Kudat to Singapore - Dec. '08/Apr. '09

Kudat is a pleasant, friendly, safe, quiet, picturesque fishing town, which luckily the main guides have managed to overlook –perhaps because it is missing a reggae bar—(?!?). Being a frontier town facing the Balabac strait (a main smuggler area) Kudat is populated by very mixed ethnicities: Malay, Chinese, Filipino, Indian, Bangladeshi, and Indonesian.
There are several fantastic restaurants, notably the “Dragon Lady” (Chinese); the mee-goreng place ran by Bangladeshi, a Golf Club where one can eat for 1 US dollar (to think that it is so common to associate Golf with expensiveness), and the Crown Café that stays open late. The hotel by the golf club lets cruisers use its showers and swimming pool for free, while for boats there is a fantastic boatyard catering to fishing boats mostly and a few hardware shops with some basics.
In Kudat also there is an unfinished marina that is still free to stay at, and there we have the pleasant surprise of finding two boats previously met in Puerto Princesa and another met two years before in Fiji!




One boat is Utiekah III, of which I have many photos and memories. Both I and my girlfriend decide it is a good chance to have a break and go back to visit home (February 2009).






Returned, since the boat was already on the dry in Penuwasa boatyard, we decide to redo the bottom paint, and after a few weeks of painful sanding and painting the boat is back in the water. In Kudat we are joined by Carlos and Jenny which both helped tremendously with the work and with which we had such a good time while in the boatyard and after, when, all charged up by the mounting desire to go, we finally set off. We round the tip of Borneo and have a first stop by Kulambok Island. At low tide Kulambok is joined to the mainland by a baring strip of white sand, making the little bay a very pretty sight to behold. There are several villas and resorts being developed nearby, but not being in operation yet the bay and white beach is still all ours and for the fishermen to enjoy.
When we feel like we rested enough and we’ve seen enough of Kulambok we set off for Mantanani Island. Quite pretty although not an easy anchorage, Carlos gets to perform for the village with a guitar, we enjoy more snorkeling, relaxing and discovering the island; the only negative aspect is that while the portion of beach being kept for the tourists (though we were there off season and were the only western visitors on the island) is spotless, the villagers think nothing of throwing all of their garbage right in the water, neatly packed in a plastic bag. Will humans ever learn?

From Mantanani to Kota Kinabalu via Usukan Bay and a visit to Kota Belud with its famous market. Carlos gets to climb Mount Kinabalu, Jenny goes to Thailand to spend some time in a “Silence Meditation Center”, wonder how much that cost. In KK we do some price research, eat plenty of Japanese food at the restaurants, sip plenty of Starbucks coffee while using the wi-fi, meet up again with Johnnie of Utiekah III. Then we move down to the duty free harbor of Labuan, shop for some cheap booze and smokes and go see Brunei.

Brunei is pretty nice, with diesel priced at 20 cents a liter, great public transportation. In one day we get to see the capital, one museum dedicated to the sultan (everything in Brunei is about the Sultan), and charter a launch upriver to see the mangrove swamps and the proboscis monkeys and one humongous Monitor Lizard.

From Brunei next stop is Singapore, what better occasion to quit smoking?


All fueled up for the price of a few bottles of wine we set off one bright day for Singapore, 700 nautical miles away. We sail very little or nothing at all passing through endless oil fields crowded with rigs, platforms, production wells and other hazards sticking out of the sea bottom; it is actually a quite scenic and eerie scene all of those bright cities floating in the middle of nowhere and the flames on the horizon coloring the black sky in a red glow. We are not smoking and when the engine starts over heating we still don’t smoke. I figure it’s the heat exchanger getting plugged up like last time in Olimarao, so we clean it but the engine still overheats; it’s not the impeller either. We decide (like we have a choice) to try sailing no matter how slow, and even though we are moving at one knot for three days with the same islands always in sight in a flat calm hotter than hell…we still don’t smoke.
A little breeze picks up and slowly but surely as we approach Singapore, we start seeing huge bulk carriers anchored way offshore and the sea traffic getting more intense as we get closer.

Nighttime finds Keturah sailing (at one knot) right into the “traffic separation zone”. Carlos has the shift approaching Singapore, but I just need some sleep and leave it entirely to him to steer us in. When I wake up we notice how the cargoes are really coming close, all coming in our direction for some reason. Not lightly concerned, I fire up the navigation computer and find out quickly that we are sailing right in the middle of the opposite flow direction. Just our luck some current shifted unsuspecting Carlos exactly where we’re NOT supposed to be!
Quite huffed and fed up at this temporary lack of control over my own destiny, I decide to use the engine at least long enough to get us back in the right way. By late the next morning, after a pleasant day sail zig-zagging between cargo ships and oil platforms, we are safely docked in Sebana Cove Marina, exhausted but happy. We celebrate with a huge burger and plenty cold ales and toast to the fact that in spite of all these stresses and difficulties we managed to become ex-smokers.

