Day 20

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Day 20 - Sunday, April 20 2008

Classical music devotees will be familiar with the Peer Gynt Suite and the ‘dawn’ passage which follows the tempest. All calm, serenity, and relief after the rollicking storm that came before. True, Tosca is Verdi and not Grieg, but if we can be allowed a bit of musical borrowing, Grieg’s work would be very appropriate today.

Typhoon Neoguri blew herself/himself out through the night and we are now riding peacefully outside Yantian, with not a hint of the fury that prevailed yesterday. The skies are clearing and watery sunshine is beginning to break through on a placid sea. Shoreside looks very inviting - hills and mountains are still wreathed in mist, reminiscent of being off the west coast of Scotland. We could well be in the Firth of Lorn or coming up Loch Fyne.

Being Sunday, the special breakfast treat of chocolate croissants was again on offer, so the day has got off to an even better start. Breakfast is always continental style, of course - the only shortcoming in Tosca’s catering - limited to cereal, toast, and confits other than on croissant days (the other being Thursday). I’ve always found that a pair of kippers make an excellent breakfast after a storm. The cooking aroma alone tends to sort out those with queasy stomachs, but a chocolate croissant is not a bad substitute.

We’re now awaiting le pilote, but as there’s a queue of ships awaiting entry, that could still be some time off. New shore pass processing is also needed. We’re in a different state or province, and each one has its own requirements. With luck, we might be ashore by lunchtime or soon afterwards. Meantime, I’m told that my laptop is being taken into protective custody during the Yantian visit. Linda has conspired with Maitre d’ Marian to confiscate the machine as a pre-emptive strike against a repeat of the Kowloon excursion and it seems I have no further say in the matter. Ah, well, we’ll be in Kuala Lumpur on Wednesday so plenty time for catch-up then.

Today is also a very significant date in history, marking the birth of one Adolf Schickelgruber, more popularly known as Herr Hitler. Appropriately enough, the birthday is shared by Jonathan in London and Mike in Dubai. They have many characteristics in common with Der Fuehrer - not least their fondness of dogs, judging by some of the specimens with whom they have been known to associate. In years past, we have celebrated with foaming steins and many choruses of the Horst Wessel lied, but now being at different ends of the world, all we can do is hoist a glass at some stage of the day and toast absent friends. Happy birthday, guys!

It’s also St Odette’s Day, just in case you didn’t know. Not that I have eidetic recollection of the Lives of the Saints reference book - the Tosca menu thoughtfully notes our saint of the day. (Presumably so we know where to direct our prayers in between making offerings to Buddha.)

The serendipitous St Odette discovery topped an excellent decision earlier. Linda was adamant that shore-passes would be forthcoming imminently, but I had other ideas and reckoned there was still time for lunch. “You go for lunch and you’ll want to sleep all afternoon,” she declared menacingly. Me? Never! A good feed will just sustain me for the hike around Yantian. And what a lunch it was. Tosca’s Sunday grub is always extra special and at the risk of lapsing into food critic mode again, it just has to be recorded. ‘Feutilles escargots’ for starters - a melt-in-the mouth vol au vent case stuffed with snails in a creamy garlic sauce. ‘Magret canard’ - pink and tender slices of duck breast, with whole black peppercorns adding a piquant counterpoint. ‘Tarte bourdaloue’ - crisp and fragile pastry case, filled with layers of sponge and pureed pears, topped with honey and baked to an amber-gold crust. (At this rate, I can always pay for the trip by writing over-the-top menus for prententious restaurants.) With Linda choosing to save her appetite for shoreside, I fetched her a slice of tarte bourdaloue just to keep her going. At worst, it can go in the fridge and I’ll have second helpings later. Meantime, still no sign of shore-passes, so time for a post-prandial siesta. I’m sure Linda will tell you about the delights of Yantian if I don’t wake up in time for the transport.

I did, and it was worth the effort. This is a very pleasant town that runs in a crescent shape around Crooked Harbour, as it’s called, with the hills and mountains rising steeply behind. They are densely covered in natural bush and forest and so far have been spared the timber stripping and quarrying that have scarred the landscape at others ports of call. The container terminal, like so much of China, is new - a roughly rectangular shape jutting about two kilometres out to sea, and a much more sedate operation than the hurry-scurry than prevailed in Kowloon and Shanghai. We’re moored at the last berth on the seaward extremity, so getting back out to sea will be relatively easy.

We joined our Rumanian and French shipmates for the shuttle-bus to town, accompanied by the ship’s agent whose card says Lee O, but caused much mirth among the Rumanians when he introduced himself. Seems his name sounds the same as Rumanian for ‘five years’, so Five Years he became - irrespective of his card.

