Into the Abyss : But a Blip in the Ocean

"When I grow up, I wanna be a pirate." - Former me, age 5ish...
And I really did. I wanted to swing by ropes from boat to boat waving plastic swords (all swords are plastic when you're 5ish) demanding cookies and cake... that's what I wanted to be.

 But out in the ocean, the last thing you'd like to meet are them pirate types - especially when you're delapan ratus delapan pulah delepan (Indonesian for 888) miles away from the closest splotch of land.. There's no calling the coast guard or radioing a ship for assistance. There's nothing. And in the real world, pirates aren't nice. Or so I've heard.

Stocked up with canned vegetables, a freezer full of chillis, and enough tofu and tempe to circumnavigate the globe [and the rest of the planets] at least 27 times, we licked land goodbye (18:42 pm, Friday 26 October) and prepared for the great vortex of blue that awaited us.

Approaching our last wake point before 3512 miles in a straight line...

The wind whisked out of Bali just in time to celebrate captain Kirk's birthday, which was conveniently located the day before Halloween which was conveniently located the day before Christmas [island] - which you have to celebrate - which created a plethora of convenient celebrations to mark the start of our Indian ocean crossing.

All through the first week, dolphins leaped at our bow and spun through the air and awed us with their magnificent beauty as we chased the sunset. One tanker overtook us, one tsunami warning buoy beguiled us, one soap wrapper floated by. Apart from that, there was nothing.

And then the winds picked up and the dolphins were lost in the 3-5 meter swell; lee cloths went up because life became a constant 30 degree lean to the right, and it's hard to not roll out of bed at that angle. We saw one bobbing coconut and a plastic bottle, but for all we knew there may well have been treasure chests lurking nearby - the seas flamed like a furnace.

Bathing (by hanging onto the stern ladder) became restricted to holding on with both hands, and only when there were at least 2 people to supervise; it's not as easy as you might think to furl the gib, lower the main, start the engine and about ship to rescue fallen sailors.

The captain trying to ski swim off the back of the boat.... the captain was the only one crazy enough to try this... the captain was also almost lost to the sea...

Electronic devices died left, right, over board and centre. The deck became littered with flocks of flying fish (54 found dead - one rescued).

Storms came and went. Movie nights were either done verbatim, or moved indoors.  

One hand was constantly clinging on for dear life whilst the other caught falling people and produce and toilet seats. Make that falling everythings - things learned to magically fly every time we heeled at the mercy of a giant wave. Our bodies glimmered blue with bruises.

17 50 379 S; 086 45 777 E, Day 12, I flew across the galley and somehow succeeded in piercing my tooth through my chin. It hurt a lot. It bled a lot.

The healing of my pieced lip... and no it did not make me turn yellow... I think that may just be the camera.

White waves mesmerised us by day, shooting stars awed us at night. Our trusty swivel, sea force stove kept our stomachs well sated.

Shortly before our furthest point from any land (902 miles away from Cotos Keeling and 902 miles away from Chagos), we spotted a small fishing boat -- the last thing you expect to see out in the ocean. Another two vessels purpled on our radar. Pirates??We sat nervously watching... they eventually disappeared.

At 14:04 pm, Day 13, we hit the half way to La Reunion mark - 1756 nautical miles in. Pop pops and tom thumbs and a message in the bottle went off. Hugs did their rounds. And then we all sat back down and carried on being mesmerised. We still had a very long way to go.

The excitement that is beer oclock (especially on time zone change days, where 5ish oclock came around twice)

Your Future Holds Wet Pants

Monks are chasing you with guns, toddlers are plastering you with toxic chemicals, around every corner lies a vicious terrorist just waiting to attack. There's nowhere safe... nobody you can trust - it's just you and at least a million of them. 72 hours of 'kill or be killed'. This is the year 2555. This is your future.

Our train arrived 4 hours late, so instead of sneaking into Bangkok in the wee hours of the morning, we arrived in the thick of it. The thick of Songkran. Whilst most of the world celebrates New Years with fire works and singing; all of Thailand shuts down for a 3 day long water fight that spans streets, alleys, even hotels and bathrooms and restaurants! It's ruthless too - they don't care if you're unarmed, or carrying electronics, or a giant teddy bear... actually the more you look like you don't want to be wet, the more troops swarm in to attack making my newest cycle buddy, Katie, and I prime targets as we cycled the 4km from the station to our dodgy brothylish hotel.

Cycling into the mentalness, Bangkok

But checked in, guns loaded, we headed back to the streets armed with less than ideal weapons and were greeted by a gang of Thai alcoholics who welcomed us with shots of who knows what, bucket loads of ice water and talcum powdered substances that are allegedly toxic (according to the Bangkok post). In search of new victims , we rounded the corner to Khao San road where we were hit by a wall of people. It's almost impossible to move as millions of people dance to the best of Thailand's hip hop and djs and foam floats around you while water falls from the skies and the ground and everywhere.

And as the sun fades away, the streets get busier and the water gets icier and the celebrations get hardcorer and the lady boys come out to play. Mentalness, That's all I can say. Mentalness! And this mentalness increases by the day - maybe even the hour!

After slipping for the umteenth time and breaking my toy gun, I invested in some hardcore artillery and spent day three seeking down those who'd targeted me before... it's so much better with a real gun... and even better when you've accumulated an army of Thai freedom fighters who supply only you with the iciest water. 18 hours of solid revenge! I was unstoppable... except to sleep eventually, because even the hardcorest super heroes have to do that sometimes!

Three days of hitting it hard had Bangkok quieter than I'd ever imagined possible come Monday morning - and apart from the remnants of talcum powder that plastered vehicles and dripped from sky scrapers, it was the cleanest too... maybe they need the three day wash down every year?

Anyway it's now the year 2555 in Thailand and time for fresh starts... it's time for me to rekindle my hatred for my bicycle. Next stop Chiang Mai... 850ish km... and this time it's just me and the Teddy Bear....

 

Songkran Pi Mai Thailand!! Happy New Year!

Even the most innocent looking attack!