Baptism by immersion…

Tubarao to Rotterdam Pt.1, 8th to 30th January 2009,

From the beginning of this voyage Second Officer complained that his back was in such a state that he could not fulfill his watch duties. I was once more made an acting 3rd Officer, and this time it was to be for the long-haul. I was assigned the 08.00 – 12.00 and 20.00 – 24.00 watches, and the grim AB Russell Briones was assigned as my look-out. Captain of course kept a close eye on me- but then he does this with everyone.

To begin with I had a nice quiet settling in period as we made our way north by east up the Brazilian coast, and into the Atlantic. Then as we approached the Equator the weather slowly grew more mild –much to my comfort. The sun’s declination at this time was around 20° South. This means that this was where the Earth was closest to the sun in this part of the world.. high summer. It is usual for the weather to get a little cooler and choppier around the equator for a couple of days. Faith N crossed the equator on my watch, and I felt like yet another feather could be added to my cap.

Work proceeded on deck as usual.. maintenence and renewal of everything is never ending on a ship this size. I started assisting chart corrections to make up for the loss of ou second officer.. which I found quite enjoyabe. Updated all our radio signals, sailing directions, and other admiralty encyclopediae. We thought Sameer must be going crazy after he first two weeks of never coming out of his cabin, and he certainly gained a bit of weight. Ths was amusing because befrehand he was a bit of a prima donna pretty boy and liked to show it off.

As we approached the African coast, the weather grew milder still, and I began to hope that we would avoid the searing heat of the winds offshore of the Moroccan Sahara. My wish was granted.. and the seas got a little choppier. In the morning watches, Chief Engineer and I would joke about the ship becoming the worlds largest submarine for half a minute or so at a time. As we crashed through sea created by force 6 and 7, there were times when the bow became almost fully immersed in the water. Keeping the ship on the track became a standard setting competition among the Captain and the other Officers, and I pleased to have gotten quite good at this, and in such weather and wind direction from around one point or fine on our port bow, and was keeping the ship within 0.01nm of the course-line for over an hour at a time –sometimes within 0.006 for more than 20 minutes. Still, I never seemed to be able to out-do Captain Pabla. The man is in fact a magician.

Further up the coast and the sky grew still darker and weather reports threatened us with force 8 and 9 winds. Occasionally we faced force 8. Steering became more difficult, and also we started running into substantially more vessels. One night I notice a blip on the radar which usually means a solid cloud. Like all such blips a targeted and monitored it for a while. After 15 minutes of watched it appear and reappear on the ARPA (Automated Radar Plotting Apparatus), and not getting it on our AIS (Automated Identification System), and further not getting any consistent vector pattern, I started to divide my attention on other necessary things. Then, the blip reappeared on the screen at 10 nm and Russel reported sighting the navigation lights two points off our starboard bow. We were on a collision course. Being that there was no AIS data I challenged the vessel immediately via VHF radio.. why would a vessel with no AIS be coming directly towards such a large and prominent radar target such as Faith N? Being that time was short I ordered the AB to switch to hand steering and began a course alteration 25° to starboard, as gradually as was appropriate. Such an alteration of course is the usual appropriate measure according to the Collision Regulations, as the vessel was approaching from our starboard side. Although we got a bit of a surprise the maneuver was done in more than good time. This initiated I called the Captain, and tried in vain two more times to hail the approaching vessel. Before the captain came onto the bridge I ordered another 5° to starboard which brought our CPA (Closest Point of Approach) to just over one and a half nautical miles –the way Captain likes it. As he came onto the bridge he questioned me easily about what the situation was. He maintained the course I had set the ship, and I didn’t get an ear-full from him – so that tells me I did exactly the right thing. As the vessel got closer we gradually shifted our head back towards our course line and just behind the stern of the crossing vessel. As she was abeam of us I tried a different tact on the radio… “Hola?”
“Hola, mi amigo!,Hablar Espaniol?” came the response..
“Ah, Hablar Ingles?”
“Poqueto Ingles, yes a little. Where are you headed my friend?”
Captain smiled as I gave the master of the fishing vessel both barrels for not responding in the first place.