Sulu Sea, El Nido, Kudat Nov./Dec. '08

Skipping over the dreadful details of boatyard blood sweat and tears, we are later out of it, back in Cebu, re provision, hurry to Apo, then have a blast in Bombonon Harbor at the southern tip of Negros Oriental. From Bombonon we cross over to Palawan by way of Tubbataha Reef, UNESCO World Heritage Site. Tubbataha is yet another natural wonder the Philippines are endowed with. The ranger station is placed on a sand dune that get submerged at high tide, hundreds of sea turtles can be seen early in the morning feeding around the station, while a short swim away more turtles, sharks, sting rays, mantas and all sorts of fish can be enjoyed against a background of pristine corals, super clear water.
We have arrived off-season, which means that we have the place almost to ourselves (saved the rangers) and the rangers being bored and lonely take us to all the best snorkeling spots on their motorboats. Banks of barracudas, shy wrasses, curious triggerfish, lionfish etc. Tubbataha is almost a miracle for variety and abundance of sea life. No wonder people pay about one thousand dollars a day to come dive here!

Puerto Princesa welcomes us at the Abanico Yacht Club with its intriguing and fascinating characters. The provisioning is great the town well supplied and not too chaotic (but for PI that still means borderline insane); we are stuck waiting for a replacement pump for the toilet: when it arrives weeks later the new one is just as defective as the old one. That over with we can depart for Malaysia, though first going around the northern tip of Palawan. On our way to El Nido we first take shelter at the Islas Verde through some wicked reef labyrinth then on to Dumaran. Some pretty nasty weather is expected and just as we enter the cyclone hole Langcan bay the meteo deteriorates rapidly. By the time we drop anchor deep in the mangrove swamp the wind has already risen to 25-30 knots. For a few days we are stuck there with blow after blow of fierce winds and rain squalls. When it all dies down we can get out of the swamp and go to the nearby town of Araceli, located in a lovely enclosure with white beach, quaint bamboo homes decorated with bougainvilleas, blue water and a few islands around dotting the horizon. We befriend the Catholic priest –which we find drunk as a skunk on a Sunday afternoon—who speaks favorably of his smuggling business with the Muslim brothers “Muslims, good people” he proclaims…go figure.
Continuing towards El Nido we make another stop to Linapacan Island, anchoring in the deep but very sheltered Colaylayan Bay. Once again idyllic settings: a few fishermen huts at the feet of steep forested hills, no electricity or phones, just fires in the night and a huge moon rising. Just outside the bay scattered little islets are easy to sail to by dinghy, and for a whole day I explore them. The reef is good, but infested by a species of starfish that loves to feed on coral. I spend a couple hours trying to kill them off hoping they don’t grow back too fast.

We arrive in El Nido one golden afternoon with the sun already pretty low casting shadows and gleaming reflections over the majestic peaks shooting vertically out of the water. The whole scenery is part Jurassic Park, part The Beach. We give up immediately anchoring in front of town (shallow and rolly) and instead go around the corner to Corongcorong Bay. El Nido is truly stunning, like the rock islands of Palau supersized. Leaving the boat in Corongcorong it’s an easy walk into town.
Somewhere we have read that El Nido is the “last frontier” in the Philippines, although quite immediately that is hard to justify. The main town is a backpacker strip, two flights a week coming in from Manila, packed “El Nido adventure” boats loaded with clueless Koreans and Taiwanese in bright orange lifejackets. Reggae bar, New Age bar, Aussie bar, lame beach party here and there competing for the cheapest beer and internet rates…and yet everyone in hippie garb acting stuck up believing themselves hardcore travelers on a genuine “adventure” (with air-con) to the “last frontier”.
From the boating point of view the Bacuit archipelago also doesn’t offer much besides the landscape. We manage to anchor at Miniloc Island in order to see the scenic bay but the resort doesn’t want us there and soon the Coast Guard (on the resort’s payroll?) comes asking us to leave. In other areas of the island anchoring is very deep and our windlass fails once again under the strain. Soon we depart for Malaysia.
On our way to Kudat we stop in two more bays: one by White Island on the SW side of Capoas Peninsula, then we sail clear off Port Barton (though we heard it is beautiful we just want to move on and wouldn’t want to be looked down upon by such hardy travelers enjoying their air cons) and stop for Christmas in Jibboom Bay, by the village of Caruray (definitely no tourists or air con there!). It is rolly and going ashore quite a roundabout way, though we manage to buy some ice and have some cold wine for Xmas. Two Australian catamarans are in the bay, but we’re just bent on getting to Kudat, my Xmas gift a swift sail that take us down there just a couple days later.

