More sailing time...

My circadian rhythm has lost it's mojo and I have lost all track of time. Routine on board runs in four-hour Watches (shifts) and the first meal in 24 hours is at 0800 - which is one person's breakfast, but another's dinner. Typically this might be
steak tartare (raw egg and onions on the side) followed by sausage and beans. The next meal at 1200 is for example a soup, followed by Wiener Schnitzel and finally at 1800 is served something like a cold fish starter and a port/beef main meal. The good
news is that we eat to a seven-day menu, so for sure you can identify the time and the day by the meal.
Everyone works, wakes and sleeps to Watches
0000 - 0400
0400 - 0800
0800 - 1200
1200 - 1600
1600 - 2000
2000 - 0000
Life activities take place around people's two Watches, ie those on 0400 - 0800 watch are also on 1600 - 2000,. Sleeping, eating, laundry, relaxing etc takes place during the other hours. Added to the "time confusion" is because we are sailing from
Central Time to UCT, we have to lose seven hours on the voyage of 21 days. The Master's (Captain) aim is always to have sunrise at 0600, therefore, the decision to push the clock forward (or not) is entirely regulated by how much progress we have made
during the day (how far east we have travelled) and posted in the Mess (dining room) around 1700 for immediate action. This means that sometimes we have three clock changes in three 24 hours and other times there is no clock change for several days.
So with the ship time changing, the Watch time, wildly changeable weather, and not really knowing exactly where I am, it's completely impossible to hang on to an "up at 0700 and bed at 2300" routine, particularly if no-one else is. Yesterday I woke at
1100, ate at 1200, had couple of drinks and card games with one of the off-duty officers, ate again at 1800 watched movies, did laundry and went to bed at 0400. Just now I have woken from a nap (quelling the "quesies" and warming up!) at 2000, time
change one hour has been announced, so it's 2100 and I've missed the meal (it was goulash; so I know it's Monday evening), but rummaged in the fridge for some cheese and fruit. The Officers and Crew are very hospitable; always happy to talk and share
their knowledge and experiences and it's fun to talk to them. So when I've worked out the technicalities of posting this, I'll have a shower, get dressed, probably go up to the Bridge for some company and then maybe have a couple of beers with whomever
is coming of Watch at 0000, before grabbing a few hours sleep. Guess that's what you call Ship Lag!

Sailing time...

We've been underway non-stop for a few days and are now hitting the high seas! Hurricane Ophelia is ahead of us and leaving some nasty weather in her wake. Which means life aboard feels like living on a permanent fair ground. Everything has to be
stowed away or tied down and it seems always in the when I'm asleep something in my cabin will break loose (bottle of perfume, can of Diet Coke, lipsalve) and start rolling very noisily back and forth in a drawer. Showering is an interesting experience
as you try to stay upright, while doing one-handed shampooing (the other hand firmly clamped on to the hand-hold bar). The accommodation runs side to side along 40M (120 feet) corridors, so as you walk along you do a fair impression either of a
cart-horse (upper half leaning forward, climbing up the"roll") or a duck, feet akimbo, desperately trying not to be forced to run down the "roll". Because functional areas of the ship are all on different levels (many decks apart), it makes using the
steep stairs all the time too exhausting, so I have had to "get a grip" on my dislike of - and start using - the elevator, which is the worst ride! It's small (4 peeps max, standing very close together) and metal. Obviously it rolls with the ship,
which is a strange enough sensation, but as it hits the side of the shaft, it bounces back, then the whole process starts again on the next roll - like being sideways in a bumper car. When you finally arrive at the right deck (it's slow), you have to
be really patient and wait for the ship to roll back again before you can open the door - mid cycle (very panic-making the first time you are unable to open the door, before you realise the technique!). Much as I hate cruise-ships, I would be very
grateful for a few of their niceties, notably stabilisers!
Probably because there is total silence all around, you really notice the noise aboard. The engine is - surprisingly - relatively quiet, it produces a rich "burr", sort of like white noise with bubbles, in the background is the swhishy water as the
hull cuts through it, all very rhythmic and soporific. The containers themselves sway with the roll (very alarming to see at first) and creak and cackle like fishwives at the market. They also whistle on certain headings, it's very melodious, a
man-made whale song. There's a permanent, light rattling of bottles and household items (hairdryers, speakers) housed in wooden restraints inside cupboards on tables etc. And into that mix finally, are footsteps, either none or very loud (even with
rubber soled shoes) - depending on which way the walker is headed - against or into the roll. So that's the background, which is then shockingly interrupted every now and again with high, shrieking sounds from lots of different alarm types- usually
something in the engine room which needs attention. The alarms only sound in the public areas, but also in the Chief Engineer and duly Watchman's cabins, my cabin is directly below the Chief Engineer's cabin, so I do hear them all!
The view all round of course is of water and sky. That's it! Yesterday we did pass a smaller vessel (we pass no closer than 1 nautical mile, usually a minimum of 1.5). Last week, entering the Mississippi, I watched a playful pod of dolphins frolicking
alongside (drawn by the vibrations in the water) but haven't seen anything since, although I'm told whales are commonly seen further out in the Atlantic. That will depend on visibility, this morning it was raining massive cats and dogs (lots of pumps
running!) and there was a huge "thrumming" noise as the rain lashed the metal containers. Around 1300 the downpour stopped and along came stunning blue skies with lots of fluffy clouds and a great big orange ball hanging high in the sky. Now a few
hours later we are sailing through the thickest fog I have ever seen (think Sherlock Holmes' London), with practically zero visibility.

