Trying our luck, we turned to the office ladies who were composing themselves and we asked in very bad Thai about the possibility of booking onto a bus, that day. One of them raised her eyebrows and picked up the telephone. After five or six phone calls involving lots of rapid speech, we were told “Yes, there is a bus… you will be VIP” (but what she meant was, you will pay VIP prices). Not wanting to be stranded in Trang, we took her up on her offer, after which the American chuckled and said, “The buses aren’t that bad”. I asked him what he was doing in Trang, to which he responded “Oh, I’m waiting for the train“, after which I quickly started to lose my sense of humour. We were told to come back a few hours later when someone would accompany us to the bus station, so we sat in a local café for a few hours, checking emails and calming/cooling down with a beer and an iced chocolate alongside a French man who was also waiting for the train (which he had sensibly booked in advance).

At about 5pm a Thai student turned up, and said that she would take us to the bus station and wait with us until the bus arrived. When we asked why, she said, “You know, it’s safer”… By this point we were beginning to really wonder about this bus. At the bus station itself, we were noticeably the only Westerners present (until a couple of German girls arrived later to catch a local bus) but most people either smiled or ignored us, and we didn’t feel uncomfortable at all. Our bus driver eventually turned up looking like an East Village hipster (white crocodile shoes, skinny jeans, tight band t-shirt and a little waistcoat and shades) and more scarily like he should have been in school rather than driving double-deckers cross-country. He motioned in the direction of the upstairs of a bus whose windows were stuffed full of cuddly toys (we wondered how he’d have any space to see the road). We said goodbye to the Thai student (whose English was much better than our phrasebook Thai) and boarded the bus. The downstairs was full of parcels and post so we climbed upstairs as we had been motioned to and were pleasantly surprised to find comfortable, spacious seats complete with a bottle of water, a custard pie and a pillow to make the 13-hour journey more bearable. Our fellow passengers were very helpful, showing us where to put our luggage, where the blankets were etc. so perhaps the American had been winding us up after all.

As dusk began to set in, we passed hundreds of rubber trees and could see rows and rows of little taps fitted to the bases of their bark with buckets underneath. Later we stopped to pick up a couple more passengers outside a sunset market where the last of the day’s wares were being flogged. Pirates Of The Caribbean dubbed in Thai was our entertainment for the evening, as well as the repetitive soundtrack of some irritatingly catchy Thai pop songs. At 9pm we paused at a local service station, our last stop before Bangkok, where we had a quick wash before getting ready for bed. My iPod provided an eerie soundtrack to the nightly goings on outside as I tried but failed to get to sleep. Around 1am, we passed a prison-like lorry which was crammed full of people looking out from between bars. Other trucks with wooden slats drove by, and I could see figures playing card-games at drinking tables through the light-filled cracks – the first of many portable gambling dens we were to see. I finally got to sleep and was woken a few hours later when the bus abruptly stopped in a long line of three-lane traffic – at this point I knew we were in Bangkok.

Still bleary-eyed when we left the bus, we stupidly managed to get into the only taxi which wasn’t a taxi at all but an opportunist who couldn’t actually read or write Thai. We only found this out ten minutes into the drive when she swiftly pulled over and dragged me by the elbow out of the car and into the dimly lit house of one of her friends who she motioned to read the map and directions I had in my hands. Quite a frightening experience at 6am in a strange city but she did finally lead us back to the car, where she promptly upped the price and would only agree to take us further if we paid her three times what we had first agreed. I had heard about all sorts of scams in Bangkok but I didn’t expect to be subject to one quite so quickly. Not wanting to get dragged into any more strange houses for perhaps a more sinister purpose, we reluctantly agreed to pay and felt relieved when she dropped us off on the small bridge which arched over the quiet canal-side hotel we had booked at the recommendation of a friend. Even though it was only 6.30 am, breakfast was being laid out and we were brought cups of coffee and pancakes which tasted incredible after our early morning adventure. A couple of other travellers arrived just after we’d sat down and said they’d just come off the train we couldn’t get on, which they’d caught last night from the next stop along from Trang. It was so packed, they hadn’t slept at all which made me think of the comfy bus and its cuddly toy obsessed hipster driver with a new level of fondness.

