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.