The Visaya Sea - June/November '08

Our first morning in the Philippines finds us refreshed and ready to begin a whole new chapter of Keturah's voyage. There is a nice breeze which makes it possible for us to sail the rest of Hinatuan passage south of Panaon Island. We are on our last few cigarettes and more importantly nobody has seen a cold drink in over a week of motoring in sweltering calms, so we head to a nearby village where also supposedly a school of whale sharks resides.
We arrive in Pintuyan mid afternoon, anchoring near the San Antonio settlement. Once settled, and verified that there are no whale sharks at all (left?) in the bay, we row ashore to pursue a bit of money changing and whatever may come out of a refrigerator. We hitch a ride on some kid’s motorbikes and soon we’re in town. The bank does not change money, and we struggle to find a kind soul to exchange miserly five dollars to shop for basic necessities. At last a shopkeeper agrees to give us some pesos, and with the five dollars we feast on smokes, coca cola, beer, sprite, the works. Pintuyan seems like a small town of old back in some areas of rural Italy: low brick homes siding one single main street with whole families living on the doorstep. We are waved and cheered all the way, elderly ladies staring at us amazedly and coming close to inspect us, grinning and squinting. Guess tourism isn’t part of the economy around here. On the way back to the boat I also get to inspect some freshly built local boat, called “Banca” it’s a very pretty double outrigger craft usually powered with Chinese single cylinder motor.
One day motoring by Limasawa Island Magellan’s first landing in the Philippines- anchored at San Roque. Not much to report except more current streams crossing the channel making strange streaks and eddies in the water. Last stretch to Cebu is done sailing well in a steady breeze up the Canigao Channel, dodging the reef and the cargo ships, while witnessing some dynamite fishing. Canigao reef would be quite stunning had it not been so heavily fished. The few areas above water of it have turned into island-cities, covered end to end by stilt huts and homes, looking like mirages of a tropical Venice. We anchor there too one night, wanting to get into Cebu by daylight. The night is calm and quiet, and all around us are the lanterns of the many boats and canoes fishing.
Getting to Cebu at last is a bit of a shock: a real city, real big, last one I’ve seen being Auckland almost two years ago. We look for our friends from Hamamas, which we think arrived a couple days earlier than us, but they are not in the Marina or the yacht club anchorage, which is where we decide to go in order to leave the dinghy safely and have access to showers etc.
A few days later Cecilia leaves Keturah: six months of common living, she is now the most missed past crew. I get busy with the fabled improvements that should come so cheap and easily in the Philippines: a second solar panel and a new dinghy. The solar panel comes easily enough through a “connection” we got recommended in Palau, while the dinghy, after mucho mucho pesos and anxious waiting turns out to be a complete rip-off, but being warned that in PI murders are committed for a few bucks we think better than to complain and pay up and walk away with a mockery of a badly painted unseaworthy non-marine plywood bathtub. Fantastic encounter was instead meeting Martin from Hyde Sails: for only about 350 USD he got all of our sails overhauled and made perfect, including the Genoa ripped in the infamous tropical storm we encountered off Tuvalu. At the Yacht Club we also befriend Fernando. He sailed through the Pacific in record time straight from Costa Rica on a mega-yacht owned by an American international pimp. In a few days Cat will arrive from the States, and we want to be ready to go cruising ASAP. Turns out the whole crew on Fernando’s boat gets replaces by Filipinos, so he’s suddenly unemployed but free from the dreadful fatso whoremonger. Feeling sorry for him and not wanting to be left alone with two women, I give him a deal he can’t refuse. We stock up on everything necessary and unnecessary, tidy up the boat and off we go seeing the Philippines!