Our last day at sea was spent slowly crawling up the Singapore and Malacca straits. The Captain called us at midday to come and watch Singapore emerge through the heat and smog haze as a strip in the distance. The number of cargo boats and barges in this small stretch of water was insane and as we approached the area a thin strip of yellow smog surrounded us, which brought home the polluting impact of these ships. There are over 90,000 cargo ships sailing the oceans and seas of the earth at any one time, many of these still burning low grade ship bunker fuel 24 hours a day. This hit the headlines back in 2009 when it was revealed that one giant container ship pollutes the air as much as 50 million cars. The mounting industrial prowess of countries such as South Korea and China mean that plans for even bigger container ships are on the cards which seems like something akin to madness when particulate matter emissions from ship engines have already been shown to have contributed to the premature deaths of over 60,000 Americans and many others in Europe and South East Asia, not to mention its contribution to climate change.

It’s not all doom and gloom however; the International Maritime Organization finally got off the fence in 2010 and introduced a sulphur cap which will see sulphur in fuel reduced by 90% by 2020 which is in addition to the introduction of buffer zones (where emissions are controlled) around the US, Canada and it is hoped in Europe too. If these longer term action goals seem frustrating however (which they do to me), there are some refreshingly different smaller scale projects (see B9 Energy group) on the go, which focus on the development of wind-powered cargo ships that are also commercially viable. The B9 Energy group claim that its ships can ‘deliver competitive freight rates and equal performance against schedules of conventional oil powered ships’ which could prove to be a very important show piece for those who don’t believe that efficient and affordable low-carbon shipping is possible. A group called the New Dawn Traders have also just set off from the UK on a slow cargo adventure of their own, where they will transporting Devon beer to France and Spanish olive oil to Brazil. You can follow their adventures here; and not to forget the Pacific Voyagers who we met earlier in our trip and are currently sailing their way from Mexico back to the South Pacific in traditional vakas. They have exciting plans to introduce sustainable, wind powered transport between islands in the South Pacific so it’s definitely worth checking out their blog.

Back on the Carelia, our last night on board was spent packing and trying to reduce the weight and size of our luggage, which had slowly grown to epic proportions and desperately needed a diet. The seas were calm and at about 11pm we were able to tuck into bed for a few hours’ rest before immigration were due to board. The AS Carelia pulled into the container terminal of Port Klang in the very early hours of the 6th January. We were expecting an early wake-up to meet the port agent, but we instead got a call from the 3rd Officer to let us know that we could look forward to a lie-in as the immigration office, in Klang style, would not be opening until at least 9.

We had time for a quick breakfast before we said goodbye to the crew and finally stepped off the ship for the last time to meet a representative of the port agent who was to drive us to immigration. In an unusual arrangement for those used to airports and passenger terminals, it turns out that in order to get our passports stamped we had to leave the port and drive for a few miles to the back of a warehouse which looked remarkably similar to the Elephant and Castle shopping centre. Herein lies the the immigration department of Port Klang (though the sign for the adjacent department for the regulation of massage and alternative therapy was far more prominent).

Further cementing our belief that there really are very few tourists arriving this way, the man who had just driven us to immigration asked us to wait a moment before rapping on the roof of a chrome-plated sports car that had a man’s legs sticking out of its window. This it turned out was the port agent, Mr. Wen. He was friendly enough and did direct us through the passport control in an efficient manner (although we were the only people there so he didn’t have much directing to do). I think we may have been the first non-seamen and maybe the first male and female travelling couple that they had received in a long while, and we were presented with the lighter side of border control (lots of giggling and joking around with forms). In five minutes we were stamped into the country, if only our first hour on Malaysian soil could have been so easy…

