Fai Tira blog Monday 21st March 2011

In Salalah

 

It feels like a long time since I sat at this key-board with the intention of completing a blog up-date, so I checked back, and apart from the last recent brief announcement, the last one, that I scribed, was on that fateful day following the murders on Quest.

The silence that followed was designed and for a whole host of reasons, but much of it was centred on just what to do next.

There were obviously some huge questions that needed asking and that had to be directed at the right people, and the answers listened to. It was then a case of absorbing and considering. All of this we were advised, for the sake of our future security, should take place away from the public gaze.

At that stage things were still unclear. There were still boats out there, on their own and in great danger and some boats were still intending to move on to the next stage. And all of the time there were, and still are, evil people out there who might now also be driven by the desire for reprisals, and we had been told that, they have very sophisticated communication and monitoring systems, so silence it was!

 

Salalah had always been listed as one of the less inviting destinations of the journey and ironically, was also seen as the area where we should all re-group in preparation for the perceived dangers to come not those already experienced.

 

Our re-organised, extended and extremely stressful trip from Mumbai had taken us a long way north and although, for long periods towards the end, we were within a short distance of the coast, it was just tantalisingly out of sight.

However, on the final approach our course started to hug the coast of Oman, and what a spectacular sight greeted us. If green is your favourite colour, then it might not have had quite so much appeal. The arid landscape appeared devoid of anything that was reliant on roots to support life. However, even without any green what there was on show was a magnificent display of red, yellow and brown hues all wrapped up in precipitous  sedimentary limestone slopes and  rock faces rising directly out of the sea with peaks that seemed to hang just below the sky. Life looked unsustainable, but with careful scrutiny, the shore-line revealed the tiny low level white painted and almost camouflaged dwellings of isolated communities....... Truly breathtaking!

The first impression of Salalah port was one of immense scale. Huge commercial vessels lined the entrance and there was a massive concrete jetty pointing the way to the harbour entrance. Standing guard over it were the sentry like lines of steel structures that looked like artistic sculptures, but that in truth doubled up as the crane-age for unloading the containers from the decks of the rusting hulls of the massive ships that dwarfed us as we drifted slowly beneath their shadows. Then it was on towards the opening leading the way to the dusty and noisy berthing that would turn out to be our homes for, at least, the next six weeks!

 

The Blue Water Rally had already designated this as one of their supported legs and Tony Dimmett would be there to greet us, and although a couple of isolated BWR boats had already arrived, the bunch that we were part of was the first of the organised groups to turn up, and we were greeted by the sight of the stark tyre lined harbour wall and the featureless surroundings that would soon become all too familiar.

 

 

The main emotions I think most of us felt at this time were those of relief and sorrow, we were here and safe and others, who should have joined us, weren’t.

 

The other following groups came in fairly rapidly throughout the course of the next couple of days, and during the note- comparing that took place it became obvious that the strain of the trip had taken an emotional toll.

The briefing for the next leg was due to follow shortly and minds were tending to focus on what sort of format it would take.

As the boats arrived, I was somewhat surprised, but pleased to see that Richard was still on Island Kier and after our greetings, we soon made plans to visit the souk part of town, to eat, and amongst other things acquire a much overdue hair-cut. Hairdressing (all male) was all concentrated in one, seemingly designated area with lines of shops where the owners waited outside to grab you on passing, and explain the virtues of their own establishments. So with all that choice, the task should have been simple. Well, actually the selection was straight forward, the price of a haircut being so cheap. However, haircut’s the operative word and once inside you’re captured. Alright we weren’t tied down, but once the curtains were drawn over the windows (Not quite sure why) and the persistent, friendly persuasiveness eventually wins and wears you down, events kind of take over. Then once you finally agree to accept one extra service, a chain reaction is provoked and before long a simple facial wipe turned into an aggressive head and face massage followed by all sorts of oil treatments and almost a full body massage and each objection, protest and request for a price was met with the a smiling verbal response of standard......... Now just what does that mean?

When we finally put a stop to the proceedings and emerged into the daylight from beneath a pile of heated towels, dripping sweat, but with facial hair still intact, the bill we were presented seemed anything but standard. Then, the good humoured, haggling started and we eventually shook hands on a price that was about the equivalent of a standard UK hair cut, and about twenty times the one we started with, So perhaps that’s what standard means then!!?

Back at the harbour, the time for the briefing came arround quickly, the venue being the Oasis Club.

 

It was a sombre and reflective affair, with an unusual agenda item. It was a review of the available options of safe transport and travel to the Mediterranean. Suddenly a different train of thought was introduced to the programme and divisions rapidly opened. The main option under consideration, was to treat the boats like freight and have them transported by sea while the crews travelled by air and joined them at the designated destination

The costs were huge, and to some of us seemingly out of reach, but the question being asked was, if the finance were made available, which option would be taken.

