Arabian Nights - Oman and Yemen:

Redwings Round the World

Arabian Nights: Oman and Yemen

2 - 15 March, 1998

Welcome to Camel Country

2 March, Salalah, Oman

Laura - After arriving at 4:00 a.m. (see previous section), by 8:30 a.m. customs officials were on board. Aaron said we could probably just stay in bed, but they wanted to see our faces along with our passports. So, I threw on my nearest shorts and t-shirt and stumbled out. My, what a reception! I don't think those boys had seen a set of female knee caps in a while, although I have to say mine are rather suburned and have a few little scabs and some salt on them. I hadn't considered that I would have to wear long pants even on the boat. So, I tried to make myself scarce, but there were about 6 of them in their kaki military uniforms and turbans and they kind of filled up the boat and I didn't want to retreat to the cabin. One of them stepped on Sybil and another kicked over a cup of coffee. Then they left.

This place is a mix of yachts, military and police boats, and some container ships, inlcuding one huge one from San Francisco. There is also a lot of construction going on. Overall, it looks rather industrial, although the water seems clean enough.

Later in the day, after getting the local scoop and a loan of a few Rial from Dave and BK on Blue Ribbon, we ventured into town, quite overdressed for the heat, but appropriately for the customs. Long loose pants, baggy long shirt, hat. We hopped a cab from the police station down the road and got dropped off at the British Bank, which happily took our ATM cards. The ride into town revealed lots of brown dry earth stretching along the coast line. Low, tan buildings go along the streets in town. Many of the shops are called "Food Stuff Luxuries." We're not sure yet where to put the emphasis. We ate a decent meal at an empty hotel and then dashed across the street for a soft-serve ice cream. The streets were pretty quiet as it was the middle of the day and much is closed then. Things tend to be open early and late, but not in between. We saw mostly men, a few of whom spoke to us and wanted to know where we are from. When we said America, they say "Oooh" and some reference to Iraq, subtle usually, comes in. We're learning that people are definitely thinking a good deal about the conflict between the US and Iraq, but they don't hold us personally responsible and they seem to see both sides of the situation. We saw a few women on the streets too, hustling along in small groups like dark ghosts. They wear long black clothes and veils. One guy couldn't believe Aaron sailed here with three women. "Oh my gosh," he kept saying.

After getting back to Raysut, the port, by taxi again, we spent the afternoon doing boat cleaning stuff. Armed with a new case of 4 litre jugs of oil, Aaron did several oil changes and changed the filter as part of the ongoing effort to get the remaining moisture out of the system. It looks as if everything will be okay in that department. We also visited a few other boats to say hello to our neighbors. Boats are leaving everyday for the Red Sea. We seem to be toward the tail end of the exodus. But we are certainly not last. Malkat Singapore may be though.

It was an early night as we were all tired out.

3 March, Salalah, Oman

Laura - Awoke to the sounds of La Scala arriving. That consists of motor noises and an Australian accent yelling "How Ya Going?"

Kerry and I headed for town, covered from head to tow of course, on our own. A big experiment in cultural relations. We got a lift in from a Swedish/Turkish couple who were driving to Yemen for the day. They dropped us near one of the many laundry places and we walked to the General Telephone Office to try to call home. To make a long story short, we found it is impossible to make a collect telephone call in Oman, but in the meantime we visited the telephone company, the Post Office, the telephone exchange, and the Holiday Inn in a period of four hours. Quite the adventure. People were friendly and we had no hassles. Highlights were that on the way to the Holiday Inn, Kerry said she was thirsty so the cab driver pulled up next to a small store and beckoned the proprieter to bring us 7-Ups. We finally used credit cards to call home from the Holiday Inn. Kerry's parents were out of town, but she had a good talk with her confused Uncle Eugene (it was 4 a.m.) and I got hold of my mom. It was great to talk, but kind of a tease because we had to keep it short.

We got a cab ride back from a friendly fellow with three wives. I said Kerry might be willing to be his fourth (although she actually didn't seem to be very willing) and he seemed to think that might work. He dropped us at Pizza Hut (yes, we are decadent Americans) and then took us back to Raysut. Along the way, we stopped to get fruit and from next door he picked up three coconut milk drinks for us. His favorite. Very nice.

Spent the afternoon cleaning the boat, filling water bottles, and re-folding a sail.

At about 7 p.m., we headed to shore to find dinner. The police guards at the gate recommended a place to us, and gave long directions to the cab driver. The driver sounded like he didn't get it, but we set out. We got a couple miles down the road and the guard came screaming up in a car behind us. He then pulled ahead and escorted us to the restaurant.

We were ushured into a private room where we sat on the floor and leaned against cushions. The waiter turned on a television. At first there was some British film on and news in English, but then it switched over to Arabic programs. It was like being in somebody's basement, but quite relaxing we found. The first course was dates (yum) and coffee. Then we had lobster, shrimp, chicken and salad. We all stuffed ourselves and then got to lie on the floor to settle our stomachs after and stare at the t.v. until our eyes glazed over like the dates and we realized we must be pretty tired to be watching Arabic sitcoms.

Then, home to bed.