After a few days of gorging, shopping, exploring Cebu’s historical center and of course preparing the boat we set off for the Visayan Islands. In rapid succession we motor to Bohol’s northern area, then to Tagbilaran. In Tagbilaran we all go out for dinner in the rickety dinghy, a squall comes in while we wait for our orders and when returned to the boat she dragged anchor until the tackle got stuck on a ferry’s anchor, so Keturah is hanging under the bow of a giant ferry…we quietly paddle to her after the shock of not seeing the boat at her anchoring spot, kick in the motor and luckily go to re-anchor without a scratch. Had the ferry not been there to stop Keturah she would have ended on the reef further out.
Being Tagbilaran pretty but not worth the bad holding ground we leave again for Balicasag. Balicasag is the first of many pleasant surprises in the Visaya. It’s a tiny perfectly round island fringed by a perfect white beach and moorings all around to preserve the coral. We take up a mooring on the village side and enjoy a couple days of peace, snorkeling, good food, walks. Then some western wind comes and we move to the other side (resort side) and do some more of that plus cold beer in the evening. Cat and Fernando also go diving around the island and report a very nice experience.
We move on to another tiny island, Pamilacan. There is no reported anchorage but the layout of the island and the presence of another marine reserve is attractive. Pamilacan is truly another idyllic sight: a steep coastline all around except on the northern side where the wide white sand beach is a “porch” to the picturesque village, the beach itself adorned with the ruins of a Spanish fortress. Picture perfect.
The anchoring however is truly weird and some current requires us to drop a second anchor astern. As by in a manual, everything is calm until near sunset when we can see rain approaching. I don’t feel like worrying too much and just sit there waiting to see if it’s got a punch to it or not. Of course it does, so we leave in a hurry to the other side in complete darkness where other fishing boats are taking shelter. The day after we go retrieve the stern anchor left behind and leave for Siquijor.
We anchor at first in Maria bay, good sandy bottom rising slowly, good shelter. I decide that the dinghy needs some modification to make it at least a bit more stable by lowering the bench we sit on, so the day after I pack up all the tools I need and head for the beach where I intend to rent some power for my tools and work there so I won’t mess up the whole boat. It is Saturday however, so being the whole village unemployed I am soon the center of attention for most of the bay’s inhabitants! Cunningly, the Marians slowly take over the job for me, I try to resist but they are simply too many, and in a matter of minutes they corner me sitting on a log while they hack away at the dinghy at lightning speed. All the while we are shown the local specialty catch: giant cuttlefish from the deep; some of them weighing over five kilos and measuring almost a meter. I am almost embarrassed at their kindness and high spirited work on the dinghy (much hilarious communication/pantomime happening between me and them), though I suspect they are the embarrassed one hearing that a fellow Filipino screwed me up so badly. To thank them all I decide to offer the whole village a drink, and a short ride to town finds me in possession of five bottles of Barcelona brandy, price: one US dollar a bottle!
Needless to say, one hour later and countless laughter after finds me in a state of complete intoxication during which, I’ve been told, I made a complete ass of myself for everyone’s absolute delight.
The details of this not fit to include a posed blog such as this one.
On Sunday we all get on motorbikes and are taken for a tour of the island: a quick tour of beaches and nearly deserted resorts and then being Sunday we are taken to bet on cock fights, which is a big thing in Philippines.
After a couple days we move then to the south side of Siquijor, by a town called Lazi. In Lazi we get to see one of the oldest churches in the country and a former convent now turned into a school, then we patronize the waterfall where we chill wash and relax to end the day in one of the few local restaurants (we are the only white tourists) by the harbor. Cold beer and pork cooked in a million different ways. Lazi gets the prize for best food in PI.
Six days of Siquijor are plenty enough, time to move to Apo, just over there on the horizon. Apo is another marine sanctuary, very monitored and protected, and in fact when we arrive at one mooring the water is so clear and the corals so brightly colored that it looks to shallow to pick up, even though it’s plenty deep. We pick up another mooring further down and immediately go snorkeling over one of the best reefs this side of the globe a truly Technicolor experience!
We spend a few days between the northern side where we are moored or walking over to the south side where the actual village and resorts are, to do so means climbing over two sets of extremely steep stairs and a pleasant walk in a forested valley. The resort and village side is truly stunning but at this time also exposed to the SW wind blowing steadily, so we must remain north side.

Done with Apo, Camiguin is just eighty miles away. Some sailing and some motoring and the morning after we stop at the huge white sand bar sticking out the NW side, also called Medano Island. The sand is white-white-white and the water bright turquoise: Great picture/wallowing in water time.
The anchorage is by the town of Mambajao. We find a place with beach huts that lets us shower, then lunch, internet etc.
What to do in Camiguin are mostly waterfalls, hot springs, climbing the peaks of mount Hibok-Hibok and Catarman. We’re way too mellow for exertion, and decide instead to concentrate on lazing around the really high, cool and refreshing waterfall, eat out, while I and Fernando also score some fresh Herbal Provisions.
Fernando’s time (and money) has run out, so he needs to go look for another job maybe in Malaysia or Singapore, or maybe returning to Ecuador to his off-road car racing and chicken farm (where the chickens have weak hearts from growing too fast and so can die by the dozen at the slightest stress).
Being badly in need of a paint job and god knows what else I want to check out Cagayan De Oro where it is rumored a boatyard is. We motor there and arrive in the afternoon. We are surrounded by sea gypsies from the Sulu Sea, the city is filthy and chaotic, and we can’t find the boatyard. The morning after at 5 AM we are on our way out, relieved.
Another stop in Camiguin by Sagay. Lovely town, we spend a whole afternoon playing with children while drinking at a street bar. Then on to the Eastern part of Bohol, motor through the inside part of Danajon bank and just about one month from leaving we are back in Cebu.
Cat departs and it’s time to get some work done, so after asking around we head to Port Carmen where two months will be spent getting bottom and topside paint done, a new floor and some other repairs done while almost coming to blows with the American psychotic asshole running the boatyard. In this time I also get hospitalized for yet another infection to my right leg.

