Windy morning in Cape Town

We have been sailing very close to the coast of South Africa for a couple of days, hoping to find calmer waters. Not calm, to be sure, but perhaps calmer. At night, you can see lights. During the day, it's hard to distinguish where the clouds end and where the water begins. If you know there's land, you can sort of see it. Maybe.

This morning, we could see land clearly as we came into Cape Town harbor. At full light, I went up to the observation deck on 7, only to find it was closed due to high winds. (This is common. Deck 7 is often closed. Deck 8 is almost never open once we get into open waters.) I went into the faculty/staff lounge and found an intrepid (and defiant) group of people braving the deck.

Since I am pretty heavily scheduled with SAS trips in this port, going out on deck may be the most adventurous thing I do in Cape Town. You can see from my hair how windy it is. After I came back in, I realized my hair ribbon (you can barely see it) had blown completely off.

The view was worth it. The aptly named Table Mountain looms large. The city hugs the shore, with the mountains rising close behind. There's a cable car up the mountain (on days less windy than this).

Warnings for Cape Town: don't go anywhere alone, or even in a small group. Beware of ATMs which might blow up, or where you may be mugged. Don't ride the trains unless you are in a car with an armed guard. Never let your credit card out of your sight, even at a good restaurant. Compared to Cape Town, everywhere we've been is considered safe.

Tom has been getting a lot of flak for emphasizing crime and safety in the preports. This time, he just sent everyone the Country Specific Information and said, "Read it and take heed. This time it's up to you." I think the students were disappointed. There's a certain amount of Schadenfreud--we all want to know the adventures we avoided.

Several students are departing in Cape Town, having gathered enough disciplinary points that they are no longer welcome. Others are going to be enjoying South Africa from the ship, having accumulated double or triple dock time for landing in the drunk tank after Mauritius. (If you land in the drunk tank, it's an automatic 24 hours of dock time in the next port. I think about 40 students ignored Tom's warning of triple dock time and came in wasted. At 6 PM. These kids really are flirting with a life of alcoholism.)

Me? I had wine at Communion last night. I'm on a search for Easter Candy.

Oh, Captain, my captain

Tonight was a Q&A with Captain Jeremy Kingston, and there were no holds barred.  The questions ranged from how much fuel the boat uses to what kind of car he drives on land.  Captain Jeremy came with three of his officers, Staff Captain Korney (the second in command), Hotel Manager Stefan (who handles all the food service and housekeeping staff), and Chief Engineer.  It was an interesting evening.

Our ship is really fast.  The promotional materials say it’s the fastest ship of its class, a statement that doesn’t really say much.  (My father used to quote a district manager who boasted the company was “the largest one of its size in the industry.”  Not all records need to be claimed.)  The captain said apart from its sister ship, the Voyager, the only cruise ship he knows of the goes faster is the QEII.  He’s had the ship over 30 knots, but says the top speed is really closer to 28.  We have four engines, and today we’re running on one, at about 14 knots.

We measure the fuel in tons.  We measure the cost in millions.  For this voyage, fuel costs are $3.5 million.  For the whole year, food costs are $1.8 million.  Fuel for the ship costs about 6 times what fuel for the passengers costs.

Captain Jeremy came on board in 2005, immediately after the ship reached Hawaii following the major storm in the Pacific.  He said it limped in using the navigation system from one of the lifeboats, steering using a direct connection to the rudder.  (It also had windows blown out on the bridge and in some of the cabins.  It was really limping.) 

The ship management company decided the captain needed to be relieved of duty, and brought in Jeremy, who was just finishing a tour with another ship.  He is one semester on, one semester off, working about 6 months of the year.  Others on the ship work closer to 10 months before getting vacation. 

He was asked what’s the worst weather he’s been in, and he said a storm in the Atlantic, on a different ship.  And that second was the storm we went through in the days just before Japan.  Even though he thought his personal gear was secured, one big lurch to starboard sent all of his drawers and doors flying.  In this, the captain is no different from anyone else on board:  the ocean doesn’t play favorites.

