11:00 PM local time, Monday, Sept. 24 (1300 Sept. 24 UTC) 09 27 S 147
09 E. Temp. 83, Humidity 78%, Cloud Cover 60%. Windy. Royal Papua Yacht
Club, Port Moresby, Papua, New Guinea.
On Sunday we were introduced to the crew of Okiva, Paul and
Francis. Paul is from Santa Barbara, is about 45, and is quite mad. He
met Francis, who is a native of Fiji and has worked as professional
skipper on other yachts, in Fiji and they are planning a world cruise,
adding other crew, including Paul's wife, Paula, like the song, here and
there. They invited the Captain and Ship's Harmonica Stylist Terry
Shrode over to the boat and broke out a bottle of rum. Actually a number
of bottles of rum: four or five was the official total as close as could
be determined. They played the impressive stereo real loud and soon we
broke out guitars and harmonicas and were jamming.
As the day wore on, Paul suggested to the Captain that we go see
what was going on in the boat next door, a large charter powerboat where
a party was underway. Paul got on board and immediately went to the
helm. He told your correspondent, authoritatively, that we would be
taking the boat out, and that an announcement should be made informing
everyone of that fact. "How soon shall I tell them we're leaving?" I
asked. "Oh, fifteen minutes."
So this reporter announced loudly and clearly so everyone present
could hear, in a voice that to him sounded quite official, "Ladies and
gentlemen, in fifteen minutes we will depart on a harbor cruise. If
you'd like to come along you're welcome to stay aboard, but otherwise we
need you to disembark as soon as you can." I returned to Paul and told
him the announcement had been made. He was having a hard time getting
the boat started and told me he needed a screwdriver to hot wire it. I
went back to Paul's boat and told Francis we needed a screwdriver to
start the powerboat. Francis instantly realized that what Paul was up
to, with my assistance, was stealing a $750,000 yacht. This took me
rather by surprise, for at no point had your correspondent recognized
that there was anything untoward about our plans. Rum connoisseurs may
recognize this syndrome. Francis said, "Tony, you stay right here. Do
not move." He went over to the other boat to try to save Paul from
further misadventures, but by that time security had been called and he
was persuaded to leave the boat without further incident.
Later, about two in the morning, after the Captain had, shall we
say, retired, Mr. Shrode was enlisted by Paul to join him in his very
fast dinghy on a joy ride around the harbor at suicidal speed. Paul was
sitting in the bottom of the stern of the dinghy where he could not have
seen where he was going even if he were sober, and was driving. Mr.
Shrode, on the bow when he could keep his balance, could dimly see
through the spray and shouted commands. They stopped at various
container ships and pounded on the side trying to wake up the crews to
see if anyone aboard might be in the mood for a cocktail. In this, they
were unsuccessful; but they did run into a few things.
The staff here at the Royal Papua Yacht Club has made no mention of
this and in general one is treated as one imagines lesser royals are
treated, and that includes having one's lapses in behavior ignored to an
almost surreal degree and never spoken of again. Unless it's a violation
of the dress code, which is of course not to be tolerated. Like the case
of the Royal Suva Yacht Club, its use of the word "Royal" is an honor
officially granted by the Queen of England. It's a very elegant club and
meticulously maintained, as befits something royal in the British
Commonwealth. There must be a paid staff of thirty, so the yachting
community is doing what it can to support the local economy. The
membership fee and dues here are no doubt substantial, but voyagers like
us are in general welcome to have complete use of the facilities at this
and all similar clubs for next to nothing. It's amazing, really.
It's not a little odd that a couple of grotty Americans have found
themselves hanging with the swells since we left French Polynesia, where
one would have thought things might be rather more organized than they
were. There is really nothing worthy of the name "yacht club" until you
leave there and go further west, where one, being ignorant of such
things, would have thought the situation might have been a bit more
primitive. But the influence of British, Australian, and Kiwi
colonialism has left its mark, and in addition there is a steady flow of
yachtspeople from the latter two that sail no further east than Tonga on
their adventures in the South Pacific. We don't go to the yacht clubs
because of our affexction for colonialism but because in every locale
they furnish the exact things we need: a safe anchorage, information on
how to clear customs, fix your boat, etc., laundry, showers, and other
cruisers, the majority of whom have better local knowledge than you
could find from any other source. And like Dave and Ros of Arafura Maid
here, they are not infrequently spectacularly generous with their help.
But back to Paul. A few days later Paula had arrived and they had us
over for dinner. As I left Paul walked me up the ramp, raised his arms,
and confessed to me as one skipper to another, in a voice which could
have been heard throughout the marina and perhaps throughout Papua New
Guinea, "I'm the captain of a boat going all the way around. I've got
the best job in the world!"
Next report from this loocation:
The Kite That Took A Flight
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