4 March, Salalah, Oman

Colleen - Oman, Oman, the land of my dreams...Its hard to pinpoint what has me so euphoric here in Oman. perhaps, finally leaving Asia for some novel terrain after eight years? Landfall itself after 9 days at sea? The incredibly friendly and helpful people (I should say men, we've met no women), or the food (!) after our meagre culinary existence. A fresh salad alone could cause these feelings. I awoke early, and eagerly began sketching the harbour sites around me, mostly, the Omani fishing dows. I'm hungry for new subject material, having been confined to sketching the boat interior since at sea.

Around 10 a.m., I joined La Scala for a ride into town to find the rent-a-car agency. By noon I had my own '97 Toyota Corrola. Bit nerve wracking trying to drive it back to the port alone. ITs a stick shift, and on the opposite side of the car and road - the American side! I'm only used to driving in Thailand and Hong Kong with it on the right side of the car and the left side of the road. Once I realized I'd been driving the first few kilometers with the emergency brake on things got easier. Actually, once I hit the highway and relaxed, the drive became quite pleasurable. The highways are huge, fairly empty, ribbons furling through the desert. I grabbed Aaron back at port and we headed out again to start our errands.

First to drop the laundry off. I was so hungry (2pm by now) that we just plopped ourselves down in the local roadside restraunt right next to the laundry shop. Paradise fullfilled...The most delicious hummous, a fresh salad, fresh roti, and fresh squeezed orange juice, all for 2 dollars. The food is so amazing in Oman, one can stop at the grungiest, grubbiest little roadside hovel, and still go in with full confidence of being thouroughly satiated.

After lunch, on to the industrial estates tour. I almost killed us on the highway. In my driving pleasure, I was not really concentrating on the road ahead. A herd of slow moving camels, that easily blended in with the desert background started to cross the highway. Aaron only alerted me in time to swerve into the next lane. We were later told the penalty for killing a camel is 9 months in prison. Phew..

In search of the Ford agency for a spare oil filter, we landed at the wrong industrial estate. Aaron went into the head office to ask where Ford was. Moments later he came out with an arab and a Sudanese man; the civil engineer, and the accountant for the estate. Apparently, we were at the wrong industrial estate, the correct one being c.10 miles away. The two men were going to give us personal escorts there to make sure we didn't get lost!!! A typical display of Omani hospitality.

When we finally arrived at Ford it was closed for mid day prayers, not opening again until 4pm. So the men brought us to another area of the estate to find engine-related sundries like transmission oil, WD40, and more oil. We never managed to find the oil filter, and at around 5pm, headed back to port. I convinced Laura to go for our first jog in over a month! It felt strange to run in such a dry climate, and use muscles that hadn't been in action for so long. By the end of the run, Laura insisted on going up a huge hill. I made it about half way then started to walk. The omnipresent port police car soon came along side to chat. The policeman asked why I had stopped running. I responded. "because I'm tired.''. He answered back, "No you're not, you're just lazy..." (!)

So I was shamed into running again and completing the hill by the Omani police force.

We rushed back to the boat, planning to dine with the crews of La Scala and Dracamaris. The group gorged itself on a fantastic Indian feast in Salalah. Over 14 dishes and drinks, for about 4 bucks a head...

5 March, Salalah, Oman

Laura - We hit the road site seeing in the rental car. TACKY TOURISTS!!! First we had to do a bunch of errands with jerry cans, propane tanks and stuff like that. It was noon before we really got going on the road down the coast to Takah. Takah turned out to be a little fishing village. We stopped at a restaurant and filled up on hummus, salad, bread, chicken and fruit drinks. Then we stopped by to see this little rundown fort on a hill. Then we headed further along east, pulling off the main road and along one of the many rocky paths that wind into the desert toward the mountains. Our goal was to see this huge limestone wall. We saw it. During the rainy season, water is rumored to cascade down a few hundred feet over the wall toward the oceacn. We stood at the bottom from a distance on a little knowl and gazed at its enormity. We weren't alone. Also there was some Omani dude on a slicked up bicycle drinking a container of juice. I think maybe we interupted a private moment. We just couldn't figure out where the heck he rode from and he didn't chare much.

We kept heading north toward Marbat. We stopped every so often to take pictures of camels, which are all over the place running around, or to walk to the ocean. The scenery was beautiful. Big sandy brown mountains on one side and the ocean on the other. No trees. Just rock and salt water. On one ocean cliff we took out the handhelf VHF and tried to call Raffi. He answered! He was 19 miles off Marbat and although we couldn't see him we were high enough up that we could get him on the radio. Pretty funny. Aaron actually negotiated a fuel deal between Raffi and Kel on La Scala whom we were also able to reach. Then it was on to Marbat, another small fishing town with some cool old buildings.

Marbat

We didn't stay long, but hit the road again and drove back to Salallah on a long road through the mountains. Back in town we stopped in the Frankinsense market and smelled the spices. Then supper at the place next to the laundry mat. The Indian owner is friendly and a good cook.

Stayed up late making an apple pie. Pretty good, but trouble with the crust as the butter was melted.

