Guest blog by William Kendall, published in Country Life, regarding the Andamans

My Week – March 2019

We travel with some tried and tested offerings when people are kind enough to invite us to stay:  the latest Emma Bridgewater mug, some delicious Pump Street chocolate from Orford and a caddy of Fortnum’s tea (OK, that’s enough plugs for your mates’ products, Ed.). It’s much harder to know what might hit the spot when you join friends who are two years into their voyage around the world.  But a week or two before we took off to The Andaman Islands, anxious messages, via the yacht’s email, appealed for more and more obscure essentials. Some were easy to find:  an expensive brand of granola, wholemeal flour for on-board bread baking. Then the requests became more urgent and technical. The engine was spluttering because of dodgy fuel taken on in Malaysia. It became clear that a large suitcase worth of linen shirts would have to be sacrificed to carry the dozens of diesel filters, solenoids and spare cables we eventually assembled. A dramatic phone call, even as we set off to Heathrow, had us diverting to a specialist chandlers on the Shotley Peninsula for a replacement oil sump cap. Moored off the seductive Havelock Island a day later we handed over our supplies to our hosts. The euphoric reaction made the effort of dragging so many spare parts across the world worthwhile. New friends from neighbouring yachts in the Oyster fleet were invited on board to share the joy. They enviously fingered davit cables and split pins as the tropical sun set over the Burmese coast. Our sailor hosts sat smiling, surrounded by such abundance and easily forgave us that we had forgotten to bring a replacement dinghy propeller.

The Andamans are a long way from the Indian mainland and that probably accounts for their multiple personalities. They are the ‘Islands in Flux’ as one local writer describes them in his collection of critical essays. The sea though is seductive and full of colourful fish. Giant Sea Mohwa trees reach down to the shore from the thick, wooded cliffs of uninhabited islands. If you forget the temperature and the species, this scenery could readily translate to a Highland loch. The locals are charming unless you, foolishly and illegally, visit a tribal reserve when the welcome will be less predictable. It’s a paradise archipelago. All that remains of a long-drowned mountain range, isolated from the rest of South East Asia. Its Indian government seems confused by what to do with the islands. They are ideal for high-end tourism but they are also a security risk. Then they are home to many of the world’s few remaining peoples who live untouched by modern life. Visitors like us are automatically suspect. Our exact location needed to be radioed in daily to the powers that be. Maybe they had a point. Annexing the breathtakingly beautiful and uninhabited Cinque Islands was very tempting. After dropping anchor in their lee I swam ashore to rename them New Suffolk and New Bedfordshire but Indian bureaucracy was one move ahead of me. As I reached the shore in my flippers and mask, I was met by an official from The Forestry Department who, after an exchange of friendlynamastes , warned me that I could only set foot on the perfect white sand with a permit from his superiors in Port Blair.

Time and tide have not been kind to Ross Island. Its ruins are held together by the chaotic root systems of the jungle now rapidly recovering this small land from any trace of the British Raj which made it home for over a century. The once glorious settlement demonstrates how quickly nature will reclaim its territory when we humans retreat. An earthquake in 1941 swiftly followed by the Japanese invasion were enough to seal its fate. The solid walls of what is left of the imposing Presbyterian church made me wonder if the colony’s claim to have been ‘The Paris of the East’ may have been exaggerated. The splendid Subordinate’s Club building certainly once had a large sprung teak dancefloor and a sign informed modern visitors that the island bakery made superb croissants for the residents’ ‘full English breakfasts’. Even at its height though I doubt that Ross Island was a patch on the real City of Light. The few remaining memorials in the churchyard point to nasty tropical diseases and brief lives. It would have taken a lot of dour Scottish expatriates to fill that church and, even if they did occasionally test the strength of the teak dancefloor and really did stuff their faces with croissants for breakfast, I know which Paris I would have chosen to visit, a century or more ago.

Suez Canal transit

Early in S/Y Calliope's life, when she went by another name, we took her
from Inverness to Fort William through the Caledonian Canal, which involved
snow, many small locks, close encounters with weirs and possibly the Loch
Ness Monster -- and scarcely another boat to be seen. Burgesses and
Skerritts were our happy companions on that transit.

Shipping approaching the Gulf of Suez

In 2014, with Pippa and friends aboard, we waited our turn and went through
the one-way Corinth Canal, west to east through the steep, narrow cut,
following a small cruise ship with only feet to spare each side and pursued
by a pirate-flagged two-master. In April 2017, together with the Oyster
World Rally fleet, we negotiated the magnificent locks and flooded Gatun
Lake of the Panama Canal and emerged into the Pacific Ocean.

So the Suez Canal was Calliope's fourth canal.
In Gwylan we had also been through the Chesapeake and Delaware canal and the Cape Cod canal, so that makes six!

