Come sail with me

Reading the comments for this entry I realised how interesting it would be to compile accounts from pilgrims who went to do the Haj by ship all those years. Even those who were in the last batch to go by sea must still be around to share their experience with us. A book project would be ideal. A radio documentary would be awesome! All I remember of my Mak’s first trip by sea (she later went twice by plane), was her stories about how those who died during the passage were just bundled off and lowered into the water. There were stories about how the sharks would snap the bodies. I supposed this is why I am so afraid of the vast volume of water – especially being out there where you can’t actually see any land. Or perhaps it was the dark memories of that night on the beach of Kuala Yan, when bodies of fishermen were washed ashore after a storm.

I have had my fair share of sailing from being on rafts to hovercrafts and the P& O – the QE2 not included of course! It wasn’t as if I have always been scared of the water. It used to be fun, foolhardy even. I had even contemplated being on the boat to accompany Dato’ Malik when he did the 17 hour swim across the channel. In fact, I had already bought my sensible shoes, flask and sea sick tablets for what was to be a very bumpy ride. But in the end, and thankfully, I opted for the wait by the Dover beach for his return. He jokingly said “Kalau Kak Teh tak pi, Malik tak berenang!” Yes, what a headline that would have made! I had actually accompanied him on a much smaller boat during his trial run in Lake Zurich – all of 11 hours!! But more of that later!

In the good old days when bridges still required a few heads to make them stable and safe ( so we were told!), we used to look forward to the visit to our other Grandma’s house in Suka Menanti. Why it was named such, I don’t know. Must research more on this.

Anyway, if my memory serves me right, there were even times when Tok Jam would actually fetch us in her rakit or raft. We could see her welcoming smile from a distance as she confidently paddled the raft ashore. Unlike the perahu, we didn’t have to pay anything of course, and unlike the perahus, we couldn’t sit as we’d all be drenched! It was all so breathtakingly exciting as we watched other children bathing, women beating their washings on slabs of stones, people ‘doing their business’ behind some trees. In fact, everything a girl needed for the inclusion in her homework for the ‘news’ book. (Of course it never occurded to me then that one day I’d be covering the Cross Channel swim, eh?)

On occassions when we had to take the perahus, we had to share of course with other passengers, with their chicken and shopping and naughty children trying to literally rock the boat! We used to be brave enough to dip our hands in the water as the boatman pushed his oars effortlessly across.

It must have been a few years later that Mak went to Mekah by sea and many an unpleasant stories were recounted. And so it must have been with these memories that when I was posted to Penang ( before the days of the bridge) I dreaded having to take the ferries across. I’d be lamenting hard and long every weekend before I could pluck the courage. And it was only a half an hour ride if I am not mistaken. But I used to sit on the bench and cry! If not for the image of Mak waiting for my return on the old iron swing, crab sambal all ready and steaming under the tudung saji, I would have happily remained with Aunty Lucy in Penang.

At the end of my stint in Penang, I had had enough of ferry rides – enough to make me sea sick even at the thought of it. The next one was on the Red Funnel ferry to the Isle of Wight – a lovely little island with its quaint villages of thatched cottages. The first trip was uneventful but during the second trip, we had a lovely surprise as there was The Tall Ships Races – all kinds of ships in all kinds of shapes and sizes and oh so so colourful – they were beautiful and I dared go out on the deck to watch and took some not very good pictures.

This passage across the Solent was okay – especially on a good day and nothing compared to the ride on the Hovercraft which I made with a friend to Calais for a day trip.

We said our goodbyes to our husbands at the train station and took the train to Dover. In the morning, there was no inkling of the turbulent at sea but not long after that it became a nightmare. I remember seeing the sea level tilting up and down from the pothole, oblivious to the other passengers throwing up all around me. Many a times we were thrown off our seats. And this, dear reader, was just right after the Zeebrugge PO ferry the Herald of Free Enterprise disaster which took 193 lives. I thought we were never going to see our husbands again. The trip back was on the P&O as all Hovercrafts were cancelled. Still, we had to hold on firmly to our coffee cups which kept sliding down the table. It was horrible.

I think I have to stop now as I am getting sea sick just writing about it. Will soon continue with more stories – especially the 11 hour boat ride on Lake Zurich with Dt Malik Mydin, and the wonderful seven hour trip on the P&O with six small children and one Sastrawan Negara all in one cabin heading towards Hook Van Holland.