6 March, Salalah, Oman

Laura - Raffi and crew arrived late the night before and they are confined to the boat for the day as it is a Friday, the Muslim holiday, and they cannot clear customs. But they made it! They survived the trip and one another. Big accomplishment. We brought them over a load of food we'd bought from the Indian man and the pie. Sort of like Thanksgiving. We caught up with them until about noon and then hit the road again in the rental car, this time in the other direction, up the coast toward Yemen.

First stop was a nice beach with volcanic rock on the end that formed "blow holes" where the sea sucked in and out. We saw this huge squid. Then onward. After many kilometers, I pulled us onto a side road that led down to a little village of Raykyut 23 km away. The road was barely driveable with a 2-wheel drive car. Only the very steepest spots, where erosion must have washed the road out, were paved. The rest was rain ruts and rocks. It wasn't really all that bad; I just didn't want to get a flat tire. After and hour of winding down the cliffs toward the sea, we popped out in a sweet little town right on the beach. After a brief drive, we parked next to the one Food Stuff, which was closed. But a man our age soon came along. Ali had studied in England and spoke perfect English. He ran the power generator in town. He woke up the store owner and we got some much needed drinks and snacks. Ali came with us to the beach for a walk and a talk about Oman and Arab culture. Then his friend pulled up in his fishing boat. I mean literally, the guy got up speed and drove the boat well out of the water and onto the beach. He had caught one of those giant squid. He was boisterous and so funny and ran around in the sand and kicked a soccer ball with me and laughed. He wanted to take us fishing at his favorite spot, but it was getting dark and we had that crazy road ahead of us. So we gave the fisherman a picture of Redwings, said goodbye to Ali, and headed off. Aaron drove us out and it was a bit hair-raising. Some places were so steep and covered with loose dirt and rocks that in first gear the car would just lose momentum and power and we'd back up and try two or three times. Going fast was the key. Sure was fun, but the poor car didn't seem to enjoy itself much.

Budding Artist

We stopped to get food from the Indian man and got back to Raysut at about 9 p.m. We picked up Phillipa off La Scala and headed to Malkat Singapore for a party with Raffi, Chris, Stacy and Richard until midnight. Stacy told some pretty amusing stories about the voyage from Cochin.

7 March, Salalah, Oman

Laura - Aaron went to town early to order some oil filters and spent much of the day with Dave, captain of Blue Ribbon and electrician extraordinaire beefing up the battery bank. Colleen went on a nightmare provisioning spree with Raffi, Stacy, Chris and Richard. The escapade started out with a flat tire, a leftover from oour offroad adventure of the day before.

Kerry and I settled into the routine of fetching water, which consisted of dingying across the harbor with the jerry cans, climbing a ladder to the top of the dock, filling the cans from a spicket, and then lowering the cans back into the dingy with a rope. Back on the boat, we siphoned the water into the tanks. On our third trip, we noticed that the Coast Guard boat that usually docks near the spicket had returned from its daily run up the coast. We knew this meant we would get lots of help with our work. It turned out to be the truth. We also ended up getting a tour of the boat, having a glass of Tang and getting a dinner invitation from one of the sailors, Yousef. He had already met Aaron and Colleen and invited the four of us to come. He promised his wife and mother would be there too. Kerry and I knew this would be a tough one because we had informal plans to hang out with Malkat Singapore, but this guy was so nice and insistent that we come over and accept his hospitality. So, we talked to Aaron and he seemed interested so we accepted.

After a day of chores, Yousef picked us up at the dock at 7 p.m. He drove us to his home in the taxi that he drives although he is not a taxi driver. We never quite figured that one out. He lives in Coast Guard housing above the pretty little beach on which Kerry and I walked a couple times. He settled us into the living room to watch the video tape of his wedding, which took place on Oct. 23 1997. He and his wife wore traditional dress and the main ceremony was held at his uncle's house in the mountain village where both their families live and where they grew up. At first, his wife's face was covered, but then Yousef uncovered it and they were married. He had seen his wife before and spoken to her a few times. Then he asked her in private if she would marry him. "She didn't say anything so I knew that meant okay, yes," explained Yousef. Then he went to his mother who talked to her mother and the whole thing was worked out. The star of the wedding video was Yousef's younger sister who is quite beautiful and danced up a storm and apparently had the camera operater so mesmerized that he followed her everywhere.

After a bit, we met Yousef's wife and mother, who lives with them. They were both quiet and sat with us only for a few moments. Yousef's mother obviously adores him though and kept smiling all the time. Yousef said he went to Pakistan once for a communications course and it was very hard for him to be away from his mother. I would have liked to talk more with her although she didn't speak English, but, both women were doing the cooking and declined offers for help. They wouldn't eat with us because Aaron and a friend of Yousef's, Arif the Coast Guard Captain, were there and the women won't eat with men who are not in their family.