For me that seemed pretty straight forward.

What was out there at sea was something akin to a lottery and the price of failure could so easily be the ultimate one, as we’d already witnessed. All this was backed up with every message received, from those who knew, and confirmed that it was worsening and that we would be insane to take the chance.

The meeting soon broke up into discussion groups, based on those that had just crossed the Indian Ocean together and now concerns started to turn into divisions. Some still felt concern over the accuracy source and detail related to the flow of information.

 

I think that most of us came away feeling unsure of the outcome, although those that clearly had the resources, seemed to have already made up their minds

The next day the memorial service for those on Quest was being held at the Hilton Hotel.

What a crazy world! ......... We must have all been asking ourselves the same question. How on earth did it come to this?

Obviously, what confronted us all was a great deal of pain, sorrow and anger, but also on display, and acting as a bit of an antidote, was much love and gratitude.

It turned out to be a great service.  The American Ambassador and a pastor from Muskat were in attendance and against the background of a very moving photo slide show, many heart-felt eulogies were delivered; particularly poignant were those of Glenda off Lucy Alice and Larry off Journey........A very sad occasion indeed!

 

 

For many in attendance this was also to be a defining moment. At the service was a man called Michael from one of the coalition protection agencies, MARLOW,

What he revealed, during an hour or so of talk and discussion, just about set the seal on the final and almost unanimous decision......Sailing any further would be madness, and other options had to be investigated.

Fortunately for us, the fleet contains a number of very capable business people, and pretty soon an action-plan was conceived and an operational committee formed, that would work together and report back to the fleet, initially on a daily basis. Another reason for silence emerged. We did not want the commercial world to have the impression that we were desperate to leave, things were going to be expensive enough, without compromising our buying power!.

Once decisions were made, things seemed to progress fairly rapidly which, to an extent, belied the amount of effort being exerted by the committee.

It was decided to proceed with one of the world leaders in this type of operation. Soon contracts were drawn up and money committed.

All of the boats, bar one that still wanted to make the trip, would be loaded into cradles on the deck of a very large cargo ship for a sail through the Suez Canal, so even if we weren’t going to quite complete the journey, the yachts still would. It was at this time that we lost Jeremy. He’d taken the decision to proceed as crew on another boat; we’ve since heard that he made it.......... Thank goodness!

For me, at least, the decision was accompanied by a certain feeling of regret, but also one of great relief. So all we had to do now was sit back, wait and try to enjoy our enforced stop. And with ships and equipment we needed still in different parts of the world, there would be plenty of time for that, with an estimated six week period before departure. During that intervening period, the noisy, hot, dust bowl, that is the Port Of Salalah, would be our home.

The central focal point for social activity remained the Oasis Club. It was just about in walking distance, easy on a bike and a doddle in a car.

Transport was an issue requiring urgent attention. There were no buses and a trip to town, Lu Lu’s the supermarket or The Hilton Hotel was an expensive taxi ride away. So, like many of the others, we split the monthly cost of a hire car, ours with Lucy Alice and Soul Maria.

 

 

 

So that just about sums up our level of activity, super market, town, Hotel, although we sometimes varied the sequence to prevent over-excitement.

Don’t you just wish you’d decided to sail around the world?

 

 

Seriously though, it hasn’t really been that bad. We’ve had a chance to watch Six Nations Rugby and world cup Cricket on a big screen (cricket was bad If you’re English!). See some camels, in fact see loads of camels and more recently, use the car to see some sand!! (told you it was exciting). Peter’s been out and about more than me and will include photos of his wanderings in a separate blog.

However, more recently we both travelled, separately, towards the Yemeni boarder. My trip was made with the guys off Journey and Moonshiner. And although we didn’t quite make it to the beach that everyone had raved about, we did drive to the spectacular landscape containing the recommended blow holes and then drove on where we ventured through a dramatic undulating landscape, encountering our first camel train.

 

 

 

The road climbed to something probably in access of 1500 feet and snaked it’s deserted way around a series of hairpin bends where the rugged vista dropped away to dramatic depths amidst a mass of arid colours running horizontally through the sedimentary limestone escarpment. This was a new beauty........ The world constantly surprises!!

Back at the harbour we also encountered a sobering event that had the effect of concentrating the mind. It was when the pirated cargo ship Jahan Moni berthed in the port with its 23 now released crew members and guard of Ex marines. It had spent 100 threatening and uncertain days in captivity before being set free for a ransom of 4 million US dollars..........Nothing’s safe!

 

 

Proof, if it were needed, that we’re indeed doing the right thing!!