We had got off to a bad start in Egypt, having been refused entry at Port Ghalib because not all
crew members had been vaccinated against yellow fever and we had stopped in
Sudan. A new regulation, issued only a week earlier, not mentioned on any
website and unknown even to our agent Mohamed, stated that anyone having
been in Sudan must either produce the certificate or spend six days in an
Egyptian hospital. We were too tired to argue, as we should have, that a)
the regulation hadn't been publicised and b) we had been in the northern
part of Sudan, which is not regarded by the WHO as a yellow fever area.
Twenty officials took two hours to decide that we couldn't stay and sent us
back out at 9pm into 25 knot wind and weather, some waves breaking over the
spray hood and into the cockpit , to tack out away from the Egyptian coast
towards Saudi Arabia - not a destination which welcomes tourists on yachts -
and back again. Bone weary, then, and just after nightfall the following
evening, we took shelter in Sagawa bay and slept, and waited for two days
for the wind to die down. Two more days of fluky wind - sometimes enough to
show our beautiful asymmetric sail with its Egyptian goddess Isis to

The pontoon of the Suez Canal Yacht Club

Egyptian locals - and sometimes motoring straight into a northern breeze
through oil fields and rigs, brought us to Port Suez, where we tied up fore
and aft to two buoys outside the Suez Canal Rowing and Yacht Club. Alas,
its days of grandeur were long gone.

There was a pontoon to which we were ferried by ever-helpful Karkar, five or
six officials watching American sitcoms in a hut, who inspected our
passports and bags each time we passed them and a sea-view veranda with
tables and chairs, but no refreshments (and most definitely no alcohol) available.

Some of the houses in the area were quite grand and showed signs
of French style, with eaves and shutters, but the roads were potholed and
dusty, the pavements irregular, dusty and litter-covered and even the
ubiquitous feral cats were mangy and dusty. The town of Suez is
traffic-choked ...and dusty. They do make the most delicious
freshly-squeezed orange juice and sell wonderful, soft pinky-creamy garlic
from motorbike-drawn carts in the narrow lanes. The locals were friendly
and pleased to see us.

Mr Heebi, our agent, explained the processes of clearing in to us, but we
could have done with a guide to the Suez Canal. When was this "ditch in the
desert" built and by whom? Nicky's father went through it a couple of times
on military service and they raised their guns occasionally to look fierce.
Perhaps they taught the Egyptians to do the same - there were military

Floating bridge

everywhere and our pilot on the first day, Mr. Khalid (whose volume control
button we ached to turn down) told us we weren't allowed to take any
photographs "for security reasons". We noticed new channels and extensions
to the Canal had been dug, but there was no explanation. At intervals we
saw swing bridges which could make crossing from one side to the other
possible, as well as bridges in sections. Each 100 metres there was a sign
showing how far we had to go.

The most impressive thing about the Canal was the ships transiting it,
including the newest 20,000 container ships. The Suez Canal is wide, has
several channels in places, and the Great Bitter Lake in the middle which is
a giant ship park. There is a northbound procession and then a southbound
procession. It's about 100NM in total so longer than the Panama, but it's
all at sea level. Completed by the French together with the Pasha, Disraeli
then managed to buy a controlling stake for £4m which was obviously pretty
smart. Napoleon had earlier wanted to build a canal, but was dissuaded by
his chief engineer who avowed that the Mediterranean end was 10m higher than
the Red Sea end!

At the end of our first day, we arrived in Ismailia and tied up alongside
the Yacht Club there. We didn't leave the boats, which were much
photographed by locals. We had dinner aboard Calliope. It was the last
night the three yachts were going to be together, so the crews of Calliope,
Miss Tiggy and Lisanne devoured the contents of the drinks cupboard and a
bottle each of whisky and rum went down after beers and wine, so sleep was
short and we were awoken far too early at 5.30am by our new pilots arriving.
Ahmed was much better company than Mr. Khalid, though his English and our
Arabic were limiting factors on conversation. After seven hours, he was
taken off the boat and we motored out of the Canal, through a dredged
channel. As soon as we could, we got the sails up and 28 hours later after
a bumpy but fast ride (not helped by the lack of sleep the night before and
on passage and our hangovers), we berthed in Limassol Marina in Cyprus.