In Oman tradition, we had dessert first. Great tradition. Donut holes, date cookies, cakes, tea, coffee and Tang. Then, we spread plastic on the floor and Yousef brought in plates of rice, bread, chicken, fish and salad. We all sat on the floor and ate without utensils. I got rice all over me, but I did it. All the while we talked about Oman and America and customs. The Omanis said that another sailor had told them she was worried that sometime Omani hospitality would be taken advantage of and the rules of the port, which has only very recently welcomed yachts, would have to change and the extremely hospitable environment would be ruined. We considered that and said, yes, it is possible, but that since the yachties are so dependent on the good will of others we tend to be a pretty careful and considerate bunch for the most part. We said it would more likely be other types of tourist, perhaps package tours to the nearby Holiday Inn, that might sour the Omani's interest in westerners. Turns out Arif was sent to several places in America for Coast Guard training, including Yorktown, Virginia, right near where I used to live. Kind of funny. Arif invited us to come to the local police club that night, saying there would be alcohol to drink, but we were tired out and the night went by fast so we declined.

After the meal, Colleen sat on a neighboring porch and had coffee with the women for a bit and then we all went across the way to meet Aarif's wife (Irene, I think) and three-year-old son and to see their 10-day-old baby. Irene speaks good English and is a science teacher at a local school. She was the only working woman I met in Oman, not that I even met that many women. I played soccer with the little boy and then we had grape Tang. The boy and I shared a bit, but then he spilled all over his Caspar the Friendly Ghost t-shirt and looked like he might cry. But he didn't and went off to get his shirt changed. The others looked at me like this was my fault, but I swear I wan't touching him at the moment he spilled. I admit, I was a likely suspect though since hardly a day goes by that I don't knock over somebody's drink or the cat water. Just before we left, Kerry and I had a good talk with Irene about the sailing trip. She said she would pray for us.

Before dropping us back at the boat Yousef took us to the other side of the harbor to show us his favorite bird-watching spot. We saw a heron. He really is quite a good guy.

We picked up Stacy at Malkat Singapore and took her to Redwings for a late night chat.

8 March, Slalah to Al Mukalla, Yemen

Laura - Today's final provisioning run is likely to be classified as the craziest one yet. Participants were Colleen, Stacy and Laura....and the mysterious old man. We had a medium-sized list: fill four diesel cans, buy fruit and vegetables, take Stacy to travel agent, bank, and pick up oil filters at the Industrial Estate. (Aaron and Kerry stayed on the boat to finish up work on the electronics and put away the previous days provisions.)

We got off to rather a late start, about 10 a.m. or so, because we had stayed up the night before yacking on the fordeck under the stars and the lovely odor of fish meal being processed at a nearby plant. MMM. After leaving Redwings, first stop was Malkat Singappore to get Stacy. Raffi agreed to loan us the rental car, which we had signed over to him since we were leaving. That was good because all those errands would have been a pain in a taxi. Only hitch was that since we had given the car a flat and a good deal of scratches on our adventure to Raykyut he wanted to exchange it for a new car at the rental agency. The car man had told Raffi a new vehicle would be there at 11:30 a.m. Raffi had to fuel up his boat so we said we'd get the new car. That was fine with him as long as we were back by noon, he said. Oh, and by the way, could we take this busted wooden drawer to a carpenter and have it repaired? Uh, sure, just add it to the list. We were aware our time frame was unrealistic since it was 10:30 when we actually got in the car, but, we agreed to it even though it made for some stress. I could tell Raffi was in a bad mood already and I was feeling guilty about the condition of the rental car.

Next stop was the port gate where Stacy had to pick up her passport. Of course that took a good 15 minutes. We were about to pull out when a guard, walking a very elderly man on his arm, waved to us. The guard didn't speak English, but he pointed to the old man and said "Salalah." Perhaps it is a sign that we had so quickly adapted to the utter friendliness of Omani culture that without question we opened the door for the man. As Colleen drove, I looked at my companion in the back seat next to me and decided he was one of the oldest people I had ever seen. Maybe we should call Guiness and hold him hostage to claim the world record. He had vacant blue eyes that obviously didn't see very well, a turban, some shabby clothes and a small duffle bag. He spoke to me frequently in Arabic, or some other language I don't know and I was feeling a bit helpless as he obviously wanted something.

From the front seat, Stacy looked back and said to me "Just tell him 'iowa.' "

So I said "iowa" and the man seemed satisfied.

"Stacy, what does that mean?" I asked.

"It means 'yes,' " said Stacy.

Once into town, we hit the nearest Shell station. I filled up the diesel cans while Stacy and Colleen ran across the street to the fruit store. I found a man next to the gas pump who spoke English and brought him over to the car to speak with the old fellow, who I'm sure was getting quite warm in the back seat.

"He wants to go to the hospital," said the interpreter, after a brief conversation.

Oh dear. We had passed the hospital three miles back. Given our time situation and the fact that the roads have these medians that force drivers to go several miles to roundabouts in order to turn around, I knew we weren't going back to the hospital. Fortunately, a taxi pulled up to the gas pump. I waved down the driver and gave him the money to take our friend to the hospital. Poor old guy couldn't even pick up his duffle bag. Now, the interpreter thought this was all quite strange; that these three western women buying cans of diesel and fruit were toting around an old man of the mountains in this horribly abused rental car. I had to do a bit of explaining. Just your average tourist you see....We were in such a rush that when Colleen and Stacy got back with the fruit they didn't even ask what had happened to our friend! I waited a bit to see if they would notice he was gone, but they didn't so I had to prompt the query as to his whereabouts.

