Taranto, Italy.

1st to 5th November 2008

Although we spent nearly a week discharging our cargo here, the Captain kept myself, Bosun and the fitter Rahul quite busy all week. Perhaps he wanted to see us work together, or perhaps he only wanted to save time for dry dock. Even after nearly two months, Captain Pabla is nearly impossible for me to read –except when he chooses for me to do so –I only know his will, or his personality when he chooses to mingle socially. One thing is sure, from his tower the bridge, the Captain sees all… well nearly all ;-). Actually he spent quite a bit of time on deck watching and lending his guidance. I only managed to spend one day actually in the city, but what a day.

Taranto from sea and in port gives some good clues as to what to expect once ashore (as with most cities). Ancient and medieval walls, buildings, bridges, fortifications are mixed with more modern buildings. It is inhabited by quaint as well as ultra modern pleasure-craft, cars, helicopters, but no buses or trucks are seen. A missile destroyer and an anti-aircraft frigate patrol the bay with the poise of sharks, sometimes anchoring (very swiftly I recorded on video) for a few hours, then repositioning. A WWII artillery destroyer (specific class unknown) is moored permanently in a bay on the other side of the isthmus, but I only caught a glimpse until I was ashore. However the new Navy base is in plain sight, and the Polizi patrol boats are immediately next door to our dock. Occasionally a large hunter-killer submarine will sail past in surfaced mode (no photos, sorry – to myself).

The discharging operation began immediately after the plan was agreed on in the meeting between ship and shore. Teams of loud Italian stevedores embarked and got to work under the direction of a large and serious looking foreman. Our job was to remove the cleating rings from all hatch-covers, chip and grease them replacing bolts where necessary, and replace them. We were also on standby in case something went wrong with the operation – and sometimes it did. Sounds easy? Somewhat, however I don’t think this job had been done in several years. Some of the bolts were probably as old as the ship herself. Also we had to avoid working on covers where the discharging cranes were operating.

The process was this.. The hatch cover is raised so that the wheels were free to move, then drawn along it’s rails perhaps two feet. This freed the cleating rings and ensured all bar one side was accessible to work on without danger of dropping them into the hold. The two bolts were forced or broken open, and the ring block dropped down and was removed. Bolts were replaced where necessary, and washers and blocks were chipped, greased and replaced. Each block took from half to one hour to go through, and we had quite a few to do.

Occasionally the hydraulics would fail on a hatch-cover, and we would have to drain the system, remove the pipe or other part, fabricate and/or replace a new one, and refill the system with oil. Holds are discharged in stages in order to reduce unequal stresses on the hull, and ballasting is synchronized with this. After a discharge cycle was completed a gang of stevedores scraped and shoveled the tops of the hatch covers, moving the excess back into the hold. After a hold was mostly emptied, a digger and/or bucket-dozer was lowered into it using the cranes and the remaining iron was removed. At night this meant the rigging and maintaining of lights around the hatch opening, which also prompted the maintenance of the (very strange screw-in) electrical fittings. This was usually the Electricians job.

My first impression of Taranto itself was the armed guards at the gate. Their arms were not what impressed me. They were dressed pretty much the same way they would have been dressed in World War 2, with a backdrop of the ancient and run-down buildings of the old sector of the city. They looked sharp. Riding boots, officers caps, suits, badges, chrome, rank insignia, classic style holsters, and best of all an air of self importance that could have smothered a whole march of liberal protesters. I’m convinced they were thinking of how excellent they were all day and all night long, because they also seemed like they couldn’t have cared less if we were smuggling cruise missiles past them. The most we ever had in communication with them was a preoccupied shooing gesture waving us through or into the falling barrier.

I started this outing with four Filipino’s, A.B. Eddie, O.S. “Little” Alex, and an Oiler who’s name I can’t remember even though we were quite good friends. Because of their tastes our first port of call was the mall- alcohol, groceries and internet. The Filipino’s have no interest in the history or culture of the place. This didn’t really excite me that much, but I needed to do some things there myself and also use the internet. It was a regular single level mall with a grocery store.. and no internet. We wasted a lot of time there because there was also no bank there or nearby to change our U.S. currency into Euros. We looked at the shops and girls, cursed our taxi driver for his bad advise, and then teased Alex to pass the time until our taxi was due back. We cracked mafia jokes at him when he picked us up at around four.

After the boys were dropped off back at the ship I was dropped off in the main square of the city. It blew my mind to be amongst such old buildings, still happily servicing their tenants or what-ever shop or office happened to occupy it. The truly ancient part of the city was a bit of a slum, but what a slum. Most had been modified at the ground level, or else were very well restored or maintained. The entry level items from big designer labels, as well as some more modest(?) ones can be bought here for quite reasonable prices. I wandered around in a daze taking photos of everything. I bought a snack from a vintage looking kiosk in the corner of the square, and throughout the evening bought gelato from several different gelateries.

Small, well established looking technical institutes are prevalent, and quite often I could walk past a music school and hear some quite advanced piano, violin, or other recitals going on inside. The Arsenal was quite impressive, as was a medieval coastal fort and the remains of some old pier structures. Every part of the city has had a lot of care put into it over the ages. Many of the buildings were almost enough to make the Auckland Museum look like a barn-yard. Even regular park benches can be considered objet’s d’art, often Art Nouveu, and along the coast the pavement takes the form of a mosaic.

After a good look around I settled on buying a Antony Morato jacket, and at around 10 when the shops were closing (it was Monday or Tuesday I think) I settled down at a café a waited for my taxi and drank Red-Bull & Cola (thoroughly recommended).

Although I petitioned Chief Officer for permission to go out again even for a walk, this never eventuated. He was evidently too scared to speak to the captain, and I was advised to respect the chain of command by the other officers–which I did. The only reason I went out that time was because the Captain asked if I wanted to go ashore as he was surprised that I hadn’t already been. This is getting a little worrying. It is painting a kind of bad picture of the Captain to the crew, because they believe that he is being unjust toward C/O. The other officers have begun to understand what is going on –after my speaking to them quietly and then after confirmation in their own experience. Anyway, I wasn’t born yesterday, so I know if C/O is playing at something along this tact it will only be a matter of time before he hangs himself. One of my at-sea assignments from the Maritime School is to write a 500 word essay on the procedure I should follow if an OOW (Officer Of the Watch) appears not to be doing things properly, and I’m starting to think it might be written from practical experience.

NO INTERNET AT ALL in Taranto –at least not that anyone could find. Further adventures to come.