a day or so.

Mr. Fly Face was also kindly able to tell us that it would be raining that night, and all of the roads would be turned into mud. Up until this point we had just been blithely carting ourselves across the outback. Being armed with actual useful knowledge, and desiring not to have fly orgies on our faces while stuck in muddy roads for up to 4 days, we decided we needed to make it to a sealed road before dark. We took a detour from the Oodnadatta Track and made our way to Coober Pedy to get on the Stuart highway (the main Adelaide-Darwin highway).

 

William's Creek: Australia's smallest town (6-10 people) and the turnoff from the Oodnadatta Track to Coober Pedy

Coober Pedy is a major sight along this highway, but I suppose that is not saying much. It’s main claims to fame include roughly a million piles of dirt stacked from opal mining, a grassless golf course, underground houses, and the backdrop for post-apocalyptic films such as Mad Max 3, Red Planet, and Pitch Black. Since, none of us had much interest in mounds of dirt from Vin Diesel movies, we headed north to find a deserted road we could camp beside.

This proved slightly more difficult than planned since most side roads have large signs that read “Mining Area, Stupid. Explosives and bottomless pits everywhere. We’ll fine you big time.” Eventually we did find a good spot and had another impromptu goon and desert party.

Container Ship to Australia

After my horror show sailboat experience, I wobbled ashore with sleepless awkward sea legs and immediately – after a splendid comatose slumber  – began to face the predicament of how the hell to get to Australia. The one other yacht sailing to Australia from New Zealand was now all filled up, and the only cruise ship headed in that direction wanted $6400 for its remaining room and couldn’t guarantee I’d be allowed off in Australia. That left me with one last dreaded option: another cargo ship.

 

Goodbye New Zealand

My previous cargo ship experience of mind-numbing boredom, conversation-less meals, and unclean bathrooms had, combined with the price tag, left me far from enthused about hopping aboard another one. Thankfully, not all ships are created equal.

The Bahia Grande was a magnificent vessel, bounds ahead of my previous one. It was larger and newer with vastly superior facilities. There was starboard side veranda, an elevator, a gymnasium that actually had working cardio machines, and there was even a basketball court at the back. It must be the coolest court I’ve ever seen, it sits just 20 feet above the rushing ocean and it is underneath a stack of containers. Also, the fact that it is a foot or two too short means that I can actually dunk on it, and that makes me feel like a champion.

Both the crew and officers were willing to strike up a conversation. The chief engineer even gave me a tour of the engine room, and by engine room I mean more of an engine warehouse. Nine pistons about 30 feet tall constantly drive the meaty propeller which pushes this 254 meter behemoth across the world’s oceans, burning through 60-75 tons of diesel fuel a day in the process.

Not only were the officers more talkative, but there were actually other passengers this time! And they could speak fluent English! One was a Kiwi former sniper mercenary from the Angolan war (how many Kiwi snipers are there that I’ve met 2 already), and the other two were an extremely nice couple from Australia. In addition to English dialogue, the Australians even offered up a few places to stay on my journey through their country.

Less conversant, though much more hairy, were the 5 horse passengers who were also hitching a ride from Auckland to Sydney. In a special horse carrying container, these 5 guys just sort of ate, crapped, and looked timidly unsure of everything that was going on for 3 days. I asked what happens when they get seasick, because I know that horses don’t puke, and I got the unsatisfying answer that, apparently, horses just don’t get seasick.

Unfortunately, the weather was similarly pleasant. I was hoping there would be at least a small dose of gale force winds or skyscraper sized waves crashing over the bow so that I could feel better about being on a massive ship, but alas, there was nothing but clear skies and relatively calm water.

The lights of Sydney are starting glow on the horizon. I guess that means it’s time to start worrying about things like where to stay or how to get across the country to Indonesia.

Crossing the Pacific in a Cargo Ship

As the cargo ship Hugo Schulte pulled out of the Long Beach port, I was filled with anticipation and romanticism. After months of planning I was about to sail across the mighty Pacific Ocean to New Zealand.

The sense of romance was obliterated when I woke up the next morning. It was then that I discovered, after stumbling to the bathroom, that whoever the previous occupant of my room was, he was very fond of peeing on as much of the toilet seat as possible and then letting it dry to a crisp. Without being provided any cleaning products, I had to spend every bathroom visit from then on avoiding 50% of my toilet seat. It’s okay though, it complemented nicely with my sticky couch that came complete with a collection of toe nail clippings.

Deciding to see if the dining experience was any better I made my way to the mess hall. I had been designated to eat with the officers who were all from Eastern Europe (Poland, Latvia, Ukraine, and Russia). You’d think that if you were stuck on a boat for 9 months at a time you’d enjoy partaking in some friendly conversation. You’d be wrong.

Not once in my two weeks did any officer start a conversation with me or say more than “good appetite.” And it wasn’t just me, or a language barrier. Sometimes I’d walk in halfway through a meal and there’d be 5 men sitting in a room, eating, and not saying a word.

Once I found out conversation was not going to be a part of any of my meals I aimed at eating when I knew I’d be alone. I found this less awkward especially considering that the engineer designated to sit beside me had some of the worst B.O. I’d ever come across. So, when the choices came down to eating alone, or eating silently beside a sweaty smelly man that makes my meal taste like armpit, I chose alone.

The crew on the other hand was the best part of the trip. While the officers may have been tight-lipped Europeans, the crew was all welcoming and all Filipino. Knowing even less English than the officers, the crew were always keen to strike up conversation. But more than talking they were keen of singing.

On my first full night at sea it was a crew member’s birthday and I was brought to the karaoke party that was thrown. Now usually, I only get involved with karaoke after some serious coxing from friends and alcohol. But hell, how many times am I on a cargo ship on the Pacific singing karaoke with a Filipino crew, right? It wasn’t long before I was busting out my renditions of Eight Days a Week, Bohemian Rhapsody, and Ain’t No Mountain High Enough. And I only needed to be a little drunk!

That being said, a little drunk goes along way when in the hangover department when $2.88 bottles of wine were your poison.

Unfortunately, the crew had to work most of the time so I had to find ways of amusing myself, which was quite difficult. The swimming pool was just two strokes long and was only filled with water sporadically. The gymnasium consisted simply of 2 barbells and a ping pong table which was quite useless without anyone else to play with.

I had come prepared with an arsenal of movies to watch, and thousands of pages to read but there are only so many hours of film you can watch and so many pages of text you can read in a row before nothing is interesting or enjoyable and you just read or watch because it’s there.

With a dearth of physical activities, social opportunities, or mental stimulation, it meant that I spent the vast majority of my day alone in a room that constantly swayed from side to side. If you think that sounds like it would get boring quickly, you would be right. I think it was day 5 when I realized in horror that I still had 10 days to go. I had to stay in this room for twice as long as I’d already been in it!

So unless mind crushing boredom and sitting in a swaying room for a fortnight sounds like a blast to you, please, for the love of god, never take a cargo ship across the Pacific Ocean.