He dropped us off at a mobile phone shop and indicated that would be the rendezvous for the return trip at 1730. Why so early was not clear as we’re not due to leave until 2300 and curfew is 2100. It was more than clear by the time we were done, though.

We all went our separate ways, but Yantian isn’t that big so it was inevitable that we would cross paths with shipmates sooner or later. The main street is dominated by mobile phone and electronics shops, interspersed with clothing, footwear, and superettes, so we headed off down the side alleys in search of something more interesting. There we found street-side cycle repairs, cobblers, second-hand furniture, fruit stalls - even a ‘pick and eat’ seafood restaurant’. All kinds of finny jobs were swimming around in a shallow pavement-level pond, merrily unaware that any minute they could be due for a wok on the wild side. A long pole with a net on the end, the kind you use to skim leaves off a swimming pool, was available to land your preferred specimen/s. Each one was pictured on a menu stuck to the wall, with prices alongside. As Linda had skipped lunch, I suggested that this would make a good alternative. She protested that a few of the pool inhabitants looked less than fresh, unless Chinese fish swim belly up. I explained this was all because of the Olympics - they’re obviously in the training for the backstroke - but she still couldn’t be persuaded. (Just don’t start complaining to me that you haven’t eaten all day and you’re now hungry.)

After that, she felt a beer would be just the thing to calm the stomach - and replace the body fluids lost in Yantian’s sauna-like climate. As if to order, a pavement café appeared, with crates of the stuff piled up. A waiter and waitress leapt into action, bearing plates, chopsticks, and dinky little tea ceremony cups before we could even point at the Tsingtao crate and raise the appropriate number of fingers. The beer had no sooner arrived than Romain (cadet) and Martel (third engineer) appeared round the corner and joined us. More fingers were raised, and more staff came scurrying. The presence of gwailos in this part of Yantian must be a bit of a rarity. Phone cameras were produced and the waitresses took turns at having their pictures taken with the foreigners. Children were summoned to gaze with awe at the weird round-eye with the grey beard.

Four 600 ml bottles of Tsingtao cost all of 25 yuan, about $3. We’d paid HK$50 for every 33 ml bottle at the Kowloon Sheraton, as Linda was not slow to point out. Romain and Martel went off in search of more bargains, and Linda came across a garden centre. At first glance, we thought it was a park - such was the profusion of foliage. Kittens, puppies, and chickens joined us in the stroll around a spectacular assembly of everything from bonsai bougainvillea to massive fig trees. Linda was even drooling over the stacks of ceramic pots and would have shipped the entire lot back to Dubai given half a chance. Instead, time to move on for the 1730 rendezvous with Mr Five Years. We found him trying to round up our Rumanian shipmates from another pavement café. They had joined up with counterparts from the Rigoletto, and had covered a table with empty bottles of Tsingtao, peanut shells, and discarded bits of octopus kebab. Our arrival prompted Sorin the third mate to order another round, assuring Mr Five Years “just another 10 minutes”. A guitar had been acquired somewhere along the way to help liven up proceedings. Gheorzhe the No 1 helmsan returned from buying a ‘Dolphin massager’ (don’t even ask!) and insisted it was his turn for a round, much to the despair of Five Years. And of course we hadn’t bought at all, so far, so that had to be fixed. Somehow, the rounds had got a bit out of kilter along the way, some of us with full bottles, others empty, so before we could leave, more Tsingtao was needed to even everyone up. “After this one,” Mr Five Years. “Promise.” Eventually, it was compromise. Gheorzhe was back on duty at 2030 and decided that the three of us should head for Tosca (someone had to steer us out to sea) along with the shipmates’ shopping, and Five Years could then come back and do his best to whip in the others. That saw us on board by 1900. Five Years had meantime organised a Tsingtao carry-out so we wouldn’t go thirsty. He’d also negotiated the purchase of a noodle bowl for Linda - probably the first time the pavement café had sold the container and not the contents. Very resourceful man is Mr Five Years. Whether he was equally resourceful at rounding up the revelling Rumanians could be another story. We’ll get an update in the morning from whoever manages to make it to the bridge. The entire outing cost less than the minimum charge for one of us in Kowloon - and a lot more fun into the bargain. I think I’ll be reminded about this for a long time, so I’d better find a distraction. “Excuse me, any idea where the Famous Grouse has got to?”


Noon position 22◦34.21 N - 114◦17.16 E
Day’s run to noon - 90 miles
8,008 miles out from Khor Fakkan
Heading 319◦
Local time GMT+8
Average speed - 3.7 knots

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