On Thursday, December 3 my parents drove me to Terminal 55/56 at the Port of Oakland. There I passed through a minor checkpoint and was driven by a port worker to the ship. Up the gangplank I went onto this hulking mass of a ship (although I'm told that vessel is relatively small). There I met the captain (German) and the first officer (Russian). I was shown up to my cabin, a nice place complete with bed, table and sitting area, bathroom, and TV with DVD player (where I could watch whatever movies past crew had left behind, not always in English. For a while I watched the giant cranes loading and unloading containers before I got bored and went to bed.
At the captain's instruction, I awoke at about 5:30 a.m. the next morning to watch the ships departure from the port. I walked up three flights of stairs to the bridge where the Captain and officers were assembled with the pilot (a local person who gives directions in navigating the ships out to sea). We had just pushed off from the pier and I stood in the back and watched as the pilot directed the captain to near Jack London Square where we turned the ship around to head back out into the bay proper. These would be the most difficult maneuvers of the entire ocean crossing, I was told. By the time we got turned around, the early morning twilight was just casting its glow in the East. As we neared Alcatraz the sun rose over the Oakland Hills casting a surreal glow on San Francisco and the Golden Gate; a beautiful last view of the city.
As we we passed under the Golden Gate, mild ocean swells began, causing the ship to pitch up and down. This would be a constant theme for most of the journey. About 10 miles out to sea, the pilot made a risky transfer to his own much smaller boat and we were on our own. And this is where the monotony began. About an hour outside of the Golden Gate we sailed past the southern-most Farallon Island and an hour later we were totally out of view of land.
For days we took a northwesterly heading towards the Alaskan Aleutian Islands. Believe it or not, on our "direct" voyage from Oakland to Port Kelang, Malaysia, we traveled all the way north through the Unimak Straight of Alaska. This is not as out-of-the-way as it sounds (for info, please refer to The Great Circle theory). We took this more northerly route to avoid a storm system in the Pacific. During these early days I did not venture out on deck for more than a few minutes, as it turns out that winters in the North Pacific are quite cold. We even got a bit of snow near Alaska. During the early morning hours of February 8 we passed through Alaskan waters and the route began to slowly curve to the West and eventually towards the South.
So how was daily life at sea?, you might ask. Well it was a bit boring to say the least. I did manage to fill the time reading (I finished three books), writing, planning my trip through SE Asia, listening to music and watching movies. I also used the sauna on several occasions, though this seemed unnecessary as we traveled further south and I could get the same effect just by going outside.
I ate three meals a day at the captain's table, along with the captain's wife and the Chief Engineer (the only Germans on board). I would listen dumbly to their conversations in German, and then eventually either they or I would find a way to turn the dialogue into English. They were all very hospitable though. The meals were usually decent and large and I managed to have a big appetite despite engaging in no physical activity and experiencing slight nausea at times.
I would go to bed early and rise early (breakfast was at 7:30 a.m.). I would also sit in my cabin for hours on end and just think. When the window in my cabin was clear, I would look out upon my narrow view of the ocean, which alternated between deep blue and gray depending on the cloud cover. At times the oceans were rough and I would lie down to avoid motion sickness. Other times the wind would blow from the aft (rear of the ship), which for some reason causes a slow rolling back and forth to Port and Starboard. On these days you would slide around in chairs and nearly fall out of bed. Usually though, the swells were mild and the motion bearable.
Around Day 11 or so we began to enter warmer waters south of Japan. The captain gave me free reign to move about the ship. I would walk the 200 meters to the bow of ship at this point and spend a couple hours a day just watching to oncoming ocean. Up at the bow, the noise of the engine and the refrigerated containers faded away and you just heard the ocean.
For a couple days we were joined by some black and white seabirds. They would glide easily along with the ship and follow us all day long. At first I thought they were just being social, until I walked up to the bow one day and saw their true, selfish reason for following us: As the hull of the ship would cut through the water, scores of flying fish would suddenly burst forth from the water to avoid us. Yes, fish that can fly- or glide, really. As the six-inch-long fish skimmed just above the surface of the water, fluttering their wing-like fins like dragonflies, the birds would dive down and attempt to scoop them up. We were basically a hunting party; we would flush out the pray and the birds would make the kill. This provided endless entertainment for me, so we were both happy, the birds and I.
Very quickly, the nice tropical weather turned into the sauna-like steam bath of the equatorial regions. Soon it was February 19, Day 15 at sea. Late in the morning we caught our first glimpse of real land, with the Malay Peninsula visible barely visible on the horizon. Ship traffic began to increase seemingly exponentially as we neared the narrow passage of the Straight of Malacca. As the skyline of the city-state of Singapore came into view early in the afternoon, we had Indonesian Islands on our left and the Malay Peninsula on our right. We began to head north through the straight towards Port Kelang.
And I swear you could smell the land. It smelled sweet and musty, a combination of dirt and fauna and the smells of civilization. I felt like I could even trace the scent of food cooking. I spent some time just inhaling deeply through my nostrils. After two weeks at sea I felt like my sense of smell had been reborn.
I went to bed that night knowing that we would be berthed at the port by morning. I tried to enjoy my last night at sea, though the knowledge that I would soon be thrown back onto the land and into a strange country top fend for myself was causing me some stress. This is where the adventure begins though.
