To Singapura and Back

The phytoplankton rich waters, green and glowing, gave way to the deepest
indigo seas that churned the palest of blues, as if the sea water was stingy
with its pigment and was holding back most of the precious blue from its
churned and oxygenated aspect. Flying fish skated off the bow bulb with a
smile. They soared impressive distances on their plastic wings, skimming
the tops of the 3 meter swells that crashed into the ship with a dull roar,
and then plinked out of my sight beneath the waves. And I was again sleep
deprived and walking through a dreamlike fugue-state, alternately amazed to
be out here and sick to death of it, as I trudged fore and aft with a bucket
filled with grease guns and rags, physically maintaining the gantry crane
while I mentally sailed away.

After the indigo seas gave way to cobalt plains where whitehorses roamed, we
entered the Straits of Malacca and the phytoplankton returned; the brilliant
blue hues were replaced with an olive drab reminiscent of World War II
military dress. I finished my 0400-0800 watch and slept while onward to
Singapore the ship steamed. We anchored in the Sinki and upon waking I was
told that we were promised a launch at 1500 to take us into Singapore. Of
course, it didn't show up until 1645, so we stood around in the equatorial
heat trying to hide from the sun until it arrived, some of us bitching, some
telling jokes, but all of us casting disgusted looks at our various time
pieces.

As the launch pulled away from the ship I felt a sensation I can only
explain by likening it to the simultaneous unwinding of a spring, a deep
exhalation, and a cavalier acceptance of the third-world dirt and sweat at
the working periphery of first-world Singapura. The launch roared along and
kicked up a sizable wake and I sat on the stern bench, enjoying being in the
sun. My quest was for BBQ'ed bacon, the Chinese pastries whose name I don't
know but I know where to get them, top up cards for my phone, and a
chiropractor. I managed to get the pastries, a $6 haircut (Sing, not
dollars), and a top up card. The haircut looks like a $6 haircut, too, and
the Bosun has been laughing about it, saying I got a haircut from a blind
man... he was an old crippled Chinese man with a skinny-Elvis helmet of
hair, how was I to know he could butcher a buzz cut? I think I'll cut it
next time... I certainly can't fuck it up worse.

We caught a launch back at 2345 after missing the last sailing ($60) and
found that the gangway was up and the pilot ladder from where we'd
disembarked was now blocked by a giant bunker barge, which had a jacob's
ladder hanging down to the water. Up we went, and wandered upward through
the labyrinthian stairs and walks, until we came to the conclusion we had to
jump from one deck to the other. Good thing I had on my jumper's flip
flops.

Apparently, in our absence, there had been a small oil spill. From day one
on this boat I had to know how to respond to SOPEP regulations concerning an
oil spill, and on this ship, and for this company, any amount spilled gets
an immediate all-hands response. There is no dicking around- the procedure
is hammered home over and over again. But not for this crack-pot
engineering team- it got a few pounds of kitty litter and then got left
there for the port inspector to find (who could fine us US-50,000). The
almost uncontrollable rage by the deck department, licensed and unlicensed,
was - I think - appropriate. The only thing that can be said in the
engineering department's defense is they kept it from going overboard.

So the Bosun and I, assisted by the two cadets, the slightly-reformed
Reefer, and a wiper, cleaned the spill. Which meant the Bosun and I cleaned
it and taught the kids how to work (the oldest of the lot aside from us is
the Reefer, who is in his early 20's). A bunker pipe had burst down under a
walk in front of the house and filled 3 compartments with the heavy fuel oil
that is so thick and viscous it requires heating before it will flow through
pipes. We filled up two 55 gallon drums and when the sun rose we wrapped
things up, cleaning up the last of the mess with a citrus cleaner that made
it impossible to tell there had ever been a problem.

I threw away everything I was wearing, took a shower, and climbed in bed.
On the other side of the bulkhead next to my head the lashers (longshoremen)
were banging on lashing rods with wonderbars, and as I drifted in and out of
sleep I decided to go ashore and get a hotel room and a full night of sleep
as soon as possible.

So the next day I hopped the bus and made my way into town in search of a
chiropractor, a feat necessitating cab rides, phone calls, and miles of
confused walking. My new flip flops began to wear on my feet, and before
long I was virtually hobbled, but after 4 hours I found a guy who fixed my
outa-whack atlas and put me back together. I was laughing with relief when
I walked out of his office- the extent of the pain I'd been living with and
trying to ignore was exposed by its absence, and I am so glad I spent those
hours hunting. Plus, I found several places to show Laura if we can finagle
a way to get us both there at the same time that I never would have
discovered had I not been hunting for a chiropractor...

A note to future mariners who go ashore in hopes of a peaceful night of
sleep- save your money and don't bother. The silence and lack of vibration
and noise kept me wide awake. My experience was a cycle of
failed-attempt-to-sleep, tv, failed-attempt-to-sleep, read my book,
failed-attempt-to-sleep, more tv... I arrived back at the ship the following
morning as exhausted as when I'd left and $150US lighter.

We got underway around noon and made way through the dense and unyielding
Singaporean maritime traffic, which is very much like any summer day on Lake
Union- increased by a factor of 10 in size and scope, of course- a slalom
which required one full stop and yours truly steering us through some of the
Captain's mighty tight maneuvers (have I mentioned how much I like this
guy?). It felt like what I prefer... compared to days and nights of single
use vessel traffic maneuvering in predictable corridors or expanses of
shipless ocean, navigating congested harbors with all types of vessel
traffic entertains me and soothes my nerves (go figure).

Once out of the thick of it we found ourselves in jade seas and heavy
traffic and began making our way back out the Straits of Malacca toward the
Indian Ocean. The highlights of the last week were phone conversations with
both Laura and mom- but the results of which are that my top-up cards were
completely used up before my videos or photos could be uploaded. I'll
upload them in a few days from Sri Lanka.

Good night.