Turkey to Singapore

A Passage in COVID Times

Finike Turtle

Once COVID restrictions eased enough to allow us to leave the marina at Finike, we took an idyllic sailing exploration up the Lycian coast. We saw very few other boats and enjoyed quiet anchorages and sparkling clear water in an area often crowded with charter boats, loud music, jet skis, generators, and late-night partying. The wind was warm and steady and just the right strength for Irene to carry all sail with no need to reef. At night we wedged Irene in small coves, Med style, dropping an anchor and running stern lines ashore. As usual Ginger volunteered to swim our lines ashore and fasten them to rocks. 

 

Med sunrise

Sparkling blue Turkish water

We discussed possible scenarios and wondered how COVID would affect our sailing plans. We wanted to continue sailing, but we watched in dismay as boats in transit were caught out and unable to find a place to rest, restock, and refuel. Yet staying in place had risks too, as recent geopolitical maneuverings in the region demonstrated. We were as far from our home port as is possible, and we wondered how the heck we were going to get home. Cruising, in the sense of leisurely exploring coasts or island groups, doesn’t seem possible now. Thus, we expected to travel mostly nonstop in the near future.

July 18, 2020, Goodbye wonderful Turkey

With EU countries closed to our US passports we weren’t sure what our next move would be. We started seeing invitations on Facebook for a marina in Indonesia just across the strait from Singapore. This would take us half way home and be mostly open ocean and away from people and the danger of catching the virus. We decided to go to Indonesia and so departed Finike, bound for the entrance of the Suez Canal at Port Said. After a few days of light wind sailing we found ourselves moored stern to at the Fouad Yacht Club.  Here we were detained for a couple of nights at the mercy of the legendary Egyptian bureaucratic system and it’s turbid and rapacious ways. Paperwork was produced and our boat was “measured” apparently by the wave of a hand. In the end, we paid far less and transited much quicker than a Panama canal transit would have cost in money and time. Yet somehow it felt quite unpleasant at times, as if we were being hustled and pickpocketed. Some of our interactions were marked by rude and sullen negotiations, overcharges and delays. Though to be sure, in contrast, we also met people (including two of our three pilots) who conducted themselves with great honor and dignity. 

 

Ismalia yacht club Egypt

The canal itself is a long ditch in the desert and the transit takes two days at normal yacht speed. A night is spent at the halfway point in Ismalia. Military installations and lookout posts line both banks. A fleet of small rowing and sailing boats fishes the waterway, coexisting perfectly with the shipping. 

 

Coexistence

Suez bank fishing boats

Suez net fishing

Suez rod fishing

A Suez pilot must be on board at all times while underway. At first we wondered why he is needed at all. After all, the Kiel Canal in Germany is technically more demanding with similar big ship traffic and an additional challenge of locks, yet pilots are not required for yachts there.  After a day in transit we realize that the pilot is needed for communications if nothing else. Many checkpoints are passed, all requiring a radio call (in Arabic of course) and traffic is organized into “convoys” that travel a bit faster than our six knots. Our pilots watched AIS (by their smartphones as well as our chart display) carefully to be sure that we would not be passed by very large vessels in tight sections of the canal, to avoid the dangers of suction that could pull us into a propeller or against a hull. Another issue is that much of the land on both banks is militarized, and our pilots warned us where pictures must not be taken. Yet another issue -  a yacht may not be in the channel if a warship will pass.

 

Canal day one with pilot

The mornings and evenings are pleasant, suffused with beautiful light, but midday is harsh and hot. We were grateful for the autopilot as hand steering would have been monotonous and tiring. As the miles of motoring droned on, in mostly a dead straight line, it was a bit difficult to stay alert until the occasional near pass of a channel marker would jolt us wide awake.

 

Suez line handler boat

 

 

 

Suez traffic

Interested in traditional sail and oar as always, we were fascinated by the numerous small craft. Graceful lateen rigged felucca boats were fishing everywhere in the Great Bitter Lake.

 

Felucca Great Bitter Lake Egypt

 

Felucca morning Egypt

 

Suez Canal day two with Sayed

Port Suez Al Badr Mosque

We welcomed the sight of the minarets of the famous Al Badr Mosque that signaled the end of our transit. Our pilot transferred to a pilot boat and we paid our final baksheesh. Goodbye to Egyptian style “tipping!”