As we came further north we passed Gibraltar and Portugal, and the sea got rough enough that all regular work on deck was halted. I began to really enjoy keeping watch from the wing, outside, as Russell began wearing his seafarers windbreaker and stopped venturing out more than a few meters from the side-door. I still wore my crisply ironed short-sleeve uniform. The ship rocked and rolled quite a bit and it was exhilarating to stand at the very edge… “The best place to keep watch from..” The Captain knew I was safe, and encouraged me as always to spend more time watching from the wings than inside the bridge –the etter view.

Then, on the evening of the 23rd just before my watch, I began getting annoyed with the movements of the ship as I tried to concentrate on writing assignments. I knew we were about to enter the Bay of Biscay, which is famous for it’s bad weather –so through this and our weather reports I was expecting a bit of rough weather. The time came and I put on my uniform and went upstairs to the bridge. Both sliding doors were closed, as usual. I checked our position etc in the chart-room and made my way onto the bridge proper. Captain seemed a little.. sedate, I thought at the time. Chief Officer was still there, as usual, and AB Eddie was hand steering. As you enter the bridge on the starboard side, you are met with by the ARPA instruments, which are often curtained so that you cannot see outside. I noticed there were a couple of other vessels around.. so nothing out of the ordinary. The wind seemed a little louder than usual.. before I got any further Chief Officer asked me to calculate the true wind-force and report the beaufort scale number. I caught a little bit of the familiar (and endearing) sadistic humour in his tone, and as I moved to see the digital anemometer I glanced at the deck.

The sea was rising vertically and in places arched over the deck. Titanic waves crashed into us and again rose vertically in malevolent and supernatural looking pillars and arches. “Sir, the beufort scale finishes at 12… which is 64 knots and above..” I was correct, of course. The wind that night rose to more than 120 knots. No one on board had ever encountered anything like it.. this time we really did become the worlds biggest submarine. For about nine hours we held our own against the hurricane, but only just.

The ship jarred again and again as waves well in excess of 20 meters pummeled the upper deck, destroying anything in it’s path. Steel folded, warped, and was shorn away. Lights and wiring were ripped out, structures and drums caved in, machinery was dismantled. Worst of all, the cargo hold ventilator mushrooms were ripped from the deck, and we began to take on water. Chief Officer stationed himself in the Ballast Control Room on the upper deck, and worked the bilge pumps to our best advantage. Some of the crew had assembled on the bridge and looked on astounded and helpless. Some of the crew cried. On the bridge the Captain was in total command, and I drolly kept our records straight, and made jokes about going swimming to the frightened assembly. Eventually I realized that this wasn’t helping matters as it would have my New Zealander brethren, and gave one of them my camera to try and raise spirits. I got back a video of about a minute of pitch black, occasionally a fuzzy light, and some background conversation in Hindi. I had more than my fair share to do on the bridge, and laid the ground for the Captain to make informed decisions.. My first act was to turn on all deck lights (some still worked). I monitored the water ingress system and communicated to the Chief Officer where we were taking in the most water. I took and plotted our position at regular intervals, managed communications, checked weather reports and warning signals passing on relevant information. Also barometer readings had to be kept by the hour, and I calculated the true wind speed and direction manually, as the ship’s digital meter only gives relative readings, and entered this and details of the sea state, compass errors, and other things into the logbook, and then I did whatever else needed to be done whilst barely managing to stay on my feet. I became a dancer on a moving cliff face, like everyone else that didn’t have the luxury to stay put and hold on to something. The other watch officers got their turn, sure enough. Even Sameer, our lame Second Officer had to turn to for duty at one point the next day.