By then, it was 11:30. We headed to the bank, where we left Stacy to change traveller's checks. At the rental agency, there was no car waiting for us. The guy there pulled out his list and pointed to a name and said "This car is supposed to be back." Gee that name looks familiar! It belonged to Bill on La Scala. We knew the La Scala gang had no intention of returning their car that day. The guy took off to find us a new tire, the least he could do. Colleen and I wandered into some nearby stores and a bakery. We bought pita bread, but didn't get out without the baker insisting that we sample a good number of his products. He just kept serving them up. They were pretty tasty.

We were back at the bank by noon. It was locked and Stacy wasn't there so we headed for the next rendezvous point -- The Family Bookstore. I went on foot while Colleen got gas for the car. To wind this up, we picked up a few more items, some fruit drinks, and left Stacy to deal with some phone calls and travel arrangements. Then we headed to the maze of the Industrial Estate. On the way, the police pulled us over for 10 minutes and tried to be helpful by giving us directions to the other side of town which we ignored. We finally found the place for the oil filters, got what we needed and hit the road again.

It was 1:00. We blew off trying to get Raffi's drawer fixed. Couldn't deal. On the way back to Raysut, the car would shudder at speeds over 80 kph so there was little we could do to shake the man who was following us. He did the typical highway harrassment -- driving beside us and then in front and pulling over for us to catch up. At the gate, the guard didn't speak English and when we tried to explain, he kept saying "Problem? Problem?" Then he actually let the guy through the gate. He followed us all the way to the dock, where fortunately Raffi and Richard were still cleaning Malkat Singapore, which meant that although we were more than an hour late the timing was okay. Phew! Even then, the stalker hung out and watched us load the groceries into the dingy.

On the dock, we said a brief goodbye to Yousef and Arif who were finishing work for the day. Aaron and Colleen had given them a bag from Thailand and a card to say thank you. We also swapped addresses. I wonder if they'll ever turn up in the States. Yousef seems like he really wants to go.

Back on the boat, we did last-minute chores, said goodbye to Stacy, and then headed out for Al Mukallah by 1545. Everyone was pretty tired so a rotation of naps were in order. Then we got into the swing of cruising. We motored the first night since there was little wind.

9 March, Salalah to Al Mukalla, Yemen

Aaron - Nothing happened today. Well next to nothing as far as I know. For some reason I was sleepy so I took a three hour nap in the morning and another three hour nap in the afternoon. In between I ate a lunch of pizza made by Laura - we all agreed it was at least as good as school cafeteria pizza. I don't think anyone else did anything today either, although Colleen claims that gossiping with Kerry and Laura about the goings on in Salalah and reading her book is "doing something". I guess it does represent significantly more activity than napping with Basil.....

Aaron and Basil Working Hard as Usual

We are sliding along the Yemen coast heading towards Al Mukalla at just under 5 knots. For the first hundred miles or so out of Oman we had positive current and I thought we might be able to make it before dark tomorrow, but now we've got about 1 knot on the nose so it looks like we won't get there till the following morning. So we are just taking it easy - no hurry - we want to go in in daylight. Winds have been light and in our face for the most part so we have mainly been motoring except for a five hour period from 1400 to 1900 when we were able to make about 4 knots sailing when the wind came around to the South Southeast.

The big excitement for the day came when Laura and Kerry witnessed a giant manta ray leaping from the water not far from the boat. At first, Kerry thought it was the tail of a whale. Colleen and I heard the commotion and ran up to look, but were too late and could only see a huge flat bubbly spot on the surface where it had re-entered the water. It must have been huge judging by the size of the disturbance on the water.

10 March, Salalah to Al Mukalla, Yemen

Laura - Smooth sailing all day. Well, okay, part of it was motoring, but it was still a nice, calm, easy day. The highlight of the day was Hearts and sea life. Okay, I have to confess to losing terribly at Hearts (the first time since I have been on Redwings that I have come in dead last may I point out). Colleen was the first time winner, having shot the moon in the second round. I did pull a moral victory. I saw Aaron's hand and could have laid the Queen of Spades on him, since I knew the only spade he had was the Ace. But, I figured it wasn't quite fair since I saw his hand. So, I got stuck with the Queen. Aaron thanked me, but said not to expect the same treatment. I harbored no such illusions, believe me. Maybe it was dumb, but I felt I played fair. My revenge came in the last round when I shot the universe for the first time. It was pretty satisfying, but I still lost. I plan to discuss further the moral ramifications of this game of Hearts in my upcoming book "Tuesdays With Laura." (See book reviews if you don't get this.)

The other highlight. Sea life. Kerry and I kept seeing dolphins, we thought, but they were very low key. After extensive observation, I thought they must be small whales. Aaron concurred. They were around us for an hour or so. I also saw a long white fish darting through the water that may have been a shark. Other boats have reported seeing lots of big sharks swimming around and local fishermen catch them. Then, there was something flapping in the water that we couldn't identify. A small bird that hit the boat and was injured? Soon, a big brown grasshopper landed on the stern on top of the dinghy outboard. The cats were very interested, but I figured they might take a swim if they went after the bug so I flicked him off and he flew away.

