Of Foreign Build (9 page)

The next day, we found Jimmy’s. We had had a preconceived image of leather chairs, green palms, and revolving fans. Jimmy’s was simple, though. It had plastic chairs and tables and basic decorations, but produced the most wonderful, cheap Chinese food. We found out why all the travelling boats all thought of it as a cruisers’ bar. There were no waiters or waitresses; you simply helped yourself to the beer from the fridge. A plastic menu was available, and at the end of your evening Jimmy counted the number of empty beer cans and plates and presented the bill – simple, just as we like it. We always felt we had been under charged.

One evening while sitting back in Jimmy’s enjoying company from around the world, a sunset laid out bruised purples, vivid blues, startling pinks, and hot orange in a hundred layered shades right outside the door, reflecting off the still, silvery water. The traffic stopped, people came out of their shops and stood on the side of the road. Momentarily, the world turned into a kaleidoscope of colour. A hush spread throughout the town in reverence of nature’s splendid show. The scene is forever etched into my mind. This was the first and last time I didn’t carry our camera.

Noel and I knuckled down to preparing
Mariah
for my parents’ visit and some timely maintenance. Three weeks of sanding, painting, and varnishing the interior and we had transformed
Mariah
. It was sweaty work in the still air and heavy heat, though the small fans had helped. The eighty-watt solar panel provided our power. Every day the skies were clear in Langkawi and therefore our batteries were constantly topped up. The local food was so cheap, we ate takeaways most nights. Besides, the entire interior of our home was covered in the fine dust from sanding. We also found a great video shop and for very little we could rent current movies. Shutting ourselves off from the world, in our little home, at night was a great way to wind down. We easily forgot where we were, but best of all, we were always at home.

We left Langkawi on 8 December 2000. At the end of a long day sail, we watched Ko Rok Nok slowly creep over the horizon. It was funny how some day sails felt more exhausting than a longer passage. After two to three days at sea, our bodies settled into a routine and became accustomed to the constant movement. On a day sail we couldn’t rest properly, as we were near land and it just seemed to make us more tired. It was nice, however, to have a sail without thinking about the long night ahead.

Ko Rok Nok was comprised of two deserted islands between which you can anchor. They offer protection from the weather and are encompassed by beautiful, clear water. A few other yachts were already anchored, and they passed along advice that many boats had dragged their anchor as holding was poor, meaning anchors could not get a good enough grip to hold the boat. Noel and I had our anchor routine down pat. Noel would usually steer the boat into position in a place we both agreed on, and I would operate the anchor, releasing it as the boat stopped and started drifting back with the wind or current. I would let go of enough chain for the anchor to sit on the bottom and then control the speed in which I released the chain, so it didn’t fall in one big heap. We developed straightforward hand signals, which allowed a simple, silent, and slick operation. We were always a little amused (and a bit smug) when we witnessed couples yelling at each other during anchoring. We both thought it prudent to swap roles regularly, so we could both operate every aspect of the boat. Serious injuries can occur on board; if one of us was hurt, that left a crew of one. It was imperative that we both became competent on every aspect on board, and for me it made living on board far more interesting.

Noel taught me how the engine worked and how to keep up the necessary maintenance. Electrics weren’t my strong point, but I learned the basics. Navigation was now second nature and manoeuvring
Mariah
was a skill we both worked on. We understood the effect of the wind and currents on
Mariah’s
hull, but as these were constantly changing, our abilities were constantly tested. With her long keel, applying reverse was a lottery as to which direction she would go – unless there was a stiff breeze, in which case she’d always feather into the breeze – eventually.

In Ko Rok Nok, anchoring was a delight. Once we had found a good position to drop the pick in sand, I let the anchor go and watched it drop ten metres to the bottom in beautiful, clear water. With the anchor settled and dug in, we donned the snorkelling gear and jumped right in. Since leaving Ashmore Reef the water had not been clear, but now it was like swimming in a large fish tank. Between having fun with nosey fish, we scraped the barnacles from the hull. The anti-foul paint kept most critters at bay, but there were always some tenacious barnacles that needed knocking off. A smooth hull meant
Mariah
slipped through the water quicker, and therefore we made the next port quicker. Having an understanding of the necessity of regular maintenance and care on board provided some routine into our lives. This work was for
us
, to improve
our
life on board – that’s what I really liked about it.