Sole overboard!

"Oh flip" she thought " there goes my favourite shoe, flopping over the guard rail" as she watched the flip-flop flying through the air with the greatest of ease, fluttering gently on the breeze created by steaming full ahead at 22 knots.  

 

 She'd learned that flip-flops (or some kind of easy slip on shoes) are crucial to life on board, because you are constantly taking them on and off. If you don't, the carpeted areas (cabins/recreation areas) soon get absolutely filthy from invisible - but ever present - dirt/grease picked up in other areas of the ship (deck, offices, workrooms, crew rooms). It's also the perfect way to find someone - look for shoes outside their cabin; no shoes means they're out and about on the ship somewhere. Fine tune the tracking by checking outside the Mess and Recreation rooms and a few other key areas (quick glance down several long corridors), if you still can't see the shoes - they're on The Bridge, in the Engine room or on deck.



Leaving New Orleans


 


Turning around in port at Bahamas

  


View from Supercargo cabin

 




I HATE the gangway (very steep, wobbly and 20 metres / 66 feet above ground at the top!)

 The loss of the flip-flop was by far the most eventful moment of the last ten days, during which she had travelled from Houston (hot) to New Orleans (humid) to The Bahamas (wet), to Savannah (shopping) to Charleston (internet access) on the container vessel MSC Alessia.

The voyage booked months was proving much more  more interesting and enjoyable than she had even dared to hope.



Drying room

  The ship is very clean and well maintained, under the command of a "salty old sea dog" Captain (German) of 33 years experience. Officers and crew number 23 (German, Filipino and a lonely Pole) and (at first)passenger 1 (me). Fellow passengers (German General, retired and Mrs GG) joined in New Orleans and 1 more (American) expected today, here in Charleston


Captain and Watchman on The Bridge



The superstructure (accommodation) runs the full beam (overall vessel width; 40M/125 feet), sitting about 2/3rds back and consists of nine decks, running from "upper" (confusingly, this is the lowest accommodation deck), then A through G and at the very top sits The Bridge (command centre). Each cabin or compartment is labelled according to function (e.g. "Cold Store"; "Chief Engineer"; "Crew Recreation room").

Her front-facing cabin ("Supercargo") on deck E was a little "home from home"; reasonably large , comfortably appointed and furnished (small double bed, sofa, desk, lots of storage space, fridge) to the usual German efficient standards, including en-suite wetroom. It had taken her a little while to get used to the view - the eye is led across a huge stack of containers (each 8 feet 6 inches high, 8 feet wide, 20 or 40 feet long and having a maximum payload of nearly 70,000 lbs). Containers are stacked 14 wide and 7 high fore and aft (rear), fully loaded the ship carries 6,500 containers; carrying a variety of items from wine (South America) to limestone products (Bahamas) to paper (Savannah). She was somewhat relieved to learn that there were no human bodies on this ship (India, export to UK for research, 50 refrigerated per container). On this ship the major containers concerns are fish (to maintain constant refrigeration) and hazardous chemicals (to ensure stability of load).

Very early on The Bridge

Lots of these!



In case you wondered (like I did) - how does the Pilot actually get on and off board?



Fact-ette time: 80% of everything that is transported throughout the world is done by ship.  60% of everything in your house has been on a ship.