That was about it. Got closer and closer to Al Mukallah so we went slowly so as not to get there in the dark.

11 March, Salalah to Al Mukalla, Yemen

Aaron - Wow is all I can say. Pulling into Al Mukalla at first light was truely impressive. The mideival white clay buildings of the town lie clustered at the foot of towering rust hued cliffs are starkly contrasted by the transparent deep blue of the Gulf of Aden. The early morning sun's rays added more color to the cliffs and buildings and deepened the shadows in the cliffs above created by large fissures in the rocks. Huge red bolders fill these fissures and seem ready to roll down the cliffs smashing the buildings below like bowling pins. It looks like a Hollywood set for some sort of disaster movie with the bolders made out of styrofoam.

Quest, a boat from Miami Florida which we saw in Phuket and Oman, was the only other boat in the anchorage. Lee, the owner, came over and introduced himself. He was wearing a Yassar Arafat type headress and sports a gold earing making him look a bit like some sort of Arab pirate. Lee indicated that we might want to consider throwing out a stern anchor as the swell thumps through in pretty lumpy fashion at night making sleeping difficult. Well looked ok to me and we are bigger then them (and they survived without a kedge last night) so we did not bother - big mistake.

The Immigration Facilities at Al Mukalla, an Official Port of Entry to Yemen

A trip into town in serarch of food proved "fruitless" - in fact all that was to be had was chicken and rice. Of course one could also dine on the "meat" that was displayed beneth towering swarms of flies along the side of the roads. The beauty of Al Mukalla dissapears as one gets ashore. Its pretty much a pit and people just throw their garbage everywhere. Its interesting though. Big markets, old buildings, mass confusion.

An unsucessful trip to an "international telecomunications centre" (read three phones in a hole in the wall) was partially redeemed when we met a nice Indian guy named Vijit who invited us to dinner tomorrow night. We were complaining to Vijit (who was another customer in the shop) that we could not find any decent food in town and asked for suggestions. He said no, there is just no good food in the town and invited us to his house for Indian fare. We and our stomachs are all looking forward to it!

12 March, Al Mukalla, Yemen

Laura - Remember that 1970's tune that goes "Don't Rock the Boat Baby, Don't Tip The Boat Over..." It may have been written after the singer spent a night in Al Mukallah. All night long it was back and forth, back and forth. None of us slept. Guess we should have listened to Lee on Quest and put out the kedge anchor! The problem is that the boat turned into the wind from the east, but the swell comes from the south and just rolls all the time.

Aaron knocked on the door early too, at about 7:30. Turned out that the rocking motion had knocked over some of the jerry cans of diesel that the one-armed bandit had delivered to the boat the night before. The place was kind of a mess and since we were expecting the day to be roasting hot once again we set about cleaning it at once and siphoning the unspilled diesel into the tanks. That all took a couple of hours. Then we set out a kedge anchor and had some breakfast. orning spent sleeping off last night's anchorage terrors and setting out kedge anchor.

At 2 p.m. we went ashore to meet up with Ali, a local guy who had agreed to take us hiking. We walked through town and up the cliffs that serve as the magnificent backdrop. We followed a winding course that Ali seemed to know. On top, it was rolling flat rocks. Four forts lined the crest of the cliff overlooking the town. We visited all four and walked a bit more, down and back up a ravine. On the way back down, Ali's children, and then the entire neighborhood gang of kis, about 25 of them, came up to join us. They were pretty cute kids and practiced all kinds of basic English on us, such as 'What is your name" and "How are you" and "I love you." They would look shocked when we would respond. On the way down, we stopped at Ali's house and for some reason he insisted that Kerry and Colleen get in his goat pen for a photo. This struck me as very funny so I obligingly took several pictures. In the end, Ali wanted $10, which we thought a bit steep since a monthly salary averages $100, but since we hadn't made an agreement beforehand we forked it over.

We scooted back to the boat and showered and changed. Then it was back to shore to meet Vijit for dinner. He wasn't waiting at the telecom place as planned, but a bit later we ran into him in the street and it turned out we had missed one another in passing. He took us to the apartment of a friend of his and cooked us this huge meal. Other guests were two Pakistani men, four other Indians and one Iraqi. We ended up having a great time and staying quite late to talk. These guys are mostly engineers working on the construction of a Holiday Inn outside of town. One is an importer and another works at a bank. They are all pretty much bored stiff in Yemen and were very happy to have company. We invited them to come over to the boat the next night.

Yemen, so far, is a funny place. It is filthy dirty. Goats, sheep, trash and sewage own the streets. People are friendly, but I am constantly a bit uncomfortable because they just stare and stare at us or make passing (not impolite) comments because we are western women (or at least I think that is the reason). And I'm not always sure how to react. I don't want to be not respond to a hello because that is rude by my cultural standards, but I also have read enough to know that in some cases a response or eye contact is enough to make them think that western women are really the loose immoral sluts they see on satellite television. The cultural gap is vast. So, I just try to make sure my epidermus isn't showing and I keep my sunglasses on and depending on the tone of voice I respond.