When we left the immigration office we were offered a lift to our hotel for the steep price of US$50, which we politely declined as we wanted to get the commuter train into the historic Kuala Lumpur station. This was then swiftly countered by a demand for US$300 for ‘formalities’ from Mr. Wen. Our jaws dropped – in Malaysia this amount of money is a huge sum, enough to rent a nice flat in the city for a month and about the same as our travel budget for the whole of Malaysia. So now we understood how he was able to afford his pimpmobile car! After 20 minutes of haggling, we demanded to be taken to his office as up until this point we weren’t even sure if this man was a real port agent. After a short drive we stopped outside a row of dentists, doctors and surgeons practices which strangely also shared rental space with ‘The Trusted Name in Batteries’ electrical store. Our driver gestured to a room upstairs which, having no idea where we were, we approached with a certain amount of caution. Inside was a room with a computer and some files which did at least contain documents on shipping. We were shown email correspondence with the Captain of the Carelia, who it turns out had enlisted this company’s services as they are the Ahrenkiel groups normal go-to guys for this port. After a bit of debate, they showed us some of their competitors’ prices and it did indeed seem fair compared to some of the others. It turned out that this is the normal arrangement for freighter passengers, but it definitely caught us by surprise – a warning to fellow travellers – make sure you clear with your booking agent what the arrangements should be on the arrivals side or you could end up as confused as us. In the end, we were able to send the receipt to Globoship (the agent who booked us on the Carelia) for a reimbursement, which they dealt with quickly and helpfully. The port agents seem to be able to charge such ridiculous prices because to the wealthy, profit amassing shipping companies, such an amount is negligible and as a result, the port of Klang is a strange mixture of port workers scraping by and designer label clad port officials driving fast cars.

After our stressful experience at the container terminal, we made our way to Klang station to catch the hour-long Komuter train to Kuala Lumpur station (by contrast to the sum we’d just paid out, the tickets cost us $2 each). The train was air conditioned and the journey pleasant. After so long at sea we drank in our surroundings with intensity and watched as the jungle fringed railway line and corrugated iron housing began to give way to brick new builds and concrete as we neared KL. We also passed a newly built Tesco and a huge Carlsburg factory, the latest trophies in Kuala Lumpur’s commercial enterprise cabinet. We soon arrived at the impressive station building with its colonial-era, mosque-style frontage and interior. We trekked up the station steps to find an open kitchen with delicious Malay curries bubbling away in various pots and pans behind a screen. Tired and hungry, we pulled up two filthy plastic chairs from a stack and piled a plate with various dishes from the pots. A steaming cup of Teh Tarik was then brought to us (a brandless Malaysian red tea served with condensed milk which takes the edge off any spicy curry). This was some of the best food we had while in Kuala Lumpur and the flavours offered an incredible introduction to the city. We also had our first encounter with an Asian toilet here (a hole in the ground and a pale of water instead of loo paper) but compared with the portaloos at Glastonbury they were more than civilized. We hadn’t even left the station yet and we were already falling for South East Asia.

Later in the day, Captain Alexey told us that now we had reaached the Timor Sea, the crew would be putting out a ‘sitting pool’ on our deck with a table and chairs so we could relax outside. True to his word, we soon found it brimming with water on the deck and spent the rest of our afternoon outside scanning the waters for pirates (there were none but we did see schools of tuna and porpoises). The next day was pretty much the same (minus the piracy warning) and we sat in the pool drinking smuggled-on wine out of tea cups, prohibition style.

By early evening, we noticed that banks of whipped cloud had formed on the distant horizon. They looked quite beautiful, fluffily connecting sky and sea (I irritatingly got Stairway to Heaven stuck in my head but luckily this wasn’t to last for long)… As the sun began to sink lower, the entire bank started to shimmer and then slowly darken, turning innocent marshmallow-like cloud into a foreboding tower of dark grey. We soon realised that boat was completely surrounded on one side by quickly blackening cloud, so we hastily ended the pool session and ran inside to change. The cabin was by now eerily gloomy, so we headed up to the Bridge for some company. The officer on watch was absorbed in some map reading but we noticed that the industrial style windscreen wipers were out in preparation for something. We cautiously questioned the officer who told us matter-of-factly that we were heading straight into a tropical storm. He did not seem at all phased but I couldn’t help scenes from Joseph Conrad’s Typhoon surfacing in my mind. The waters were eerily still (so I now knew what was meant by ‘the calm before the storm’) and there was nothing to do but watch, wait and, to take my mind off the agonising approach, photograph. The cloud had now become more akin to a curtain and there was a small opening at its base which let through a brief but tantalising window of dusky light. We could also make out a solitary flashing light from a lone fishing boat across the water before the downpour began and it, like us, was swallowed by the engulfing dark. There wasn’t much rocking, or maybe we’d become accustomed to it by then. We managed to sleep through the rest of it, though I couldn’t help thinking about the fishing boat. By morning the skies were clear again and the storm had passed, leaving only a few small pools of water on the roofs of the containers behind.