By far the most exciting activity is coming alongside (into port) and departing. The Master (Captain) generously allows passengers on The Bridge at any time. First the Pilot (specialist Mariner who understands local conditions) comes on board, and control of the helm (steering) is handed over from the Master to the Pilot. The Pilot then guides the ship (using a couple of tugs) safely into port, through a pre-defined channel ,avoiding obstacles and shallow water. MSC Alessia has an air draught (vertical distance between a vessel's highest point and adjacent sea level of 55M/170feet), so the obstacles aren't just below, but overhead too (bridges).  Surprisingly, ports are often quite a long way inland (New Orleans, 10 hours sailing up the Mississippi; Savannah 3 hours river cruise).

The ship is "prettied up" for coming alongside, flags raised (host country fore, registered country aft) and the officers wear full uniform. When underway, shorts and jeans prevail for all from Captain to ABs.

As soon as the ropes are tied off, the gantries (cranes) begin un/loading containers and the noise starts. BIG, mechanical,clanking sounds; more or less - depending on the skill of the gantry controller, a highly specialised, highly paid (and Mafia controlled) job. Un/loading is done as quickly as possible, as an aeroplane is only making money while in flight, so a commercial seagoing vessel is only profitable while at sea, plus time alongside is very expensive.  For security reasons, when alongside, the ship is in total "lock-down" (all entry and exit points locked except at gangway), and no access to The Bridge.

Life on board a container vessel - as a passenger - is immensely laid-back. There's a time-less quality and a peacefulness - especially underway (at sea) where there's just miles and miles of blue sky and ocean all around and incredibly huge vistas of stars and planets at night. As the ship runs 24 hours, there's no obvious delineation between day and night and the only indicator of time is your stomach's demands.

Survival vessel training

Mr and Mrs German General

 

Approaching a bridge on the Mississippi


 

We made it - just... mast cleared by about 6 inches!





Tug



No wildlife on board, barring the occasional egret which hitches a ride, feathers ruffling in the breeze and snakes (poisonous, American) which nest (and breed) in the containers and get shaken up by the movement at which point they slither out on to deck... cue a hapless AB (Able Seaman) ordered on deck with a net and protective gloves - and the 2nd Officer on standby nervously clutching the anti-venom.


The ship has its own de-salination plant - so no restrictions on water usage. Facilities also include a laundry, elevator and a well-stocked dispensary (morphine to nursing aids) - no doctor but 2nd Mate (Officer) with extensive medical training.


There's a small salt-water swimming pool, which was filled en route to The Bahamas (warm water). She took a dip, luckily before the 3rd Officer had told her about the time they caught a shark and kept it in the pool (for fun and added entertainment value when female passengers find it). He enjoyed telling the tale considerably more than she did hearing it - and that was the end of her swimming aboard days!


The long reach of the "Nanny State" has not embraced the world of commercial shipping (hurrah!). You are expected to work out for yourself that decks are very slippery when wet and not to use the elevator during excessive pitching or rolling (up and down or side to side movement). Nor is there any signage to tell you that steel doors are heavy (mind the fingers!) and gangways very steep and made of hard, sharp metal (ditto the shins!). The only caution given is not to keep fruit in cabins while in the USA, port inspectors take a very dim view and slap huge fines on the Captain (personally), ranging from $1000 to jail.


The Captain (Master) has total command at all times, there's a dedicated phone line to his cabin for when he's not on The Bridge. Often he is not; six watches of four hours each are shared between Chief, Second and Third Officers - but he is always on The Bridge during maneuvers (coming alongside or departure, turning, river sailing), which can take 12-14 hours and often in the middle of the night. Otherwise he tells me his life is dominated by paperwork, which there does seem to be a lot of: cargo, passenger and crew manifests, immigration, Customs, Lloyds inspection, shore passes, port inspectors, reporting to weather stations, Bonded inventory - the list is endless.  Nothing moves without the Master's command; the ship doesn't alter course nor speed; NOTHING and noone boards or disembarks without his personal approval (he keeps all passports). Everything is reported to him 24/7, from passenger visits to The Bridge to a request for an aspirin from the Chief Cook.

Meals are pretty good (mostly), plentiful, taken officially in the Officer's mess (German; lots of pork and cabbage), but sometimes eaten in the Crew's mess (Filipino, lovely rice dishes) always at: 0800, 1200, 1800 (tea and cofee at 1000 and 1500). If she bumps into him, The Master has taken to dropping her a little "mot du jour" at the evening meal.  Ranging from "clocks forward tonight" (always at 1700 to allow all Watches to adjust in time) to "arrival/departure time is confirmed as..." (it's infinitely changeable depending on speed of local labour in loading the ship, last minute changes to cargo) to "there's a hurricane waiting for us south of Newfoundland" (more of this later - or hopefully not).