We spent a few serene, peaceful nights at Ko Rok Nok. On the small, deserted beach, we anti-fouled the dinghy and gave the invisible sand flies a banquet feast, spending the following days in itching agony. Later, we had our own potluck banquet on the beach with a dozen other cruisers. Everyone took a dish and we all shared. It turned into a delicious and diverse feast.

Between the fun times, day-to-day maintenance kept us busy. We changed the engine oil and re-arranged the galley supplies, moving forward foods that had wriggled their way to the back of cupboards. We also made lists of spare parts and necessary food, a job so ordinary it made me feel right at home in these foreign lands. The rest of the days were filled with cruisers from other boats popping over to say ‘hi’; the kettle was always on. If a boat had a particularly tricky problem, it would become a joint effort of knowledge, tools, and spare parts, followed by a debrief in the evening as we all watched the sunset. Life was good.

Pee Pee Don in Thailand, more commonly known by tourists as Phi Phi Don (pronounced Fee Fee), was our next stop. It was now 12 December 2000, and I was looking forward to seeing my folks. They hadn’t seen
Mariah
yet and had met Noel only the once when we were married. I’m lucky enough to consider my mum and dad as friends and couldn’t wait to show off my new life and catch up with them properly.

Clear, calm water carried us into a busy anchorage, where vast rocks reached up high into the sky, the clouds tearing across their peaks. The deep water allowed us to anchor close to the shore and near a magnificent cliff face. There were about ten other boats already there, none of which we had met before, but there was plenty of room to share.

‘We’ve sailed into Thailand,’ I said to myself again. We were blessed with beautiful beaches and clear water, our own private swimming pool surrounding the boat.

Ashore we found a maze of alleyways with a plethora of cafes, restaurants, knick-knack shops, men who were money changers, and bars. Tourists, young and old, well-worn and new, mingled with excitable locals. No cars interrupted the hubbub of bodies, pedestrians, tourists, travellers, cruisers, dropouts, locals, and general riff raff. The place was buzzing.

‘I like it here,’ said Noel, grinning, absorbing the kicking atmosphere, which was in stark contrast to the peaceful anchorages we’d experienced so far. As a rule, we generally tried to avoid touristy areas, but Phi Phi Don was unique. The place was heaving with like-minded people, more traveller types than tourists.

The following day, cruiser friends from
China Dolphin
and
Obsession
,
caught up with us after being a few weeks apart, and an impromptu lunch was arranged. Overlooking the beach we waited for our food, while different conversations fought for domination; we all had stories of adventures in reaching this point on the globe. Steering our own vessels into foreign countries and figuring out how to tackle it all was part of everyday life now. Sourcing supplies, new friends, parts for the boat and good times for ourselves was just how we lived. It all felt right, as if I had the zest and bite of my entire life wrapped up in travel. The emotional years of my hormone-fuelled teens, and the devastation of losing a loved one was moving farther into the past. I had also survived a brush with a frightening illness that others hadn’t been so lucky with. It all led me here, carving out a new space for where I fit. (I had had a brief dalliance with an illness myself just a few years before running away to Australia. I was told I was one step away from treatment being too late. Fortunately, I had treatment just in the nick of time, with success. I was lucky and that’s all I want to say about that).

While
Mariah
swung on anchor, exploring in our tiny dinghy transported Noel and I back to being kids, we puttered alongside a huge rock face, which hid caves begging to be explored. Stalagmites and stalactites and tiny bays hidden by rock curtains were waiting to be discovered. With an uncontrollable urge to always see what’s around the next corner, we found ourselves in a coal black cave, cloaked in darkness, with no torch. It was quiet and creepy, cool and striking. Our two horse-power outboard, purchased in Bali, ran like a dream. The soft purring of the engine bounced off the vertical stone. We were alone and enjoyed the solitude of the secret place we found.

Finding light, we made landfall on small deserted beach only small dinghies, like ours, could access. Simple moments such as these gave us time to reflect on our achievements, and gave us a brief moment to revel in feeling just a tad proud.

As usual, focussing on supplies took second place to fun, and the galley cupboards quickly became too spacious. With just a short hop to the next port, we were not too concerned. With time moving on and the appearance of my parents looming, we upped anchor; we were ready to see other parts of Thailand. We arrived at Ao Chalong on 15 December. There was no marina here, and there was quite a few boats at varying stages of their sailing adventures, all swinging in unison within the tightly packed boat park at anchor. Choices of anchoring nearby to shore were limited; our little timber dinghy just had to cope with the one-kilometre journey to the beach.