Philippines - July '08

Our first morning in the Philippines finds us refreshed and ready to begin a whole new chapter of Keturah's voyage. There is a nice breeze which makes it possible for us to sail the rest of Hinatuan passage south of Panaon Island. We are on our last few cigarettes and more importantly nobody has seen a cold drink in over a week of motoring in sweltering calms, so we head to a nearby village where also supposedly a school of whale sharks resides.
We arrive in Pintuyan mid afternoon, anchoring near the San Antonio settlement. Once settled, and verified that there are no whale sharks at all (left?) in the bay, we row ashore to pursue a bit of money changing and whatever may come out of a refrigerator. We hitch a ride on some kid?s motorbikes and soon we?re in town. The bank does not change money, and we struggle to find a kind soul to exchange miserly five dollars to shop for basic necessities. At last a shopkeeper agrees to give us some pesos, and with the five dollars we feast on smokes, coca cola, beer, sprite, the works. Pintuyan seems like a small town of old back in some areas of rural Italy: low brick homes siding one single main street with whole families living on the doorstep. We are waved and cheered all the way, elderly ladies staring at us amazedly and coming close to inspect us, grinning and squinting. Guess tourism isn't part of the economy around here. On the way back to the boat I also get to inspect some freshly built local boat, called "Banca" it?s a very pretty double outrigger craft usually powered with Chinese single cylinder motor.
One day motoring by Limasawa island Magellan's first landing in the Philippines- anchored at San Roque. Not much to report except more current streams crossing the channel making strange streaks and eddies in the water. Last stretch to Cebu is done sailing well in a steady breeze up the Canigao Channel, dodging the reef and the cargo ships, while witnessing some dynamite fishing. Canigao reef would be quite stunning had it not been so heavily fished. The few areas above water of it have turned into island-cities, covered end to end by stilt huts and homes, looking like mirages of tropical Venice?s floating on water. We anchor there too one night, wanting to get into Cebu by daylight. The night is calm and quiet, and all around us are the lanterns of the many boats and canoes fishing.
Getting to Cebu at last is a bit of a shock: a real city, real big, last one I've seen being, well, Auckland almost two years ago. We look for our friends from Hamamas, which we think arrived a couple days earlier than us, but they are not in the Marina or the yacht club anchorage, which is where we decide to go in order to leave the dinghy safely and have access to showers etc.
A few days later Cecilia leaves Keturah?at the time an unceremonious farewell after six months of common living, while now in retrospect she is the one most missed from past crew. I get busy with the fabled improvements that should come so cheap and easily in the Philippines. A second solar panel and a new dinghy. The solar panel comes easily enough through a "connection" we got recommended in Palau, while the dinghy, after mucho mucho pesos and anxious waiting turns out to be a complete rip-off, but being warned that in PI murders are committed for a few bucks we think better than to complain and pay up and walk away with a mockery of a badly painted un-seaworthy non-marine plywood bathtub. Fantastic encounter was instead meeting Martin from Hyde Sails: for only about 350 USD he got all of our sails overhauled and made perfect, including the Genoa ripped in the infamous tropical storm we encountered off Tuvalu. At the Yacht Club we also befriend Fernando. He sailed through the Pacific in record time straight from Costa Rica on a mega-yacht owned by an American international pimp. In a few days Cat will arrive from the States, and we want to be ready to go cruising ASAP. Turns out the whole crew on Fernando's boat gets replaces by Filipinos, so he's suddenly unemployed but free from the dreadful fatso whore monger. Feeling sorry for him and not wanting to be left alone with two women, I give him a deal he can't refuse.
We stock up on everything necessary and unnecessary, tidy up the boat and off we go seeing the Philippines!