At least two ships had to be abandoned in the bay on that watch, and two more on my morning watch. Captain stood at the radar station or stalked up and down the causeway behind the windshield, and I mean up and down, about 30° to 30° rolling and quite quickly alternating at that –calm, calculating, talking to other ship’s officer’s around us on radio, managing the damage where possible. Twice I gingerly negotiated the bridge wings with crew to secure items that threatened to damage the wheelhouse and windows, compromising command on the vessel, and I hung on to whatever was available. A steel box and it’s contents were being tossed and blown around like straw –I had to be careful no one got flattened by it as I lashed it to the monkey island stairway. Eventually the radar gear on the monkey island, around 35 meters above the upper deck, was destroyed. Our satellite phone went with it. We were nearly blind, but for our AIS. Hope we didn’t hit any fishing boats or anyone else not big enough to require AIS.

Several times for long periods of time the AB, then Russell, reported that the helm was not responding. During one of these periods, we pushed our way at only two or three knots north-by-east as close to our course heading as possible.. within a mile or so. A nearby vessel turned around and attempted to return along it’s course just astern of us, when it’s engines failed. She moved closer and closer towards us. Captain calmly informed the vessel’s master that they were drifting on a collision path with us, and they informed him just as calmly if a little perplexed, that there was nothing they could do about it. We could not alter course. Captain told the Chief Engineer not to hold back the revolutions on account of expense, and the engine room proceeded to wring as much power out of our main engine as they could. Slowly, slowly our speed increased and we put sea between us and the stricken ship. We didn’t have the freedom to look back.

There occasionally came waves MUCH bigger than the rest, and these gave us real cause to fear for our lives. Just as my watch ended at midnight, I handed the reigns over to the Third Officer and was about to report to the Chief Officer to find out what else I could do to help. I hadn’t left the bridge, when the ship pitched forward and rolled violently to starboard, and some of the crew lost their footing. All the water ingress alarms and a few others went off at once and I got a sinking feeling. The alarm was sounded and all crew were ordered to muster with life jackets and immersion suits on the bridge, the highest interior point on the ship. Our depth under keel at the time, which I also monitored, was around 3000m, and I didn’t like our chances in the lifeboats because of the strange forms the wind was blowing the sea into. As I made my way down to my cabin to collect my gear I stole the chance to smoke and looked out the port hole. The view was obscured by the salt water that had splashed on it, but up close I saw waves hammering A-deck below and noticed two of the emergency life-rafts had been washed overboard, and everything else including the embarkation ladder to the lifeboats was either missing or in a hopeless tangle with steel and electrical wiring. The deck where crew would have to muster and embark into the lifeboats was now “a dangerous place to be”. A mad thrill came over me, as I realized that the waves were higher than my porthole. I was overcome with the power and beauty of it, and realized how close to death we all were as the ship jarred again and again. I stubbed my cigarette out thoroughly and grabbed my knife, a torch, my cell-phone, and the disk I had backed up my photos, assignments, and the music I have been composing, along with my immersion-suit and lifejacket, and made my way back onto the bridge. I sat on the couch and waited, detached at times, and at other times contemplating mortality with everyone else.

Eventually the bilge pumps did their job and the danger was temporarily averted. Captain slowly brought the ship around until “windows” large enough to allow a deck party to make emergency repairs to the hold vents were made manifest. This would either be successful or we’d all drown. Bosun Manny, P.O. Fitter Rahul, myself, and two of the riding o/s got our gear on and went down to the BCR to report to the Chief Officer. My adrenaline was at a high and I felt myself wanting to get into it. I was, likely fortunately, disappointed. There were only 3 harnesses, which are necessary to attach to lifelines on deck. Only the C.O., P.O. and Bosun were “allowed” to go. I lent a hand on the steering flat until I was relieved and told to try to sleep. Water had leaked onto the steering flat, and some other bits and pieces had been shaken loose and perhaps threatened our ability to maneuver –which is not good. On returning, the Bosun told me that if there was another need to go out he would refuse.

