UAE again and the Irritant

Emerald green waters churned the color of Spanish moss as we rounded up from
the Arabian Sea and into the Straits of Hormuz. As our visibility increased
with the lessening humidity and the claustrophobia lifted from my psyche,
those unrecognizable constellations I rarely see in the equatorial
declination (opposite Orion, that rat Taurus, and the Canlises) rose above
the horizon on our bow after the sunset during my evening watch as we
steamed north at 21 knots.

True to my declaration that my 4x8 watch is the "helmsman's watch," I took
us in to Jebel Ali. The port is a straight shot in. The tugs are modern
twin nozzle affairs that remind me of Fantasia's hippo ballerinas due to
their squat size and nimble nature. The ship is backed into place between
the container berths and an LPG (liquid petroleum gas) dock deemed too
dangerous to be on shore but not too dangerous around which to maneuver
66,000 ton ships in reverse. And of course the deck was like a well oiled
machine, sending our spring lines first, our offshore lines next, and a
single inshore line with an inshore "softline," which is a dock line not
kept under constant tension on a winch, but rather a dock line that gets
tensioned on a capstan which requires a second line made up to it with a
"Chinese stopper knot" to hold the tension before it is released and it can
finally be made off (given "three round turns, three figure eights, and a
stovepipe" on the bits). The softline is there should the constant tension
hydraulics fail.

I have little favorable to say about the United Arab Emirates except to
marvel at the efficiency of modern slavery- cargo operations there are a
marvel to behold. The equipment is new and uniform and visible as far as
the eye can see. All the cranes were in place before we had the gangway on
the dock, and the only time the fleet of trucks stops is at crew change-
which is done at a run by little brown men with fluorescent colored vests
and hardhats- if you blink you miss it. The lashers are primarily Indian
and Pakistani, but I can only assume the crane operators and truck drivers
are, too.

And not an Egyptian in sight: apparently on an adjacent dock, whose cranes
can be seen looming in the Arabian haze from our weather deck, there is a
mosque that services the Islamic slaves and it gets used, quickly and
efficiently, when the call to prayer is blared over the loudspeakers at the
proscribed times. The temperature was mild even by my standards, a
comfortable 80 and nowhere near the 130 it was 4 months ago, which I heard
all about. Repeatedly.

This time in the UAE I was reminded I find it a depressing place with an
oppressive air and I opted to sleep instead of going into the walled slave
town or taking the train into Dubai. I have some video shots of cargo
operations and some photos of my view of cranes and views into the cargo
holds (I still get floored by the scale of this ship sometimes), but it will
have to wait to be uploaded for a week or so when we get into Singapore.

My toilet has been messed up, a repair handled by the junior engineer.
After working 17 hours, right smack-dab in the middle of my 4.5 hours of
available sleep, I awoke to use the toilet, which promptly began to run
after flushing. I had another hour of sleep left before my alarm was set to
go off at 0315 so I closed the door to the head and went back to sleep.

When I awoke I wrote a note explaining the problem to the delegate and then
went to my shift. The delegate woke up at 0500, read the note, and went
down to the engineers to let them know there was a problem. The chief mate
sent me up during the middle of my watch to let the chief engineer and the
1st Engineer have a look at it (everyone else in their department was
ashore) at 0530. The Chief asked me how long had it been running... I said
"since last night," meaning my night of several hours ago.

Well, not to let a mere molehill escaped exploitation as an irritant, the
Chief Engineer made some snide comment about how that was our "drinking
water," turned off all the water to my head, then closed it all up and left.
On the board appeared a note saying "Do not wait 17 hours to notify the
engineers if your toilet is running- that is our drinking water going down
the toilet!" The delegate (Peaches Warrior Princess) promptly changed "17"
to "4" and I revised "that is our drinking water going down the toilet" to
read "that is our toilet water going down the toilet."

Fortunately, this guy has soiled his nest repeatedly, and everyone (the Old
Man included) is sick of him. The Captain apparently lost his cool and went
New York ballistic on him in the officer's mess tonight but I missed all
that action. The Chief managed to piss off the cook (bad move), insult the
cadet (for what?), and further alienate everyone aboard this last port so my
running water story is just par for the course- I am waiting, waiting,
waiting for the shoe to drop with gleeful anticipation.

Does he get pushed under the bus or over the rail? Will it be retribution
from a thousand cuts? How? How does this guy have the epiphany that leads
him to decide he'd rather be on the beach than on this ship? Will there be
foul substances on his door handle or in his office drawers? A rare case of
food poisoning that strikes just him? I just don't know- what I do know is
there are over 20 pent up and pissed off sailors and one lightning rod. The
Wrestler told me some interesting advice back on day 1 aboard this big old
motor vessel: "Don't be the lightning rod." Chief Engineer obviously didn't
get the same advice.

And tonight I saw the most fantastic bio-luminescence of my life: a bold,
neon blue line that followed the wake and ran fore and aft the length of the
ship. The green glow was there, too, but it appeared dull and insignificant
in comparison to the vivid electric color, the display's cohesiveness and
uniformity, and the astounding brightness of this phosphorescence.