13 March, Al Mukalla, Yemen

Laura - We spent much of the day with Eskandar, a local guy who has been helping us get fuel and do laundry, etc. Kind of a wierd experience. First we dorve through some security checkpoints that he said were there to protect tourists and make sure they don't get kidnapped or something. Then we drove through the desert to an old town and we looked at buildings and sweated a lot.

Eskandar had promised he was going to take us to a volcanic lake. The description we were offered was quite good and I suppose it is a big lake by Yemeni standards. But really, it was a blue hole in the dirt a bit bigger than a couple of Olympic-sized pools. Some garbage floated in it. None of us were inclined to swim and Eskandar seemed annoyed. So, he decided to take us to the former sumer palace of the Sultan. This was a place that Kerry and I had read about; our 1990 Lonely Planet book said it had been turned into this great guest house and we had considered going for a night, but then decided not to. Well, we made the right choice. During the 1994 civil war, the place was taken over by communist officers and it has since been trashed. The windows are missing from the crumbling, graffiti-covered building and the grounds are not kept up at all it seems. But there was lots going on there. About 50 teenage boys were jumping off the house into the large, dark green, swimming pool and hanging out in the building. In one room they had some instruments and were doing crazy dances. The place was pumping with testosterone and when we pulled up, all the activity stopped. We got followed from room to room and all kinds of "I love yous" trailed us as well. We created quite a stir, I must say. Kerry and I were laughing at the thought of us arriving there with backpacks to spend the night. Our last stop with Eskandar was a beach where we took a long walk.

The day was strange because it became clear that Eskandar wanted us to supply him with alcohol, which isn't sold in Yemen and is prohibited by the Muslim religion. We don't have much on board and we didn't really feel like suporting his habits so we tried to ignore this unsubtle nudging. Then he offered us some of the potato whiskey that is home brewed in Yemen. He kept a Pepsi bottle full of the stuff right next to the gear shift in his car. Yikes. No thanks. Then he wanted to talk about Bill Clinton and Monika Lewinski and did we thinks she was doing the right thing and blah, blah, blah. And why does Bill Clinton only kiss the women on the television, he wanted to know. We explained that in America men don't generally kiss eachother as a greeting or a goodbye. When he finally understood this, he laughed and said that would explain the reaction he got when he kissed a couple of American yachties goodbye last year. Then it was women, which he thinks are good for bed (meaning lazy), sex or work. It was just too much to warrant much response so we kind of let him go on and on.

Back in Al Mukallah, we met the sub-continent gang in town and took them out to the boat in shifts. We had a few beers left and Sherrif gulped them down quickly and actually tried to hide one from Vijit, which was quite funny. They hadn't had a drink in a while! So they checked out the boat, but one fellow felt seasick so we cleared out pretty quickly. Back on land, Eskandar was waiting and gave us a hard time for not "checking in" our guests. We think he was miffed because we didn't get him booze and then also turned down an offer to get us seafood for supper and instead went out with the Indian-Pakistani-Iraqi crowd. We had to do all kinds of apologizing and make him feel he had the upper hand. Wierd, but it didn't ruin the evening!

We took taxis to the Holiday Inn construction site where these guys are staying. On the way in, one of the guards at the gate gave me some "kwot," which is the local drug of choice. It is a leaf and it works like chewing tobacco, a pinch betweent the cheek and gum. Yemeni men chew it like crazy and always have baseball player like wads in their cheeks. It made me kind of lightheaded. We had some tea and tang at the construction trailers, which are in a nice spot right on the beach. I spoke a good deal with the Iraqi fellow, who will remain nameless since he fled his country. He is a couple of years older than I am. His situation is not easy and while we talked easily, I found I could offer him little comfort concerning the conflict between the U.S and Iraq because I see no easy answers.

The rest of the evening was lighter in tone. We walked down the beach to a restaurant that is in a small amusement park. On my way there, I spoke to the one and only Yemeni woman of our visit. She was on the beach with her fiance and his brothers and sisters and they called out because they were curious about all the foreigners on the beach. The Iraqi man interpreted for us. The conversation was brief and basically she wanted to know what we thought of Yemen. I think it was just sort of a thrill for both of us to be standing face to face talking. She lifted her veil.

The food was terrible, but the company was good. The guys are quite funny. I sat next to Dilip, an engineer and we had a great chat about meditation and sewage treatment plants. We left the construction site at about 11 p.m., after Sherrif got into his nightwear, which consisted of a turban and a sarong. As he is quite large, the image was entertaining. We did a big address swap and gave hugs all around.

14 March, Al Mukalla/Gulf of Aden

Aaron - Up reasonably early with a view to getting out of here this afternoon. We are planning to head right to Assab, Eritrea which is the first major port inside the Red Sea. We have decided to skip Aden, which is reportedly very dirty (boats indicted permanant yellow stains on their topsides - sounds like the Hong Kong Yacht Club typhoon shelter) and Djibouti which is hugely expensive.