We took a sunnier dip in the pool that afternoon – no storms on the horizon this time – but someone did come outside to ask us to ensure all doors were locked when we eventually came inside. This was because we had now entered Indonesian waters and pirate attack territory. The pirates apparently hide among the many Indonesian fishing vessels which frequent the waters here both day and night, using them for cover before they make a dash for their target. When there is no full moon, the fishermen switch on large lamps which act as false moons to lure the fish to the surface, but also accidentally lighting the way for pirates. None of these small boats and trawlers have AIS, which ships use to identify each other, so it is therefore difficult for a cargo ship to spot an approaching vessel. On the bridge, the health and safety officer repeats his danger warnings to us but this time adds ‘be very careful in Klang…very dangerous too’, which is where we are due to disembark. We do not know what to make of this.

The next day we pass Java and Sumatra in the distance and sail through the Java and South China Seas, crossing the equator for the second time during our trip. As we begin to near Singapore, there was mounting excitement on the ship. At least three of the crew were due to finish their contracts there and go back to their homes after a few days’ leave in the city. At dinner, one of the younger sailors tells us that ‘the air in Singapore smells different, I go out on deck and take it into my lungs, it smells of freedom. I can almost taste freedom now’. This conversation about freedom switches from English to Russian at the table where we gleam the odd recognisable word (ecstasy, poppers and prostitute), while they smile at us. We were coming up to our 20th day on board and were also more than ready to be back on land. I remember Michael Palin describing his experience at sea as a sort of sensory deprivation but I liken it more to spending time somewhere remote where your surroundings become familiar but your eyes and senses become keener as they are honed to notice even the smallest change, such as a spider on a staircase, a fish skimming the waves or a swallow nesting in a container. Nothing is ever predictable in this world and you therefore never quite get used to it.

The first surprise was that as per Russian tradition, Christmas dinner was scheduled for Christmas Eve rather than the 25th, so at about 7pm we made our way down to the crew’s mess (dining) room, where three tables had been laid out – one for the the deck, mess and engine hands (who were mainly Filipino), one for the rest of the regular crew (mainly Russian) and one for the officers (mainly Bulgarian). Despite being organised for space reasons, this arrangement seemed a little less than Christmassy – we were only just beginning to learn the importance of ranks. These thoughts soon evaporated as a maritime feast of epic proportions was unveiled by the chef and chief steward, who had been toiling away all day behind closed doors. There were roasts of every kind imaginable alongside rice dishes, salads and a big chocolate Christmas party cake. On each table, along with a few bottles of something clear, were plates of what looked like smoked salmon but which the Russians told us is called Somka (smoked fish) and also some horse salami(!) that had been cured by the Captain himself. We were treated very much like guests at a village banquet and felt obliged to try a little bit of everything, under the scrutiny of the Captain who watched while we chewed and swallowed his culinary contributions. At 7.30pm, the Captain read out a Christmas message to the crew from the ship’s owners (the Ahrenkiel group) wishing everyone a safe and happy Christmas. Then the toasting began and did not, it seemed, ever stop. Every time someone got up or sat down at the table, a new toast was offered and after a few hours of eating and drinking, it wasn’t only Alex who was feeling a little worse for wear. As it neared midnight, a few people had left from every table except for the one the Filipinos were seated at. For them, the celebrations had just started, as guitars emerged from cabin rooms and a long session of acoustic karaoke began.