Kolossi Castle

What a beautifully appointed, modern place, with super-helpful staff and
everything a tired yachtie could ask for. That first night, we staggered as
far as the first restaurant, Wagamama's, and decreed 'no further'. It was
fantastic to be reunited with Tiggy, who'd been in Tasmania for her father's
90th birthday and had fully expected to come back on board in Port Ghalib.
We have washed and washed Calliope and all the ropes removing salt and red
sea dust. We have polished the stainless, and she is beginning to look like

Nicky and Tiggy in Omodhos

her true self. We have been to a supermarket, Lidl, and been amazed at the
variety of goods on offer, and over-bought supplies as a result. Four days
later, having hired a car to explore parts of Cyprus and loved the spring
flowers and ancient monuments (Kolossi Castle, of the Knights Templar, was particularly impressive),
as well as taking a bit of R&R at the spa, we are just about to leave
Limassol for the Turkish coast. We are much refreshed and ready for the
home straight! We are about 200NM from Kas where we will cross our furthest
east path, and another 50NM to Marmaris where we have a berth for a year.
We are both ready for some time at home, to see Pippa after her operation on
her spine, Richard, Kit and Guy after their loss of Ishbel, and Nicky's
parents in Geneva. Homesick - yes and no as Calliope is so much home.

Galle, Sri Lanka to Port Ghalib Egypt

Lisanne left Galle in Sri Lanka a couple of days before us, so our passage
was just in company with Miss Tiggy. It was 450NM and took three days (and
nights). Amazing how similar these Oyster 575s are - we arrived in Uligamu
in the very north of the Maldives just 1.5 hours before Miss Tiggy. We saw
lots of shipping round the south of India: it's always entertaining to check
out on AIS where each ship is from, where it's bound for and its dimensions
(huge!) and speed. Activities on board: fishing (unsuccessfully), sewing
alterations to a dress of Tiggy's, baking (bread and oatmeal raisin cookies)
and stainless steel polishing. At 0900 on 10th March we spied
Gaamathikulhudhoo to port and realised names in the Maldives were going to
be just as challenging as those in Sri Lanka. We dropped anchor in Uligamu
and were welcomed ashore for supper on the quayside, together with a German
family sailing round the world with their two boys aged 4 and 5 - now that's
a real challenge! In the morning we swam with manta rays, up close and
curious about us.

The Maldive atolls are gorgeous and reminded us of the Tuamotus, except that
they have been developed so thoroughly that it's hard to find a space which
isn't covered in resorts, with their little thatched huts on stilts. These

Ready for collection by Four Seasons room service

unfriendly resorts don't welcome outsiders, even those very few arriving on
yachts, and trying to have dinner ashore was like trying to hitch a ride on
a cruise ship - impossible. Most wouldn't allow us to anchor in their
"private" lagoons and we struggled to find anchorages as the sea bottom goes
from too deep to nothing very steeply. We attempted to stop at
Vaikaramuraidhoo (another challenging name) but couldn't get the hook to
stick. However at Dhandoo we found a beautiful spot, next to a narrow sandy

Tiggy and Kurt at beach BBQ

beach. Kurt spent a couple of hours picking up rubbish and created a
sizeable heap. He contacted the Four Seasons resort nearby and they
promised to collect and dispose of it all - result! Together with Lisanne
and Miss Tiggy, we had a great beach barbecue and the following day we
filmed our video contribution for the Oyster World Rally's closing party in
Antigua, including a rousing (if not tuneful) rendition of True Blue. We
also had two very good dives with a local company which is not attached to a
resort.

Male, the Maldives capital, has been linked since our charts were printed by
a bridge to Hulhamale, where we anchored amidst many power boats and their
ancillary dive boats. Sea planes passed so close overhead that we feared
for our mast and were able to inspect their undercarriage in detail -
interesting to see that most have only one float and land on water at a
steep angle. Hulhamale is growing as land is reclaimed and there was a
constant stream of barges carrying rubble past our boat. The town has wide
new roads (but no pedestrian pavements at all) and is covered in cranes with
high rise apartments going up everywhere. We're not sure why and for whom.
Still, Charles had a haircut, Nicky a pedicure and Kurt bought some tee
shirts and we stocked up on food at the market and supermarket. One evening,
looking for nightlife, we went to the only place serving alcohol. The taxi
took us to the airport and we had to walk half a mile from there to a grotty
hotel bar. Ah, but the beer tasted delicious.

Customs inefficiency (a consignment of weapons had been left at the airport)
meant we didn't get away from Male until 10pm on 18th March, after taking on
board Danny and John, two ex Royal Marines who were to keep us safe on the
next leg of our journey. They have been through the dangerous Gulf of Aden
dozens of times, but usually keep watch from 13 storeys up on a bridge 50
metres wide, on Hapag or similar container or cargo ships. This was a new
experience for them and they handled it well, keen to join in and help hoist
the asymmetric sail, set the pole or simply trim sails ("pull the red one"
was the kind of instruction required). They were eager to wash up and very
appreciative of the cooking, especially when it was traditional and English
(apple crumble, bananas and custard)! With two extra crew doing a watch
each, we got more sleep, though daytimes still usually found one or two
people slumped asleep in the saloon - John was a master of grabbing 40 winks
whenever he could. Danny, despite not eating fish, developed a passion for
trying to catch it, but was daily disappointed, apart from a baby tuna which
we released more or less intentionally. Miss Tiggy and Lisanne had Polish
guards on board, some of whom suffered from seasickness; fortunately that
wasn't a problem for us.