It was impossible to sleep, and so I began composing with the synthesizer suite on my laptop. The track I’ve since entitled “Her Immanence,” and I suppose deals with my own thanatos. I also gazed out my port-hole quite a lot at the surreal, lethal and metered majesty of the worst sea in anyone’s memory, and lamented the fact that I couldn’t get any decent photos. Eventually I calmed down enough to realize that I was tired, my legs ached, I’d caught a bang or two somewhere along the nights events, and I needed to sleep. I did so as soon as I forgot that I might never wake up.

Wake I did, and as I reported for watch duty at 07.50 hrs sharp I noted our course heading had become.. improvised, and to cut a long story short we ended up anchoring in the wide mouth of Ria de Vivera, northern Spain in the Bay of Biscay, to lick our wounds.

More later, but I've included some of the damage photos we emailed to the company here. Oh yeah, Im now the official ship's photgrapher.

Loading and provisioning in Tubarao

3rd to 7th January 2009

In Tubarao I decided to make the most of my final loading operation aboard Faith N, and so helped to supervise the operation. I really didn’t have the desire too sightsee there again, but I got get off for an evening and spent most of my remaining Brazilian currency, around 80 Reais, on junk food for the final voyage.
Later Rahul and I met up with some of the others at a local bar and had a drinks. Tubarao wa as weird as last time. No further comment.

Cadiz to Tubarao

16th December 2008 to 2nd January 2009

After the last of the equipment had been removed and the final inspections completed, we said our farewells to Cadiz and cast off. A new Chief Officer has assumed command of the Deck –Uma Shankar . He’s a young guy, and appears a little stiff, but also extremely competent. Apparently he has served as a Captain before. After the last guy that we ended up dubbing “Camel,” due to his personal habits and lack of leadership abilities, we are all extremely grateful. We moved a little offshore and weighed anchor at approximately 20.00 to ballast the ship. At 08.00hrs after preparing the anchor, I was called to the bridge to steer as we weighed and made our way to Gibraltar for bunkering (refueling). After being relieved at 14.15, I rested until we entered the bay and prepared to drop anchor again. We stayed there for approximately 12 hours as a barge came alongside and refueled us, before making our way into the Atlantic once again.

Orders from the company came through at the last minute (as usual). Although we were thinking of loading in Porto do Madeira (North x East Brazil) and discharging in Taranto, our orders dictate loading in Tubarao and discharging in Rotterdam. After umming and arring about ETA’s with the Chief Officer, we decided that this was to be my last voyage of this tour of duty – I will sign off and pay-out in Brazil to rejoin the school beginning in February.

This would have given me exactly 4 months – two months short of what I really needed, which is a little disappointing, however it is possible to make this time up at home by working aboard a ferry, coastal ship, or on a ship being built or repaired. Hopefully I can gain more than 2 months like this in anticipation of a similar occurrence on my second voyage as a cadet. What-ever, now I have the news, I am really starting to feel the need to get back to my life and beat it back into renewed form and order. After these voyages I don’t think I’ll ever be the same –I feel added onto. I feel a new appreciation for freedom, self-discipline, a new perspective of this Earth and for the variety of people inhabit it, and at once more confident of my being and more humbled in terms of the things I have taken for granted at home. I’m sure there are other things I will discover about myself when I get back. Sounds stereotypical? Obviously you are an “armchair” type. Go back to the T.V.

I am getting independent watches during navigation now as well as at anchor. This is excellent because I am pushed to gaining a perfect knowledge of the ships instruments and how she handles. I am now a much better helmsman than the autopilot, and it won’t be long until I get my steering certificate. Also we are stocking the bridge fridge with real milk (instead of powdered coffee creamer) and fruit juice. Anyway, I’m really pleased to be back at sea with the ship rolling and pitching through the water and the throb of the engine under my feet. I have a much better appreciation for her now that I’ve seen what she’s like under the water –especially the rudder and propeller.