To The Philippines - June '08

The time has come, we're ready to go. We leave in tandem again after the Solomons with our friends of Hamamas ('Happy' in Papua New Guinean language). Tom had a heavy bout of malaria fever, brought about by maybe fatigue or stress. For Fran, his wife, we have acted as surrogate family, helping her as best we could (and as best as she would let us), with hugs, advice, company and encouragement whenever Tom was conscious. He didn't look good, but in true Ozzie fashion he recovered quickly after the wrong diagnosis of Yellow fever was overruled and he was treated to massive doses of quinine.
It is a very felt time, as this signs off the end of a trip started over two years ago from New Zealand, a trip that brought me through several adventures and turns of luck, friendly islands and peoples and ominous ones, forests, volcanoes, ancient rituals, modern decay, military coups. Over two years without seeing a land that looks like land and not like an island, that feels firm, massive and therefore secure from raging elements.
All of this is spelled over there, over the horizon. It looks almost to good to be true...The End.
The forecasts are good, the weather fair, and after the last goodbyes and a lot of preparatory cooking we are on our way, exiting from Palau's western passage (off Arumaten point). Motoring out is a breeze, with the sunny day and Hamamas company we clear the reefs without an hitch. Wanting to sail badly, we raise all up, but in less than an hour the five knots breeze dies completely. Not wanting to lose Hamamas like we did last time (although we did for entirely different reasons), I give up bobbing for hours at dangerous reach of the reef, and we get motoring at slow pace. Soon only the mainsail is up, dampening our nonexistent roll, left up waiting in hope...but hope won't help us much, seeing the sea as calm as in the most sheltered windless anchorage...well, more than a calm anchorage, a sealed crystal ball of oil. Day after day we swelter under the sun, obsessed by the thump-thump of the diesel, autopilot finally at significant use, us unemployed during the watches except for a lazy lookout and the occasional check on oil pressure and water temperature. Thump-tump, one day, two days, three days, Hamamas in sight at different distances until we suspect being fed up they must have cranked the engine up and disappeared. No matter, we keep the slow, quieter pace. The calmness is simply unreal, like no sea I've ever seen.
Unexpected by the Pacific, not even in the so called doldrums. I fear the usual thrashing is hiding over the horizon, but all around flat calm and not a cloud for shade. Hours seem endless, and we are silent playing cards, sudoku, reading, whatever to ease the ennui. At the fourth day of navigation the first signs of human presence: a fish aggregating device, then later a fishing boat coming close at full speed for which I prepared a crowbar, but veering off at the last second, among our bafflement and the friendly waving of the fishermen. Later again we are approached by a group of ridiculous little speed boats, just big enough to contain their drivers and a basked of lines and bait. While we stare amazed at them, they stare amazed at us, like we are the ones in the middle of nowhere riding some homemade plywood jet-skis!
They circle us for a long time, we had managed to sail a little and take a break from the noise, and they wonder with signs where is our engine...they also ask for water and cigarettes, which we gladly hand out. After a while we can spot the mother ships laying on the horizon, relieved that a) Filipinos are not that crazy b) we won't be forced to give them shelter as they're not stranded. Soon they run off toward the ships with their noisy single-cylinder engines, leaving us again in or loneliness, but land is nearby. At last, five days later, we sight it, tall green mountains. I feel a drop of heart, every minute feels unreal. At last, we pass Lajanosa, Anajauan, enter the pass between Mindanao and Bucas Grande, Dahakit point. We're in. Just as my hidden emotions peak, back to reality: the first tank of diesel is gone and I must sweat my heart out priming the engine on the second tank...perfect timing. Following a large cargo ship, taking the long turn around Hinatuan Island (completely clear cut), we pass by beautiful Talavera, the first thatch-roofed village we see built right over the spotless white sandbar. The usual alarmists had warned me against doing the Hinatuan Passage, since its tides and currents range over five knots in random directions at almost any given time, but the saving in miles is too advantageous and besides, if cargoes do it, so can I. Two cargoes in fact turn around to try the pasage at a later time, but I can't afford such luxury, as uneventful as it was, this passage has been tiring as much as any other. The sea is ripped in all directions by the currents, and the large fast eddies swing Keturah around like a leaf ove the water, I fear a change of plan. Several tugs with their barges give up as well, but I am convinced it can be done, and in-fact I spot another tug that is not giving up, and with its' barge being swept left and right is managing to do some headway. I cross the channel quickly in order to imitate its course, caressing the south-western side of Nonoc Island. Once aligned I see the great advantage of our position, away from the main currents and slowly moving in the desired direction. Shortly I consider short-cutting by Doot Island, but it would be the classic mistake brought about by tiredness desiring haste to get to an anchorage. Rounded the reefy island, we can see Surigao, and in renewed joy I turn the radio on to hear what's on air. Amazingly, it's a Jazz only radio station, broadcasting old tunes by a famous redhead Italian singer, Ornella Vanoni. The situation is hilarious, almost an unplanned welcome to me as an Italian, music my parents would have been fond of, as they will be when I'll be able to communicate that yes, a chunk of their and my original dream has been realized. But we haven't anchored yet, the sun is waning and visibility is slowly diminishing, and I must endure one last surprise before stopping. I hate noises, and motoring in particular, after over five days of enduring the noise my brain starts playing tricks on me. I hear the engine, then I hear nothing and panick that it may have given up while we're still in pretty sanguine currents. I open the engine room hatches and it's all running, but I can only hear at at intervals. Gone back to steer, I hear it sputtering, but it's not.
At last, we come close to Sumilon Island, we have good clear water and a bit of reef to look at. The anchor drops, a swim, a meal, and some whiskey, and after, silence, only silence under the stars.