Zigging and zagging between destinations with the other boats was how we lived; at some ports we would know lots of other cruisers, at others we would make new friends. Ao Chalong was a popular spot, and we were delighted to catch up with our Irish friends on board
Chinook
and
Breakaway
.

The dinghy ride to shore was about ten minutes and in protected waters. Andy, Kirstie, Jamie, Christine, and their new guest from Ireland, Neil (Jamie’s and Kirstie’s brother), were having a beer ashore. Neil was visiting for two weeks and the Irish family was together for Christmas. They’d been elephant riding and were still on a high. The evening was spent drinking vast amounts of beer and trying to string adult sentences together. In true cruiser sense we arranged to share a large taxi together the following day and find the best supermarket/local markets to stock up. It was exciting, at these times, to find such a shop: a proper supermarket. For the past few months, we hadn’t seen much more than small shops crammed with items covered in dust and cobwebs. To identify each item we had to wipe off the grime and try to see how far out of date it had become!

The next day, after a good shop, on the return journey to the boat, the wind had strengthened and the anchorage had become choppy. We all hopped into our dinghies that were loaded down with shopping. Noel steered, as I was constantly bailing out as the waves were plopping over the sides, while balancing the shopping in the air to try to keep it dry.

Noel and Andy decided to race back to the boats. Well, Andy did as he had a much more powerful outboard. However, we knew all the tricks to gaining speed, being often one of the slowest.

‘You’re on!’ Noel grinned at Andy.

‘Come on, come on!’ Andy yelled at his motor, which should have left us behind.

‘I need to get closer to his wake,’ Noel explained, ‘with no water to push aside we’ll glide effortlessly.’

We were soon on Andy’s his tail. The wake from Andy’s dinghy smoothed the water for us. We actually overtook him, as he had to bash into the waves, which slowed him down. We won the race! I still don’t think Andy has forgiven us.

With food re-stocking ticked off the list, next on the agenda was spare parts. Bouncing around in the oceans stirs up the diesel tanks and sometimes the filters need to be changed more regularly than usual. So, the next day we ventured into town again to track down spare parts, mostly fuel filters for the engine. The spare part shops were dark, dusty places that looked like they hadn’t seen a customer for twenty years. Language was a huge barrier, not many tourists are looking for oil and diesel filters for a Yanmar, and the translation was not something that was listed in the average phrase book. By now, Noel had become adept at sketching out our requirements. After several attempts, coupled with engine noises and air driving, a light seemed to appear in the owner’s eyes and his small, brown, wrinkly body disappeared into the bowels of the shop. We followed him along the crowded tunnel of boxes and under four inches of several centuries of dirt, he slid out a box. The small container had certainly not seen the light of day in some decades, but after rubbing off the dust he pointed the box in our direction, accompanied by a large toothless grin. It was the exact type of filter we needed. The price was staggeringly low and we soon emptied his shop of fuel filters! The owner was delighted; he must have given up all hope of ever selling them. We must have been his biggest sale for years.

Back on anchor, Neil had brought out some videos from Ireland, so the guys off
Chinook
,
came over to watch
Chicken Run
on our video player. Most of the boating community either didn’t have televisions, or watched them infrequently. Power was premium, and there were lots more inspiring things to do than to stare at the box. However, every so often, when a good movie was available, we all became excited to dip our toes back into what used to be so available. Even with our fun lifestyles, we all still needed to mentally escape occasionally. I think it had something to do with being content. We all seemed to have found the most satisfying way to live, however, we still had to live with ourselves and to just forget about everything for a couple of hours was good. We all settled down to become absorbed in another world. However, we missed most of the film, as we had far more important stuff to talk about, like where to find the best Thai beer.

We decided to head to Yacht Haven, which is in the northeast side of Phuket Island and much nearer to the airport. There was little in the way of shops at Yacht Haven. However, there were three restaurants, shower facilities (whoopee hot showers!), and the marina.

Satisfyingly stocked with spare parts, food, and water, we were soon on our way to Phuket. We left Ao Chalong on 19 December; my parents were due to arrive in two days.