It wasn’t until just after midnight that the real rocking and rolling began and the floor of the ship started to move from side to side. The Captain had warned us that we were headed for some rough waters (due to gale force winds outside) but we hadn’t been prepared for quite how turbulent it would become. We managed to get a little sleep as the cabin creaked and strange metallic noises echoed from the bowels of the ship. By Christmas morning, our cabin was still tilting but we tried to be as festive as possible, opening some chocolates sent from home and a couple of small gifts (our friend Julia had sent us some Christmas decorations and teabags for the morning of Christmas day, which really did transform the cabin). By the evening, however, the paper chains were sliding backwards and forwards across our cabin walls like windscreen wipers and the rolling was getting slowly worse. We attempted to go to bed but were woken in the dark to the sound of the ship’s alarms blaring (which happens when anything needs attention from the engineering team), some increasingly loud creaking and eventually crashing, while everything on any surface in our room tumbled its way ungracefully to the floor. We followed shortly after, as a particularly violent roll flung us out of bed and onto the carpet with a bump. Attempts to share the sofa were futile (and lying down on it felt too much like a being on a theme park ride) so we got changed into warm clothes and decided to ride it out as best we could. The strange part was that we didn’t feel that sick and while various members of the crew were taken ill, we were up on the bridge early the next morning sipping a shallow tea, eating Christmas biscuits and listening to Nightwatch’s version of Walking in the Air belting out from the radio (the Bulgarians and Russians could not get enough of this song)! The captain came up to the bridge to check some charts and did not hide his shock that we were up and about. He later came up to us and said ‘I am proud of you…’which we didn’t know whether to take as a compliment or not (we obviously did not look like able seamen).

By the 27th, as we neared the East coast of Australia and headed up past the Whitsunday Islands, things had begun to calm down again. We were told that the route is generally smoother from here on out and we would feel the air become heavy with tropical humidity again. As we neared the Great Barrier Reef (where the depth of water can be as little as a metre), our ship was required to take a pilot on board to navigate the reef and ensure that no damage was made to it. We were told at lunch that the pilot had boarded that morning and was from Wales – at first I had thought we were being told that pilot whales had been sighted, so I think they thought my excited interest was a little intense! Glyn might not have been a whale, but he was, as Ivan had been trying to tell me, from Wales. It was nice to chat to him about ex-pat life in Australia and memories of home for a bit. He showed us maps of the area we were passing through and gave us information about the islands, one of which is apparently just used for exporting fine sand to China and Japan for use in make-up. Glyn stayed with the boat for 24 hours before being dropped off on Thursday island on New Year’s Eve, where he would spend the night waiting to be collected by a returning vessel which he would pilot back to Cairns on New Year’s Day. We hoped he wouldn’t be alone but he was philosophical about it and explained that you had to be, otherwise you’d never make it as a seaman.

When I had first envisioned sailing through the tropics I had thoughts of sunshine, clear skies and sparkling blue waters. I had forgotten one key fact however – it was the wet season. Glyn had told us all about the heavy rain but we were a little alarmed to hear that there was a tropical cyclone headed our way (only category 1 apparently, but the word ‘cyclone’ is never welcome when you’re on a boat). My alarm intensified as I read in one of the shipping news magazines on-board that over 16 people from a cargo ship crew died in a typhoon just off the coast of Japan, having failed to get authority from the ships owners to dock in time. Leafing through these magazines sadly brought home the ever present dangers for crew who spend a good deal of their lives at sea. I understand now why a couple of them found it difficult to understand why we were travelling by cargo ship out of choice. Reports of kidnappings and crew deaths (seldom picked up by mainstream media channels) are all too frequent. It’s a tough life for both the crew and the families they have to leave behind and I began to understand why many of them had become cynical over the years.

After a couple of  hours of magazine reading, I looked up to see that the rain had stopped and the sun had actually come out (I was told to make the most of it as more storms were on the horizon), just in time for the New Year’s Eve BBQ which could now take place out on the rear deck around the anchor cables and cargo containers. Tables were laid out in a space behind the containers and various meats were already roasting over charcoal filled bins. The atmosphere was a little more sober than at Christmas time (it had been a tough day with alarms sounding every hour and everyone was missing their friends and families) but it was a nice occasion all the same. By midnight many people had had to return to their stations, a couple were resting in chairs, staring wistfully out to sea while others were dancing to a mix of Eminem’s ‘Without Me’ – but we chose to go up on deck and make use of the lack of light and clouds to watch some stars. We spotted Venus, Jupiter and we think Orion’s Belt and were so engrossed, we didn’t even notice that midnight had already been and gone.