Palau - May '08

Nearing Palau the winds die, and a couple days later we arrive in Babelthuab. The rock formations typical of Palau are immediately evident from afar, and already in the pass we marvel at the lush greenery, the vertical cliffs (after endlessly flat atolls) and the crystal waters all the way into the commercial harbor. I have written to the RBYC in advance to warn of our arrival, but we circle around for an hour or so before being granted permission to dock and receive the authorities. We welcome the lack of fuss over papers, quarantine and customs, and by mid morning we're anchored in front of the Royal Belau Yacht Club, where we are warmly welcomed by Dermot, the manager.
Hot showers, cold drinks, meat and variety of foods, and real supermarkets seem all new to us, aside from Honiara and Chuuk this is the first fully civilized places we've seen in over six months. Even traffic and noise are more amusing than annoying. Palau is truly Americanized, there is no public transportation, everyone's driving their own car (resulting in a very small city with a big traffic problem), the main shops are from American chains, luckily along heaps and heaps of junk-food there is also selection of regular food, not already cooked, preserved, processed or frozen. At long last we can take advantage of an actual nightlife in town. Mexican, Korean, Japanese, Vietnamese restaurants are all there, while the real nightlife (for westerners) revolves around Kramer's, a German's bar-restaurant where the party atmosphere is seldom lacking, especially when we're around (see video).
The windlass which we repaired already in the Solomons worked only once, and we came all the way here hauling the tackle by hand, easy though never pleasant. I decide to give it another shot before facing the deep anchorages of the Philippines ahead, while Michela poking around as usual found some fresh areas of rot in the superstructure. The windlass goes to a local machine shop, but it will work again only after shuttling it back and forth a few times -and it IS heavy!-. The electric motor was toast, but luckily I had an identical one taken off an electric winch I removed since quite useless. Stripping off the rot and filling it with beams of Fijian ironwood means stripping off quite a bit of paint, and what starts as a quick repair (nothing is quick on boats ever, except the hemorrhage of money!) becomes a new paint job for the whole deck superstructure. We start in the harbor, then we decide to get the permits to visit the Rock Islands and do some more work in more pleasant settings, since we're here, why not. We tuck in a perfect little lagoon of turquoise water, too small to swing, I secure a line to a tree. There we are able to start with the primers, swim around, collect mussels (big shells, lots of work picking and cleaning them and very little meat inside). Then just four days later we discover we're running out of smokes and seeing the weather above turning sour decide to head back into town. We drop anchor there just to find out that a typhoon is forming right over our heads, though in the little hole we've been we hardly noticed and would have been plenty safe.
No matter, we remain by the yacht club (since returning to the islands would have meant renewing the costly permit), seeing day after day of pouring rain and mounting winds, but without having to take any special precaution (just plenty of chain) the storm moves away in a few days. One after another, several US Navy ships have called into the harbor, crowding it with loud and yet orderly sailors. Returning from the cursed war, or hurrying to some other related mission, or patrolling endlessly the Pacific, faces are happy or sad, depending, moods joyful or somber, but in most cases it is evident the desire to let loose, break free from the floating prison if only for a few hours. One night though, me and Miki decided to have a "fancy" dinner to the only Indian restaurant. Being one of the more expensive venues, we expect an evening full of courtesy and relaxation, after another long day sweating under the merciless sun. As we enter, two black guys are sitting, one (the bigger meaner looking one) obviously inebriated, no matter to us, so we just pick a table not too close and bury our faces in the menu. Time a few seconds , and the big mean one comes to our table, looking for a reason to chat, maybe to fight, and acting all around obnoxiously. I don't bite his provocations -the guy is young, drunk, furious, repressed and incredibly pumped chain-gang style- and I manage to mutter a simple and very bourgeois "we're trying to have dinner...do you mind?". If I only stood up that would have been the end of me...while his buddy tries to wrestle him away he breaks into full on shouting that I'm a racist and it's time to fight, he wants to fight, whoever is there: he needs to fight. By then the owner (a big Rajastani fellow) is finally out, and the two combined manage to push him out of the venue. The day after we hear that the guy did indeed end up in a riotous rumble, spent the night in jail, and after that of all the following ships only the officers got to take night leave ashore. One up for discipline: a whole fleet paid for one single idiot, so, if you decide to be a soldier, you better stick to what you subscribed to.
