So.
Came into Jebel Ali yesterday- very excited to buy an internet connection (yes, it is done a little bit differently here) so after working my 8 straight and my 6 overtime, I climbed into a taxi and went to the "Hyper Mart" to buy my internets and a hard drive capable of holding all the music and movies I'm copying from everyone aboard.
Let me explain how this is supposed to work: First, you pick out your internet dongle. Then, you go pay for it and for a SIM card and a "top-up card." Next, you take the receipts back into the tech part of the store and they register the data plan from the top-up card to the SIM. And finally, you stick the SIM into the dongle, plug it into your computer, and you have internets.
Well, I paid for everything, walked back into the tech part of the store, and a different guy handed me my bag of stuff. I stopped in at the International Seaman's Club and used their internet for awhile, then headed back to the ship. What I found was a bag with no SIM card in it.
Talk about being bummed out/ alternately enraged.
I went back today- after standing watch (early, early this morning) down in the cargo hold where they're hauling out bunker fuel from a tank along side the "duct keel-" deep in the bottom of the ship, between the 9-high containers below the ones you always see visible on the deck of these ships. Sounds more interesting than you might think. Anyway, they were waiting for me at the store, friendly but with barely contained smirks at the dumb American sailor's ignorance.
And here I sit, frantically trying to update stuff while still in port and still have time to take a nap before casting off and my midnight shift.
I am sending a few (note, I mean "almost none") post-cards from Dubai... I don't know if the last ones I sent out (very few, meaning "almost none") from Norfolk ever made their destination, but these are equally as unlikely to reach their destinations.
A note about Jebel Ali- talk about an amazing container port! Holy crap! The cranes go on for mile after mile, all identical in shape and color, all equal distance apart. We drove past miles of ships in an out, comparing freeboard on one, gangway on another, the dents and scratches, bow bulbs, visible anti-piracy measures, etc.
The port itself is gargantuan... it houses "company housing" for the indentured Philippinos, Indians, Yemenis, Pakistanis, etc., duty free stores, the "Hyper Mart" where I got the internets dongle, highways, 4 lane roundabouts, construction everywhere, and a skyline of rows of cranes beyond rows of cranes, with Dubai itself off in the hazy distance- reminding me, ironically enough, of the artwork on the cover of "The Windup Girl," which for those familiar, adds more depth to the irony in that this is all oil wealth.
I call the architectural style "International Terminal," a post-industrial look that melds the beach-like natural desert sand-scaping (a playful hint of volley ball and picnics) with the pre-decay of security gates that boldly say "hegemonic corporate stronghold" and that the Proles will never realize the raw power at which Orwell hinted.
OK. We cast off at 2300 and I had 3 hours of sleep last night before my watch (the one with the bunker fuel at 0600). I'm going into a mighty sleep, now.
Anyone in town who can buy Laura dinner should do so, since I can't. If dinner is too hectic a time, coffee on Saturday morning will work, too...
Let me explain how this is supposed to work: First, you pick out your internet dongle. Then, you go pay for it and for a SIM card and a "top-up card." Next, you take the receipts back into the tech part of the store and they register the data plan from the top-up card to the SIM. And finally, you stick the SIM into the dongle, plug it into your computer, and you have internets.
Well, I paid for everything, walked back into the tech part of the store, and a different guy handed me my bag of stuff. I stopped in at the International Seaman's Club and used their internet for awhile, then headed back to the ship. What I found was a bag with no SIM card in it.
Talk about being bummed out/ alternately enraged.
And here I sit, frantically trying to update stuff while still in port and still have time to take a nap before casting off and my midnight shift.
I am sending a few (note, I mean "almost none") post-cards from Dubai... I don't know if the last ones I sent out (very few, meaning "almost none") from Norfolk ever made their destination, but these are equally as unlikely to reach their destinations.
 |
| The top of the Lashing Bridge- I spend a little bit of time here making "grease traps" for longshoremen that won't backfire and get us, instead. |
The port itself is gargantuan... it houses "company housing" for the indentured Philippinos, Indians, Yemenis, Pakistanis, etc., duty free stores, the "Hyper Mart" where I got the internets dongle, highways, 4 lane roundabouts, construction everywhere, and a skyline of rows of cranes beyond rows of cranes, with Dubai itself off in the hazy distance- reminding me, ironically enough, of the artwork on the cover of "The Windup Girl," which for those familiar, adds more depth to the irony in that this is all oil wealth.
I call the architectural style "International Terminal," a post-industrial look that melds the beach-like natural desert sand-scaping (a playful hint of volley ball and picnics) with the pre-decay of security gates that boldly say "hegemonic corporate stronghold" and that the Proles will never realize the raw power at which Orwell hinted.
OK. We cast off at 2300 and I had 3 hours of sleep last night before my watch (the one with the bunker fuel at 0600). I'm going into a mighty sleep, now.
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| The skyline of Dubai itself (not all of it) as we waited for the pilot to board... which, as we drifted backward, prompted the Old Man to say with a bit of a laugh, "I've never boarded a pilot going backward, before..." |
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