Colleen and Kerry went in at 0830 to meet Eskandar who was to take them on a "bargain" provisioning trip. It sounds like he was still miffed about our decision last night to hang with the sub con gang rather than buy seafood from his buddy and feed him drinks. They came back calling him "scammer" rather than Eskandar and indicated that they did not get bargains and that they got the feeling that a lot of the food they got was not the best quality.

At around 9:30 I went in to clear out. Easier said than done. First of all, the Harbor Master wanted to know if we had yet paid Eskandar for the fuel and his "services". I said no, but that we planned to settle up when he returned with Colleen and Kerry from provisioning. He indicated that we could pay Eskandar through him, as he was his "friend", and that he could then give us our port clearance certificate. Obviously he was looking to get a bit of the action - which he probably thought he desreved. Eskandar had earlier told us that he was a "bad man" so although they probably have some sort of mutually beneficial relationship, I'm sure they are not "friends". Anyway, I played dumb and just indicated that I was happy to wait till Eskandar came back and that we would settle with him and then proceed to check out. He then indicated that it was no problem, but mentioned that he really would like some whiskey and cigaretts. Unfortunatley, I informed him, we have neither on board. He skeptically eyed me and mumbled "healthy man", and proceeded to process our papers.

Then to clear immigration. Apparently, today is the day that government workers get paid so they were all out queing at whateevr government agency hands out the checks and the office was closed even though it was working hours. I ended up waiting around for a couple of hours and wondering if we would be able to get out of here before everything shut down for the afternoon when they rolled up and quicky cleared us. Not, however, before angling for a few "dollars" for their kids "foreign money" collections... ha, there's a new one! Well I honestly had no money and had given it all to Colleen so again, sorry fellas. It seems that no one will give you hassle if you don't play ball, but they figure they might as well try. I get the feeling that they are sucessful a large percentage of the time with some of the other boats indicated that they had given "gifts" to the officials.

Back to the boat at 1200, I then spent the early afternoon working with Laura to get various things done around the boat. We added some washers to the boom gooseneck which was wiggling around a bit too much, took in and stowed the kedge anchor, and I changed the oil again and all of the oil and fuel filters - we are likely to do a lot of motoring over the next month so we've really got to baby the engine.

Colleen and Kerry returned at around 1300 with further tales of "scammer" and indicated that he was surly and grouchy to the end and not particulary happy with his $25 tip, which was about 20% on top of the total bill which he also had a margin on..... Lets get out of here before he and the bribeless officials conspire to send a pack of rowdy fishing boats out to harass us......

Anchor up and motorning out at 1410. Light wind on the nose at 3-5 knots. As Al Mukalla faded into the distance, large mountains lifted strikingly out of the sea. Dolphins played around the boat as the sun set.

15 March, Gulf of Aden

Aaron - As we were able to turn more West as we passed several large points, the sailing angle improved and the wind picked up so Colleen and I raised the main at 0700 and we finally shut off the engine. At least the tanks are full of water and the batteries fully charged.

It was my cooking day, and we had not had fresh fish for awhile, so I put out the lines early. We soon caught a small tuna - perfect for one meal. At about 1400, the reel started buzzing in earnest and I jumped back to pull in what I hoped was a mahi mahi (aka dolphin fish or dorado) or similar "white meat" fish. The crew is still a bit sick of tuna. By then, the wind had built to 15-20 and we were doing 7 knots, and whatever it was on the end of the line did not want to come in, so I just cranked up the drag and waited for it to tire out and or drown. Finally, "it" started to surf down waves so I started to pump and reel. What is it? It has a big mouth and certainly is not a tuna, but its not a mahi mahi either. Its silvery and looks sort of like a salmon. Finally I go it up to the boat: UH! Barracudaaaaaa oooh yeah..... (remember that song by Heart?) He was pretty big and look at those teeth! I gaffed him aboard and we weighed him: Four feet long and almost 20 pounds - basil I would not put my paw in that mouth!

Now I carefully filleted the beautiful white meat of this creature that had laid down its life so that we might have flaky white fish flesh to eat. Questions were asked about the safety of eating Baracuda. I indicated that they can be ciguteric (cigutera is a sometimes fatal type of fish poisining) if caught on or near reefs where cigutera is prevelant, but that as we caught this one in 150 meters of water, and as there is little or no cigutera in the area, not to worry.

Laura did a bit more reading in the Dangerous Marine Animals book and easily convinced herself that the risk was too high for her to take a bite and declined to dine. In the process she (unintentionally) scared Colleen and Kerry off it as well. Colleen tried a small piece and Kerry claims to have (but I'm not sure and think she may be just humoring me). Anyway, I ended up eating it for dinner, breakfast, and the next lunch (it was delicious - Colleen indicated it was the best fish we have had and the best meal I have cooked), and had no ill effects. Lee on Quest later claimed that there is no ciguetera in the Red Sea or Indian Ocean and that we had nothing to worry about. Oh well in the end we had to dump most of it overboard - what a waste.

So anyway enough lament about my beautiful fish and wasted culinary efforts. We are making great time averaging 7-8 knots over the ground with strong northeasterly winds and 1-2 knots of positive current whisking us along. We should be in the Straits of Bab el Mandeb by tomorrow evening and into the Red Sea by midnight.

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