The most interesting questions were about pirates.  A few days ago, my boss Jim’s wife, Nancy, mentioned that it seemed as if we were going faster at night, and Jim confirmed that we were.  He said it was a safety precaution, to outrun any pirates who might be operating in the area.  Tonight, Captain Jeremy was asked what was the fastest we’d traveled, and he said about 25 knots, just after leaving Singapore.  What he didn’t say directly was that it was during the passage through the Strait of Malacca, another pirate haven.

He did say, with evident relief, that we had passed out of the area considered at risk for pirates about an hour earlier.  The pirates operating in the Gulf of Aden have been going further and further afield, presumably because of the presence of military ships deployed to their earlier zone of operations.  Now, the area of highest activity extends east to Sri Lanka and south to 10 degrees below the equator. 

It’s a calculated risk.  The captain told us they had been receiving intelligence reports from the UK and the British Navy has been monitoring our ship.  (I have no idea what they would do to help.  They are not exactly nearby.)  Most interesting, he said that the Navy’s evaluation of our ship is that it cannot be boarded if we are moving at more than 16 knots, due to the design of the hull and the pattern of the wake we generate.

And finally, a low tech defense system:  the crew is prepared to deploy high pressure fire hoses to flood any ship that tries to interfere with our passage. 

Back in Japan, when passengers were fretting about rough seas, I put my faith in the captain and the crew.  What other alternative did I have?  My anxiety would not have helped to steer the ship through the storm.  My reasons for wanting to live were no stronger than anyone else’s.  Those charged with our safe passage were doing the best they could.

As similar fears have been raised about piracy, I’ve taken the same approach.  Still, it’s a relief to know that we’re out of the danger zone.  Because this guy does not look like great protection.

Safety is no accident

Man overboard, port side!

It gets your attention, doesn’t it?

Having enjoyed the loop-de-loop of yesterday, we were treated to another one today, as the crew sprang into action for a drill which includes running, life jackets, blankets, medical kits, and lowering of the smallest life boat.  All very exciting.

The staff captain announced over the intercom, “For exercise only, for exercise only. Man overboard, port side. Report to stations, Team B.”  Suddenly people were everywhere, rushing to the port side on Decks 5 and 6.

Passengers, too.  Who could resist?  What a day to have left the camera in my room!  My desk is Deck 5, midships, port side, so I saw them rush by the door and then by the window.  We are, of course, not permitted to go out where the action is, but I got a report from a student who watched the drill from the dining room.

A dummy was thrown overboard, and a life preserver thrown after it.  But the dummy did not catch the life preserver, and so the launch was lowered to go help, loaded with medical supplies and blankets.  In the meantime, my source tells me, dolphins arrived on the scene to surround the fake guy.  Dolphins are very smart, and I’m sure they can tell the difference between a real drowning person and a dummy, but maybe they wanted to get in on the fun, too.

The ship made a tight turn (the tightest turn it can, anyway) and we felt it heeling as it went back to pick up the imaginary passenger.  Looking out the window, we could see a great arc of wake.

The ship has fairly frequent drills, most often a call to stations for evacuating passengers, (which is hard to simulate as we’re strolling around the decks).  It’s interesting to me to see how everyone has a part to play.  Today I saw line officers, cooks, and housekeepers, as well as people in white jumpsuits, blue jumpsuits, and khaki (uniforms whose inhabitants’ roles I cannot pinpoint).  Disaster can move more quickly than men in white jumpsuits, so practice is important. 

A new friend, Leah, who has sailed on several voyages, told me she wanted no part of the drill today.  She saw a man overboard rescue in 1999 on the Red Sea, and that was quite enough for her.  Late one night, a student decided he would like to “touch the sea,” and lowered himself over the rail with a life preserver.  The life preserver was swept away when he hit the water and it took a few hours to rescue him.  By that time I suppose he had sobered up.

I was surprised not to find more documentation of this online.  Here’s an amazingly offhand account from the Executive Dean of that voyage, and a third hand report from someone who sailed on a subsequent voyage (almost to the bottom of the page.

The 1999 voyage was a different ship and a different sponsoring university.  Not that we don’t have our share of drunk students making poor choices, but I thought the disclaimer was only fair.  I am confident that the crew then was just as concerned with getting everyone back safely as we are.

Tomorrow is Burma.  Venomous snakes, parasitic worms, and a river so shallow they are dredging it for our arrival.  But so worth it.