 

July 23, Hello Red Sea

Weather in the Gulf of Suez and the north end of the Red Sea was kind to us. A light following wind increased day by day and the nights were full of stars and flying fish.

 

Volunteers for dinner Red Sea

As we passed the latitude of Mecca the weather changed dramatically for the worse. Our following wind turned into a nasty, dusty, gusty headwind and a steep chop slowed our progress south to less than one knot. We consulted our books and realized we had encountered a Haboob, a continental outflow wind and sandstorm that can blow for weeks on end. We headed to the Sudanese coast to find shelter in a marsa. We learned from our books that  there is a saying that a man can be forgiven for killing his wife after three days of Haboob. It was truly uncomfortable, clothing felt like sandpaper and our eyes were red and sore. The dust infiltrated everywhere down below, somehow even finding its way into our water tanks. That night, and indeed every night until we were past Sudan, we endured a most terrific thunderstorm. During this time it made sense to travel close to the coast where the waves were smaller. We followed an inside passage (well marked on our charts) that wends a safe path through many islets and reefs. The mornings were the only time for travel - the Haboob blew in the afternoons and night travel was out of the question in these tight passages, and in any case the nights were ruled by the thunderstorms. 

 

Sudan Anchorage

 

Sudanese Swallows

The marsas we anchored in were deserted, beautiful places, until the third night. That spot looked just as beautiful and deserted as the others, but alas, we were a bit close to a Sudanese port. We were visited by a skiff manned by young men who presented themselves as the Army.  Communication was difficult, and eventually after many phone consultations between the soldiers and home base, we were informed that Navy officers would come out to interview us. It was very late in the afternoon by the time our officers showed up. Hours later, satisfied that we were legit, they departed into the night. We were exhausted by then, and that night’s thunderstorm seemed especially vicious and kept us up on anchor watch much of the night. But our trusty Spade anchor held tight.  And after only one more day of travel in the inshore route we passed the outflow epicenter of wind, set sail on a broad reach, and headed for the deep water well offshore. 

 

Red Sea evening roost

That night, the wind rose and lightning flashed.  We shortened sail. Peter was on deck putting extra gaskets on the furled main, his back to the wind when all of a sudden, he was hit a tremendous blow on the back of his head. Driven to his knees, he looked up and saw, illuminated by lightning, an enormous plank of Styrofoam pinned to the lazyjacks. It held there momentarily, then blew free and sailed into the night flipping end over end. We know of many dangers of plastics in the ocean – this is a new one!

Our following wind took us quickly through Bab al Mandeb and on to Djibouti, where we hoped to refuel and maybe buy some fresh vegetables. We figured it made sense at this point to delay a week or so to allow the SW monsoon wind to diminish a bit in the windy area near Socotra.

 

Djibouti anchorage

Yemeni trader, Djibouti

Djibouti Coast Guard

Refuel

Keeping cool in the Djibouti anchorage

Moustique the agent

Despite being listed as an open port in these days of COVID, Dijbouti was closed to us for all practical purposes. In order to be allowed ashore a doctor was required to certify us as healthy, and one could not be found who would do so at any price. No problem, our agent simply arranged for fuel and groceries to be brought out to us at anchor. We rested and endured the afternoon heat and nightly thunder squalls. The anchorage was interesting, busy with small craft engaging in trade with Yemen. English and American ships engaged in the anti-piracy coalition patrol force stopped in to refuel regularly, and enormously loud American patrol boats buzzed around in groups. We set our new Turkish aft deck awning for sun protection and spread out a rug and pillows to lounge comfortably in the hot afternoons.

Our agent got Irene’s departure papers arranged, no easy task, and we resumed our voyage to Asia. Djibouti is a busy commercial port, so of course we monitored the correct port control frequency until we were clear of the port limits. We overheard a conversation between a ship’s watchkeeper and port control, where port control asks dozens of questions about the ship as it approaches the port:

Port: What is your maximum draft and minimum maneuvering speed?

Ship: (cranky) I already told you, didn’t you write it down?

Port: Please sir, what is your maximum draft and minimum maneuvering speed?

Ship: (irate) I already told you once, didn’t you write it down? Do you have a pencil? I’m not going to tell you again.

Port: Yes, I have a pencil.

Ship: (seething) And you will write it down?

Port: Yes, I will write it down.

Ship: (now merely annoyed) OK, 6 meters and 4 knots.