Ao Chalong to the marina was a one-day journey. The usual checking in procedure was easy enough, with the customary tutting and rolling of eyes from the officials who filled in all our blanks on the forms. At times, the paperwork held such odd questions. Typically, the forms were used for the arrival of cruise or cargo ships and were creatively adapted to cruisers such as us. Therefore, when asked the volume of our cargo hold, we tended to leave the space blank. We signed a declaration stating that we would pay 600% of
Mariah’s
value if we stayed in Thailand longer than the allotted one month, and took careful note of our required leaving date.

Noel and I spent some time trying to find Mum and Dad accommodation.
Mariah
had spare beds, but it would mean that they would be sleeping in the saloon with just the toilet separating us all. I was concerned that they would be arriving in the dark and stepping onto a boat, an odd world when you are not accustomed to it.

‘Let them get on with it,’ came the advice from Bob (on board
Breakaway
), whose dulcet Irish tones had become a voice of reason to Noel and I over the months we’d known him. He made us think harder about what my parents may want and cope with. As per Bob’s advice, we decided to just give it a go. We were in the marina, which was one concession already. Anchoring was our preference, as we enjoyed the breeze and free rent. Admittedly, from time to time it is rather nice to have the luxury of a marina, my parents provided us with a good excuse to indulge!

It was Noel’s birthday on 21 December, so we had organised a small party the day before. After a few drinks on
Mariah
,
we went to the Yacht Club where a few good friends joined us for a happy dinner and lively conversation. Between us we had organised a cake, candles, and a rather rough verse of “Happy Birthday” – a pleasant birthday in Thailand for Noel.

By this time, we were fully acquainted with the area. To get into town, we needed a car. It was incredible to have a Tesco’s to shop in and hot showers to stand under for as long as I wanted. I used to take these things for granted. Now they were a real treat. Materialistic things are something I no longer craved; happiness, freedom, and the odd hot shower (and supermarket) was all I wanted.

The marina office arranged our car hire, laundry, and taxi. There were three restaurants: Yacht Club, Anchorage and Omar’s. A ten-minute stroll from the office led to the smart, clean Yacht Club with reasonable food and drink and showers. Next door was The Anchorage, a restaurant with calming ambiance and thatched hut roofs that teetered over the tables directly on the golden sand, a perfect view looking over the water. The Anchorage was slightly more relaxed and of better value than the Yacht Club. Omar’s was next door to The Anchorage and was our favourite. The ‘restaurant’ was a hut perched on a small jetty. The jetty floor boards had had a serious falling out with each other, so you could view the water beneath; household junk and weird and wonderful bits and pieces clung to the walls, acting as decor. They served meals with chilli, the type of stuff you could use to force confessions. But, Omar’s was the place to relax, you helped yourself to the fridge and opened your own bottles. The food was delicious, hot, and ridiculously cheap. So much so that we were nearly always querying the bill, as it seemed we were undercharged. However, with the language barrier between us, it often led to Omar believing we thought we were charged too much. Understandably so, because who in their right mind complains about a cheap meal? A dinner for four, including a couple of beers each cost around 300 baht, which was about three Australian dollars each! By the time we had gone shopping, paid for the food, and used our gas to cook it, it was probably cheaper to eat out. And so we did.

On the 21st, Mum and Dad arrived at the airport around 7 pm. They looked more than happy to be back on land after the plane ride. They were pale, but well. Mum was her usual emotional self, which of course, set me off. Noel and I had hired a rickety old car and we packed in the parents and luggage for the ten-minute drive back to the marina. My folks were seeing
Mariah
for the first time in the dark, they coped with the alien environment admirably.

We spent four good weeks with Mum and Dad, cramped within
Mariah’s
thirty-three feet, but everyone coped pretty well. With little space and hot sweaty weather, it made for a couple of sharp words, the main culprit being me. I have never been a patient person; fortunately Mum, Dad and Noel were quite accustomed to this and were forgiving. Mum and Dad spent a fair bit of time travelling Phuket Island in a hire car; at times when Noel and I had to work on the boat, my parents saw more of Thailand than we did. Everything had to be just right for our voyage on the Indian Ocean to Sri Lanka, because once we were on our way, we only had what we had.

At times, we roped Mum and Dad in to help, too. Mum and I hauled out our rusty anchor chain onto the jetty to unwind it, as swinging on anchor can cause the links to twist up. Noel and Dad took off in the car to source spare parts. My folks enjoyed this, as it gave them an insight to our lives. If the cruising world still felt new to me, it was a completely unknown lifestyle for Mum and Dad. They thought we were always on our own, when in reality we always had many friends around us, which helped set their minds at rest.