Again we make our way down the coast of Africa and the Sahara, merrily joking about mirages of camels and seeing pirates and what have you. I think I should explain here that this is in fact a minor hotspot for piracy –more-so on the east coast of Africa though. Come to think of it Brazil is another. These can be ex-military mercenaries, or else rebels or other low-life scavengers who outfit fishing boats, speed boats or ex-naval craft, and prey on whatever they think might profit them. We have a strict policy regarding pirates: Don’t mess about and don’t give them the chance to board. Scare them, ram them, sink them, fire rockets and flares at them, flood their vessel or knock them overboard with our (many and powerful) fire-hoses, throw bits of metal at them… if they board us we’re not much of a match for AKs as there are (against my idea of common sense) no firearms onboard. In the event of boarding there are enough willing hands to deal with the situation provided they possess limited or no firearms. Often piracy takes the form of stealthy thievery of semi-valuable industrial items and materials such as copper or instrument.. even electric motors and the like. I suppose if you’re starving then a couple of hundred bucks is worth the risk. If they’re armed to the teeth, we must surrender if boarded… although I have to entertain plans to disarm one and play manhunt. There are plenty of hiding places on the ship and nasty traps in my head to fit this ship. Also we have a crew of Filipino’s, and they are among the most prolific pirates in the world, themselves. We will see.. or not.. I’m not really sure what I really want there. Fortunately it’s out of my hands then, eh? I have to say I’d be pretty proud of myself if I managed to sink a pirate vessel on my watch –that’s warrant a new tattoo for sure. But yes, piracy is still by no means uncommon.

Work on deck has me assisting Petty Officer Rahul the Deck Fitter again, repairing and servicing the mooring winches. Also I’m paying more attention this time to our ballast condition and the factors and mechanics involved in managing this. It’s GREAT to have a real Chief Officer again, who can teach me and feels responsibility in doing so.

Chritmas and New Years celebrations were pretty awesome. Extra days off, expensive Spanish wine free beer, Really good food, and all that accompanies it. See peectures. I was really looking forward to having New Years in Vitoria city but at anchor -fishing and partying amidst giant dragon dragon-flies and moths was actually not too bad

“Mi no hablar Espaniol” to “Soy hablar pequeno Espaniol”

Cadiz, Navantia Dry-dock, 12th November – 16th December 2008

I’ll skip to the chase for a moment.. central Cadiz is a labyrinth of Gothic churches, grand state buildings, medieval walls, and old two-three-storey shop/flats. It took me a couple of days not to get absolutely lost… and I never managed to fully find my way around everywhere until the last week. This impresses me in a city, because I cherish getting lost and seldom do it. Every part of it is charming –even if it still smells like a medieval city in places. On my last night I bought dinner at one of the squares (a good spot) –a large ale, some Spanish-style canonoli and a slice of whiskey tarta for €14… not too bad I guess. All the streets are real cobblestones.. no brick, and not much cement or tar-seal to be seen.

It is home to two castiles and a cathedral. One sea-fort is reached only by a relatively long sea-wall walkway that slightly meanders out from the beach. It makes for a romantic midnight stroll. Cadiz is between 6° and 7° North of the equator, and although most people aren’t swimming –the beach is still a popular hangout. Along the beach from the sea-fort is the (small) Castle of King Phillip and Queen Isabella. This has been restored and now houses a public (WITH NO COMPULSORY DONATIONS, EH?) art gallery, and is home to some quite important etchings, woodcuts, and paintings.

The Cathedral square marks the beginning (or end depending) of the fashion district –which I spent quite a bit of time in to begin with and settles on a pair of much needed shooter-style glasses from my new almost-favorite shop/designer in the world: Zara. In a row were Zara men, Zara women, and even Zara Children. Zara is styley and not greatly expensive. I looked at a suit too, and then realized I had one already just like it at home.. only in need of a minor repair.