Because of COVID restrictions of port access and air traffic, many ship’s crews have been working for months without relief. On this passage we were following busy routes and were usually in VHF range with shipping. It was interesting on this passage that we overheard so many radio conversations like this between stressed mariners.

We were only hours from Djibouti when we were first overflown by a Japanese patrol aircraft who called us on VHF to encourage us to report immediately any suspicious activities we might see. This leg would bring us into the “high risk zone,” where warships and aircraft patrol to protect shipping (yachts, too) from attack by pirates. We sent messages with our position and condition (lat, long, all is well onboard)  daily to UKMTO and MSCHOA, two organizations linked with the multinational antipiracy military presence that patrols the area. Indeed over the years since this military coalition was formed there has been a steady decrease in piratical incidents. We were happy to chat daily with the Japanese Navy aircraft for the first few days, until we sailed out of range, and looked forward to cheery message exchanges with UKMTO. Occasionally we would catch a glimpse of a warship silhouette on the horizon at dawn. Our anti pirate strategy was simply to move through the area quickly, believing it’s best to not loiter in a dangerous neighborhood. Also, the SW monsoon increased daily and very quickly the sea was too rough for the fast outboard powered open skiffs that pirates favor.

 

Sailing north of Socotra

The wind kept increasing and we kept shortening sail until the only sail left flying was our little reefed staysail. We were on a beam reach and making great time but it was a wild, wet rough ride. Irene did her best but the odd wave crest would come aboard with a crash and saltwater would work its way down below in any possible way, through ventilators and hatches that had never leaked before, mast boots and port gaskets. Cooking was impossible, even making a pot of coffee was impossible. Normally in conditions like this we would heave to and wait for conditions to ease, but that tactic was not available to us here for two reasons – our rule of no loitering in pirate waters, and the SW monsoon was expected to blow unabated for three or four more weeks. So we thundered on for days, wind blowing 40 or 45 knots steadily with seas to match, pumping the bilge and eating crackers and hanging on. The windiest day blew a steady 59, gusting to 65 kts, as relayed to us over VHF radio by a nearby containership. Our Monitor wind vane did the only real necessary work - keeping us on course night and day without complaint. 

 

August 15, In The Indian Ocean 

Eventually the monsoon eased, and Irene’s sails were set until everything was flying, cooking resumed, and we streamed a fishing line. 

 

Indian Ocean sunset

Fresh fish at sea

 

The fishing was good and we enjoyed a few fresh fish dinners. We slipped through Eight Degree Channel easily passing the Maldives early one morning. As we approached Sri Lanka we had the idea that if we made a close pass, within a few miles, we might be able to connect cell phones and catch up with the news of the world for a few hours. A friendly fishing boat approached us with offers to trade, and we got fresh fruit in exchange for bags of potato chips.

 

Sri Lanka bounty

Sri Lankan fishermen offshore

Sri Lankan fishermen inshore

As Irene skirted the coast, we connected and caught up with news and emails. Ironically, one bit of news we read was about the bulk carrier MV Wakashio that had run aground on a Mauritian reef. It was speculated that she had possibly altered course dangerously close the reef in order to get within cell phone range. Connectivity has become so important to all of us!

 

IO shipping routes

Chased by squalls Bay of Bengal

Bay of Bengal shifty winds

We overheard another very heated exchange between ships here – an angry watchkeeper shouting over the radio to another ship: “you WILL alter to port immediately, do you understand me?” Always before ship to ship exchanges we’ve overheard have been very cordial. We were no longer hearing “please” and “thank you, sir” and  “good watch.”

Squalls by moonlight

Crossing the Bay of Bengal was uneventful until we approached the north end of Sumatra, when a minor disaster struck Irene. We lost our autopilot, at first intermittently and finally completely. As long as the wind blew steady it was no problem, but we expected light and variable wind down the length of the Strait of Malacca and to our destination at Nongsa Point. We hand steered close to the coast at Banda Aceh, the north end of Sumatra, and adapted to our new normal. Cheerful fishermen buzzed by us in loud skiffs with distinctive high stems and elaborate paint schemes on their way to their fishing grounds. Hand steering allowed us to spot two very large sea snakes we might have otherwise overlooked! They were gone before we could get pictures.