Painfully slow, the work proceeds, and many days and trips to the hardware store later the first coats of paint are on, followed by the antiskid. We spent so much money in Palau, that we actually won a small lottery where one gets points every time shopping at certain venues. I never won anything of the sort before. So all in all a whole month goes by, with Cecilia and Miki and myself working hard in order to get ready for the last Pacific leg to the Philippines. We have one wonderful night partying at Kramer's, after rocking the place until it shut, we move on to the only available venue that late: a disco karaoke that's really a club with brothel.
The girls are very nice to us, maybe because we're definitely not there for them, except the Palauan bartender (a blast of a guy), and they take care of our drinks religiously, making sure we're extra pampered. At Kramer's we also picked up last people standing: some diving dude and an american young guy who sailed from Yap with a traditional canoe. He's white, but grew up in the Marshalls, and it's funny to see a westerner with a westerner's mind behaving like a local and speaking a local language, his job is to dive deep in order to catalogue new species of the deep...surprisingly for a young man, he doesn't miss the teptatbustle of the US, rather stick to his betel nuts cocoanut juice and the slow pace of emerald and turquoise atolls I guess. The girls other than (sadly) practicing the old trade, are also hostesses and entertainers, doing a few well coreographed and rehearsed ballets. As the evening seems to die down (or we simply had enough), we decide to leave just as a massive downpour breaks off. Taken by a sudden fellinian inspiration, I drag the girls under the rain, and decide that strolling leisurely and unconcerned under heavy tropical rain is a good idea. The fresh water clears the streets, our heads, and the stale smell of club from our clothes. I felt it like one of those momentous, hilarious and yet almost spiritual moments, elated in the idea that since we were going to get wet, might as well do it in style (with the calm night all around us). I am still not sure the girls saw it that way. The day after, the Palauan bartender tells us that while he was passing around the pipe, our neighbour, the chief of Police, was eyeing us maliciously, but being all of us (him and us) in what was obviously a brothel he couldn't really do much. In between paint coats I also managed to sneak on a weekend sail aboard a superclassic sailboat belonging to an american old-timer skipper: "Anthea", built in late 1800's. A beautiful old lady built for racing without lifelines, with running backstays and minimal interior furnishing. Moving with no breeze at all, with shiny varnish and brass and the solid feel of wood under the feet. Gary, the owner, is a character known across the Pacific, not only sailing across it in a boat absolutely not designed (but obviously capable of) for it, but also for delivering just about anything over long distances, all the while cracking jokes endlessly at lightning speed. The paint job really is coming to the final touches, the windlass is back in its' position and working (halle-fuckin'-luya!), and only the ordinary preparations are left for the final stretch that will put the word end to a journey of over two years through the marvellous, terrible, gorgeous, scary, mean, sweet, pleasant Pacific.

Yap - April '08

Another slow event less sail, we reach the well marked pass (for once!) in broad daylight into Kolonia harbor, Yap state. We're the only yacht present. Entry formalities are done sitting on the ground of an outdoor veranda, the officials more curios than anything and pushing us to chew a bit of betel nut. A few shuffling of papers later we're all ashore back into 'civilization' (at this point for us defined as a place with a fridge and a telephone) heading straight for the cold drinks section of the supermarket. While in other islands women might be conscious of being bare breasted in front of westerners, in Yap ladies of all ages (and all sizes!) walk around unconcerned from store to store, while a much larger majority of men is traditionally dresses at all times. Kolonia is barely a village, more of a trading post with basic necessities (post, telecommunications, supermarket, government offices etc.) and a few venues dedicated to diving tourism. If the atmosphere is Micronesia is generally slow and relaxed, Yap seems more comatose, with baskets for spitting the red betel juice everywhere (a definite improvement compared to the Solomons where red spit stains every wall and sidewalk). However, the crew gets to tour around and have fun, while on the boat a bit of quiet returns. We say goodbye to our friends Andrew and Nobina and after a hell of a lot of sashimi and trips to the supermarket we leave Yap, nice, but not very interesting place except for seasoned divers, WWII remnants and 'stone money'.