For now, the most pressing decision she had to make was whether to hitch a ride to Walmart (at every port there is ALWAYS someone going to Walmart, it's the most popular store in the country) to hunt down another pair of flip flops. Or to bask in the last few rays of sunny warmth she was sure to feel before Spring.  It was about to get cold - very cold (next waypoint: Newfoundland).

A funny thing happened to me today...

This morning, I drove from Austin to Houston on open and empty  roads, through small towns.

Saw some brilliant "only in Texas" signs

Stopped for a traditional ice cream at Dairy Queen (this was the smallest one!)

Listened to Texas talk-radio. Learned that we are living in "wicked times" and I can have a lap-band fitted for only $9999.99 (not clear if the two are connected!).


Spotted some hilarious road names. 

  

Drove on hairier roads

 

Had "supper"

Made it to the port  - where things  unravelled a bit... turns out MSC Alessia is still in Mexico, delayed in Customs.  Ho hum.

Hence my overnight sojourn in the concrete backwaters of Houston Port in the finest hotel that my limited budget can buy!

Spot the lack of ocean outside my "cabin" window!

I love it when a plan comes together.  Doh!

I hope NOT to be updating you tomorrow...no news really would be good news!

Arrivederci Austin!

...and Au Revoir!

Have had a completely and utterly wonderful couple of weeks in Austin, perfectly concluded - as it started - by a meal with "les girls", Kathia and Meli.

Preparations are in place (thanks Dad!) and thus beginneth part three of the adventure...

(Later) today I board

Cargo ship: MSC Alessia

Length x breadth: 301 m X 40 m (over 1000 feet long!)

Speed recorded (Max / Average): 18.9 / 10.1 knots

Flag: Germany [DE]

Call Sign: DAQZ

Itinerary

Houston                              20 - 22 September

New Orleans                       23 - 24

Freeport (Bahamas)            27 - 28

Savannah                            29 - 30

Charleston                           30 Sept - 01 October
Crossing The Atlantic!         02 - 10
Antwerpen, Belgium            11 - 12
Arrive Felixstowe, UK      Approximately 13 October 2011

If you want to take a peep anytime to see where in the world I am, go to Marine Traffic and type MSC Alessia into the "Go to vessel" box on left.

As I type and contemplate the prospect of 21 days afloat without www, email, telephone, TV or radio,  I do wonder where I get these ideas? Why does no one try to stop me?  On the other hand, every "off the wall" idea (live with ten people recently released from prison, anyone?) has always turned out to be bloody brilliant!

So, I set of with great excitement, a pile of luggage (am wondering if the "100KG allowance" is a restriction and not a challenge?)...

...and sadness to leave many good friends, old and new

...but looking forward to seeing UK family and friends again (old and young)

There may (or not!) be a window during the voyage to update my BLOG...

So keep an eye out!

Four weddings and a funeral?

No fear! Not on this, my last weekend in Austin - rather "Two Delicious Dinners and One Luscious Lunch"!

Friday 16 September 2011

Dinner at the Rio Grande (restaurant, not river!) with Kathia and Robert.

Turns out - it serves "Monster Margs" and "Major Mexican Martinis".. who knew?

Kathia went into full "chores to do at the weekend" mode - methinks Robert wasn't too pleased to see the growing list on the napkin, but Kathia was soon distracted by "trying on" a new dress!

 

I met my first "Red-headed margarita" (the drink, not the girl - modelled here by a friendly local) and helped a Mexican chappie to celebrate his Independence Day!

Saturday 17 September 2011
Dinner at Waterloo Icehouse which was a trip down memory lane, driving down 360 en route to VTEL(not) .  Chilled evening and good ol' burger dinner followed with Robyn and Ken...who were CLEARLY delighted with their small gift of homemade Bianca's Banana Bread!

Sunday 18 September 2011

Today I enjoyed a really lovely Sunday lunch with the family at Meli's partner's home.  Just a regular lunch, if you count Albert Roux Don as family.  Wow - the boy dun good!

It would take a 53 page PowerPoint presentation to explain the complexities of the "in-laws", "steps" etc, but suffice to say I really enjoyed meeting all the various "extentions" to Kathia's family.  A perfect ending to a fabulous weekend!

   

 



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