September 3, Malacca Strait

 

Hand steering Malacca Strait

Banda Aceh Indonesia fish boats

 

Midday Malacca Strait

Windvane assist Malacca Strait

Night compass hand steering

FAD mooring Malacca Strait

After a few days of trying to travel 24/7 we realized that hand steering increased the workload so much that we needed to anchor at night to get some hours of uninterrupted sleep. The water was shallow and the holding good so we often just anchored where we happened to be when the sun went down.

Laundry at sea

Sunset Malacca Strait

Squalls and breeze Malacca Strait

Crowded anchorages Malacca Strait

Dirty fuel Malacca Strait

September 14, Indonesia

 

Indonesia arrival flags

Quarantined Indonesia

When we arrived at Nongsa Point Marina, another hitch in our careful plans developed. We were told that Indonesian regulations had changed while we were enroute and now we could not enter the country. We were allowed to stay only long enough to repair our autopilot and reprovision, and we were to be confined to the boat and, after swab tests, the marina grounds. 

 

Nongsa Point pool

Luckily, Nongsa has an awesome pool and morning swims helped keep our morale up. Friendly yachties helped us with repairs, and we spent afternoons researching possibilities.  We looked at all possible countries for us to go to. We were turned down by Malaysia, Thailand, Taiwan, and the Philippines. We were in a tough spot as we needed to stay in the region until the end of January before we could continue our voyage home because of typhoon season. Only Singapore would take us, under strict conditions - we must stay aboard the entire time. At first it seemed like a way would be found to allow us to stay at Nongsa, but that was not to be. Our options narrowed to only one possibility, so we headed the short distance across the Straits to Changi Sailing Club in Singapore.

Healthy in Singapore

Singapore traffic

 September 29, Singapore

Changi has turned out to be a fine place to be confined onboard. During quarantine several kind neighbor boats dropped off fresh fruit and veggies! We order groceries online, which are then delivered to a pontoon at the club, which we then can pick up by dinghy. We are on a mooring on the edge of a busy channel and have a great view of dozens and dozens of commercial vessels passing by daily. One morning every two weeks at slack tide we drop the mooring and motor to the pontoon and fill up our water tanks. At a slack tide one day every week we jump in the water (after first checking to be sure there are no crocs, snakes, and lizards nearby) and scrape grass, barnacles, and mussels off Irene’s bottom. CSC is an active club and we enjoy watching kids in Opti prams, and grownups in bigger boats in lessons, practice sessions, and racing. 

 

Changi shipping big and small

Breeze up approaching the finish line CSC

We mention slack tide because the current sometimes runs very strong here, much faster than a person can swim. It’s hot here, and least for us Northerners, and all ports and hatches are open at all times unless a squall or thunderstorm threatens. We scurry about the boat quickly closing hatches and ports if rain starts, and open them all back up as soon as possible afterwards. We have a couple of strong squall resistant vinyl tarps set to shade the deck. It’s nice being on a mooring because on most days a light breeze keeps our air fresh, and as we swing to wind and tide our accommodations stay light and airy. We wage a daily battle against our eternal enemy – mold. (We are not winning this war.)

And we have neighbors! 

 

Cap'n Fatty, Carolyn and family

Two other yachts in the mooring field are occupied. Cap'n Fatty and Carolyn Goodlander are here aboard their ketch Ganesh. Fatty is a yachting writer and we assume you need no introduction to his work. And if you’ve read any of Fatty’s books you know Carolyn well, too. She’s the one who usually saves the day. They are not confined aboard like we are, having arrived well before COVID. The Goodlanders are Singapore veterans and have been at CSC many times over many years as they sailed their many circumnavigations. They have been helpful to us by guiding us to the best online shopping and delivery, taking our debit card ashore to get cash, and answering our many, many questions about our environment here. And now we have an autographed copy of “Chasing the Horizon” on our bookshelf!

A young English family of five is confined aboard their boat, Adamastor, arrived recently to the mooring next to us. They have been cruising Indonesia for years, and were planning to sail to a neighbor country this year as their boat import permit was to expire. With neighbor countries borders closed and Indonesia refusing to renew their import permit they were forced to leave and found Singapore to be their only option as well. They wait for a change in policy in Malaysia or Thailand to begin sailing again.  They, like us, and like many hundreds of other sailors around the world, are watching and waiting and avidly reading and hoping for good news about border openings, dropping COVID rates, and vaccines.