If I come out of the street where the Navantia complex is situated, past the sleeping bum (permanent fixture), and then turn right I will soon come across a large and ornate monument to General Cortez the Magnificent. Along the Coast further along and I can climb the stairs onto a rampart wall. Lots of crazy kids hang out there and there is some actually artistic and sometimes moving graffiti. This has some real meaning to me where real struggle is evidenced behind as motivation. After this I find myself at my favorite lounge that’s name I struggle to remember. Groovy kitschy neon and fur place that plays weird music in the absence of darker alternatives in Cadiz. Further around the bend takes me along a string of marble paved pleasure gardens with alternating al antiqua and orientalesque themes, where artsy people hang out and smoke ….smoke and juggle and paint and perform. It should be remembered that Cadiz being very close to Gibraltar has alternately been territory to the Spanish (later Latinized) Celt-Iberians (caucasian people) and the North African/Middle Eastern factions via Morocco in the early parts of history –and this has formed what we know of as the classic Spanish aesthetic and culture. Further around brings us to the Castiles, and further still, around the back of the city with residential flats.

Coming into dry-dock was an adventure in itself. This required 5 tugs and two pilots. After my watch-keeping duty was finished, I was ordered to await and escort said pilots from the ladder to bridge. They came in separate boats, about 20 minutes apart. These gently guided the ship around the seawall, and into the Navantia complex’ largest dry-dock. Along with us in the complex were two old “Friggatos” of the same evidently anti-ship class by their armament, an MRV, and a smaller merchant ship. As our stern came into the dock, the gate rose from the water and we began positioning the ship using wire cables and our mooring gear so that she sat perfectly on top of some arranged blocks. After the gates closed completely the giant pumps began to remove the water, and the ship eventually settled on the blocks. We also opened our ingresses and let out what was left of our ballast.

Immediately the crane lifted officials and representatives of contracting companies onto the ship, and it all began. The Dock-Master, Jose along with our Superintendent (who didn’t join us in Taranto after all), were among the first. Power distributors, welding machines, Tool boxes, wires, scaffolding by the ton were lifted by the cranes as well. Two semi-permanent gangways were lifted and welded fore and aft along our starboard side. It was dusk when all the essential preparations were completed, and since immigration hadn’t arrived yet I went straight to bed.

The Deck Crew were put to hard labor throughout our stay. I have spoken to a few sailors who pretty much got a paid holiday when their ship has been in Dry-dock, but Faith N is a hard working ship. There’s always plenty to do. Every day Stores were lifted aboard by one of the derricks – food, beer, consumables, equipment, etc. We were the dog-men (directing the crane from the deck) and then ensured that things got to the right place. We were in charge of ensuring the various officials found their way to the Captain or the Superintendent. Later, when all the work on the outer hull was completed we moved alongside and moored just next to the dry-dock. Then we also had the job of attending the moorings, adjusting them to the tide. This was critical.. once in bad weather one of the forward hawsers snapped. Luckily no-one was near it, as this can be a fatal accident. Also, if we drifted out across the dock, we would have made short work of the two Navali frigatto, tiny compared to us, moored close-by for repairs.

If any jobs relating to the operation of the ship needed to be done such as maintenance of ship pumps we did this –one of my jobs was to assist in the maintenance of the telegraphed actuators that run through the void spaces, and control the pumps used in ballasting –which required going up and down the long ladders under-deck in pitch black darkness. The crew delighted in relating the story of a fitter on the ship who lost his grip on these ladders and fell to his gristly death. Apparently I’m the first one to use the cabin he did after this event. One guy actually went home in Cadiz, because he believed he was being haunted as he worked in the ballast tank where this macabre event took place. Because they are trying to unnerve me, I make a show of a comb and some other items I found in my cabin when I arrived –this usually sends them over the edge and they quit bothering me. Anyway, in short we had the same jobs as at any other time.