At lunch and dinner, we were sat on a table for 6, alongside the officers on board (who were nearly all Bulgarian or Russian) but we found that we had to be very prompt if we were to catch any of them before they finished eating and returned to their stations. One evening, it was just us and Iliya, one of the newer crew members, at the table (the officers tend to sign on for three-four month contracts, the more general crew for six months to a year and the cook was signed on for two years which, as one of the younger Russian officers said ‘is just crazy’). Iliya asked if we would like to come and see some pictures of his family and homeland (Bulgaria) and listen to some ‘good music’ in his cabin. He generously laid out home made ‘cordial’ and Bulgarian chocolate which he had brought on board and we had an interesting evening listening to Russian accordions (Bayans), folk music, a harrowing song designed to highlight violence against women in Chechnya and a surprising selection from Tom Jones (‘he is big in Bulgaria’ apparently). The evening helped to break the ice in other ways to as Iliya explained that some people on board may have been keeping their distance from us because ‘they think you are agent for owners’. We quickly assured him otherwise and then drank ‘to the good night’ in celebration of the fact. After that evening, word seemed to spread that we were not spies, and some of the other officers began to attempt conversation with us at dinner. Through these conversations we learned various interesting snippets of information, for example that crocodile blood is apparently an ‘excellent antibiotic’; the captain of the fated Rena was ‘an incompetent idiot’; piracy is a real threat; life at sea is hard; a boat can feel like a prison and that the reason the sofas in the cabins are perpendicular to the beds is so that you can sleep on them when the rocking gets so violent you are rolled out of bed (something which we were to experience sooner than we realised). We were also encouraged to start exploring the ship, with the engineering crew acting as guide whenever we went below decks, and were invited to come up to the bridge for tea and biscuits whenever we cared to.

The first few days passed quickly and it wasn’t long before we woke up to find ourselves docked in Auckland. We had been warned about rough seas around New Zealand but our passage here had been almost eerily calm. A van met the boat at the port and took us to customs, where we flashed our passport alongside the crew and were then free to explore. Our friend Grace, who was currently living in Melbourne, had given us some maps and information on things to do around town which really helped us to make the most of our short time on shore. Keen to get as much exercise as we could, we walked to Mission Bay where we sat in a shoreside cafe and savoured the stillness of solid ground. We were due to be docked for 24 hours so enjoyed a full day and even had time in the morning to run back into town to get our hair cut and have a coffee.

From Auckland, the Carelia sailed the short distance to Tauranga, where we arrived the day before Christmas Eve. Tauranga was refreshingly green and as we made our way into port with a couple of pilots, we passed the famous Mount Maunganui where sheep grazed contentedly on the hill. We were picked up by a very friendly customs driver who drove us through the sprawling port, passing thousands of logs which were mostly destined for China and Asia. He also told us that oil from the Rena was still washing up on the shores here (you can see the capsized ship in the distance from the mount), which served as a reminder of how damaging boat disasters are to the environment. Despite this, the number of huge cruise and cargo ships visiting Tauranga is apparently going up, and reaction to this is understandably split among the local population.

We only had until 5pm to get back on the boat, which was under orders to make headway back towards Australia as quickly as possible (we were unaware but there were storms brewing and the captain wanted to escape the brunt of them) but had enough time to walk around the base of Mount Maunganui. En route to the mount we walked through the quaint town watching families buying last minute Christmas gifts. The coastal path leading to the base walk was near town but we were saddened to see the continued effect of the oil damage along way. Many of the rocks were tarred black so despite the inviting look of the water, it was still deemed too dangerous to swim. The captain and first officer of the Rena are apparently in jail, so the penalties for this kind of mishap are severe but with so many ships navigating popular trade routes such as this (in the Singapore straight vessels were literally back to back and side to side), it’s almost surprising that it doesn’t happen more often.

Despite the oil, the walk and the scenery were beautiful and we left Tauranga feeling revived and stocked up with chocolate ready for a Christmas and New Year’s on board.

We already knew, from the difficulty we had experienced in tracking down any freight companies who were willing to carry passengers between Australia and South East Asia, that the number of passengers who manage to obtain this passage is currently quite limited (it was certainly living up to its reputation as the holy grail of sea travel)! This is partly due to a previous governments’ extreme approaches to illegal immigrants and subsequent high-court quashing) – which makes carrying passengers more hassle than its worth for container companies. At the time of writing, the AS Carelia (a medium sized container vessel) is the only ship taking passengers between Australia and South East Asia! If you’re more flexible or travelling Eastwards then getting to South Korea or across the Pacific is much easier for some reason.