The main job of the deck however, was the major overhaul of our hatch covers. Seal gaskets were replaced, steel sections of the leading edge (where the hatch meets the stool of the hold) were replaced, cleating and some of the hydraulic gear reconditioned, scuppers and drains were cleaned and resurfaced, new fittings were fabricated and installed, the “cushions” of steel that take the load of the hatches and ensure they sit correctly were precisely measured and replaced, and of course everything was (of course) chipped and painted. We received new control boxes for them all, although only one needed to be replaced here. The last things we did on these was to recheck the hatches sat evenly on the “cushioning,” chalk tested the gaskets to ensure an adequate water-tight seal was achieved, and finally hose tested them to make doubly sure.

I forgot to mention the hold vents were overhauled. When the holds are full, there is quite a bit of steel inside. Something I learned only by being aboard –or rather thought about n this context after working with steel for quite some time now, was that iron absorbs oxygen.
If the holds are not ventilated this actually causes significant structural stress to the hull. Likewise, if someone entered a hold later it had been sealed for a week or two, they would very likely pass out.

The bridge got a few extra toys, such as digital anomometer and anographs, a new long-range ship identification device, some communications station upgrades, and a few other things. New computers connect the Captain and Chief Engineer to company H.O. - work is arranged and statistics sent back via the same kind of program available to my Dad’s fleet of trucks.

In the Navantia shipyards, we also share the deck with more than a hundred contracted workers who are doing various things around the ship. In a previous entry I mentioned that we were preparing our port-side fuel tank for work (there are two of these –port and starboard). One of the teams fitted an additional bulkhead –dividing this tank so that we are able to take another grade of fuel. Other structural repairs and maintenance were made. The holds themselves received attention to repair the damage of the giant derrick buckets used in discharging.

Among these contractors several faces became familiar. The Captain makes use of my friendships and often employs me as a diplomat. A couple of structural analysts from Singapore were interested in electronic music like I am, and stayed aboard the ship for their contract. An electrical Engineer from China I got on with in Rotterdam, returned here and also stayed aboard – as he came aboard, I saw him to his quarters in the stationary locker. There are those everywhere that identify with the (pan-Cultural) tribal/alternative movements, which I can relate to. Discussions about music, tattoos, piercings and drunken exploits, all sailorly topics, are often a sure bet in making new friends. One of the fire-wardens, who was quite taken that he was talking to someone from the officers ranks and also had tattoos and such, invited me for drinks at his apartment nearby. His lovely girlfriend delighted in playing the hostess- so I got to see the Spaniard in his natural domestic environment and learn about their quaint social customs (actually, of course, not that different from ours).

My first excursion into the city was as indicated above quite an adventure. Time went on and when duty allowed I would venture further and further around it. I became more familiar and usually didn’t get too lost. The first time I went out I met a flutist who was also one such proponent of alternative subculture, sported piercings and what-have-you. Cadiz is actually a quite conservative city, so people like that tend to stick out –if sometimes only to each other. My dress was never that outlandish but I guess there are subtle things like biker boots, and the slightly-less-than-subtly gothic Italian blazer I picked up in Taranto, as well as the whole dressed all in black thing, that gives things away. Anyway I threw him a few coins, we attempted a parlay, and he indicated to me that on early Saturday nights I should check out the beach in between the two forts, where a lot of musicians go to play. As I said before there are very few night-clubs as such. I met and spoke with quite a few people at these gatherings.

Towards the end of my stay in Cadiz, I began making some friends.. at least was able to talk/mime to some familiar faces on my journeys. This was helpful, because spending so much time on shore made me miss some people at home more than a little. I managed to rack up quite a toll bill using the satellite phone. Going to the beach and talking to the musicians, running into a beautiful Gothic couple occasionally and talking about how crap Cadiz was for alternative art-forms, being taught a “normal” weird friendship dance by some local punters (which I saw performed nearly everywhere by any kind of person near a pub or in a park), and trying to organise a recording from a flutist I met on my first day in town, all did a lot to settle my nerves. I also bought a music production suite for my laptop. This is a lot of fun when I get the chance to use it.

On to Tubarao via Algicerias, Gibraltar to bunker.