After we finished with customs we jumped in the security officer’s ute and were taken down to meet the ship. A couple of crew in bright orange overalls were there to meet us (roped in by the 3rd officer to help bring up our bags) and after eyeing the very steep steel gangway to the ship, we were grateful for the help! We were then taken inside the tall tower of the ship, which houses the cabins, dining rooms, offices and the bridge) and were shown up four flights of steel stairways in the ship’s superstructure to our ‘living quarters’, which were much bigger (being split into a day room and a bed room/bathroom) and more comfortable than what we had become used to on our previous trans-Atlantic and trans-Pacific journeys. There was a writing desk, a sofa, a comfy double bed and wardrobe, but the cabin was pretty bare apart from that, which presented us with a blank slate for personal touches, postcards and pictures sellotaped to the walls.

We were then taken down to meet the captain, Mr. Alexey Popov, who greeted us warmly but eyed us a little suspiciously. He explained that this is not a passenger ship and that things had to be done a little differently around here, for example we would have to ring the bridge for permission before venturing outside on the lower decks; meals would be served promptly at specific times of the day (we were to eat with the officers) and there was no alcohol available as this was a dry ship. He also asked us if we were married – after a bit a quick eye contact, we hesitatingly said that we were, to which he replied ‘Good! I thought so but was a bit confused by different name in passports…no matter’. We were then shown back up to our cabin to await a visit from the the health and safety officer who would explain the safety procedures to us. While we waited, we watched the large cargo cranes loading and unloading containers in a cacophonous sort of Tetris dance from our cabin windows. The ship finally pulled out of Brisbane Container Terminal in the late afternoon, slowly inching its way towards the open sea and New Zealand. As we veered away from the Queensland coast we caught a brief glimpse of some dolphins jumping alongside the boat. By sunset, the coastline had become a distant strip on the horizon, the last land we were to see before arriving in Auckland.

It didn’t help that we also kept hearing the call ‘Bright Star, Bright Star’ followed by a location on the ship, which we later found out is code for someone being taken seriously, if not mortally, ill. I wonder if the code has any connection with Keats’ poem of the same name, which ends with the line:

‘And so live ever–or else swoon to death’

The newsletters of the cabin opposite ours began to pile up in the last two weeks and we wondered if it might have had something to do with one of these loaded calls.

In an attempt to stop the maudlin thoughts we were starting to have, we tried to re- focus our attention on instead searching for signs of life outside the boat, but sightings were few and far between. The sea itself, markedly different to the Atlantic, was a brilliant blue (most of the time) – the sort that invites you to dive into it. About two weeks in, near the stern (or the ‘pointy end’ as some called it) of the ship, we began to spot flying fish, who would skitter away across the waves to escape our approaching swell. It became our mission to try and photograph these fast-moving fliers, which was far more difficult than it sounds. After about two weeks of poor results, we managed to get a couple of decent-ish shots, which helped keep our minds occupied in between watching films, reading, playing tennis and eating.

During the 23-day journey, we made three notable sea crossings – from the North to the South of the equator; across the international date line (where we lost an entire day) and through a number of time zones. We changed time zones no less than six times (which included one for daylight savings in Samoa), turning the clock back a civilized hour each time, which adds up to a lot of lie-ins! We crossed the equator on Tuesday September 20^th, and it was quite hilarious to watch people standing on deck with their legs akimbo, wondering whether they might have one leg in the South and the other in the North. The same thing happened with our crossing of the International Date Line, where we crossed straight from Saturday September 24^th to Monday September 26^th, thus never experiencing a 25^th day – though some people tried their best by changing their positions on the deck to see if they could briefly claim a couple of seconds. The crossing of the equator also brought with it the traditional ‘Equator Crossing’ sea ceremony, where sailors who have never crossed the equator by sea before are initiated into Neptune’s Kingdom via a bizarre court set-up, presided over by the King of the Sea himself. New sailors are given a truth serum (traditionally made up of ketchup and shaving foam) which is smeared all over them and followed up with an obstacle course in the pool. Though we undoubtedly saw the tame version, sea vessels of all kinds (including freighters, navy ships and smaller boats) take the ceremony quite seriously and tasks can become something akin to sports or frat initiation rites at university. After the events, all successful new recruits are ‘rewarded’ with a certificate granting them entry to Neptune’s realm (but more importantly, meaning they never have to go through the somewhat humiliating initiation again)!