At night, we sailed in arrow formation, with Calliope leading as Danny was
in charge. We had some excellent sailing, maintaining 9 knots of boat speed
for hours on end on a beam reach, making 780NM in 4 days which is just
faster than our Torres Straits passage. Then, eight days out, the wind
failed, we started the engine but the following morning it started
stuttering. So we thought we might need to head for Salalah in Oman, and
find or fly out an engineer to fix it. After emails and phone calls with
helpful Dylan from New Zealand, it turned out Charles had failed to tighten
the fuel filter sufficiently last time he had changed it and it had worked
loose so the engine was drawing in air.

On day 10, we entered the IRTC or Internationally Recommended Transit
Corridor. Between the two channels is a wide strip (all imaginary of
course, just lines on a chart) like the central reservation on a dual
carriageway road. Our entry and crossing to the middle was a bit like a
hedgehog deciding it likes the look of the middle of the M25 and required
careful timing. Once there, we had huge ships on either side of us and a
Japanese air force plane which buzzed us daily to check all was well and to
advise us to call Coalition Warships on channel 16 if we saw anything
untoward. We didn't, and even felt so relaxed we stopped briefly for a
swim. That was a first for Danny and John - a dip in the IRTC!

IRTC dodging ships

The wind died completely and as we motored on, calculations were made of how
much fuel we needed and had left. Might we have to stop in Djibouti - very
expensive if you have weapons on board? Fortunately the wind came up again -
and as we turned the 'elbow' of the Bab el Mandeb it built to a top speed of
45 knots (Force 9). Even with a pocket handkerchief of sail, we were
flying; our top speed over ground was 16.7 knots, a record for Calliope. It
wasn't comfortable, crashing into waves, and there were some hair-raising

Lucky the Bear in body armour

moments including a carefully executed gybe in 40 knots. We were all pretty exhausted (and Danny and John were wondering why on earth they'd agreed to this contract, I think) as we then had to make to windward to avoid the lee shore of some islands, with the boat heeled at ridiculous angles - a real challenge to use the heads, take a shower or prepare food in the galley. On the plus side, the weather acted as a deterrent to flimsy skiffs with Somali pirates and we saw not a single one.

Nicky and Lucky in body armour

On 2nd April, 16 days out after a long slog into northerlies (the wind in the Red Sea turns to northerlies at this time of year) we motored alongside the James Cook, a scruffy-looking
ship anchored at 17 degrees North, and a RIB came out to collect Danny, John, all our flak jackets and helmets (unused), the weapons (only fired once as a test) and a large box of ammunition. The following day, we saw
breaking reefs and land - Sudan. We anchored at Khor Narawat, a bay with a very dusty shore and dusty mountains visible in the distance, and after a well-earned and anticipated beer/wine or two, slept soundly. We'd made it into the Red Sea. We had sailed 2700NM from Male, the same distance as an Atlantic crossing; much more varied in winds, upwind, downwind, beam-reaching, straits, islands, masses of shipping in comparison to the
trade wind trans Atlantic or trans-Pacific. As a result much more tiring although we are now seasoned and able to find sleep in the watch patterns.

With gentle more favourable winds on the beam finally helping us up the Red Sea, we had been rushing to try to make it back to England to attend the funeral of Charles's brother's wife, but visas and airline schedules made it impossible; no flights for 3 days from Port Sudan and we couldn't go via Saudi Arabia anyway. That is very sad and our thoughts are with Richard,

Suakin ruins

Kit and Guy.

Our agent in Suakin, Mohamed, was charming and efficient, with a snow-white robe and cap and a deep, gentle voice speaking excellent
English. He handled every request: laundry, gas bottles to be filled, fuel, shore passes, local SIM cards and currency. We went ashore for an excellent meal of grilled chicken with locals, in local manner - no cutlery, no napkins, many cats winding themselves around our ankles as we ate. The following day we visited the market and (sort of) supermarket and attracted lots of attention. Blue-eyed

Transporting sheep to Saudi Arabia

foreigners are rare here and several selfies were requested. The town is desperately poor, dry and tumble-down. Water is delivered by donkey-drawn carts and goats wander the streets amongst rusty cars and beggars. Old Suakin, connected to the modern town by a causeway, is in ruins but well worth a visit. Until 1945 it was still a slave port (the last in the world), constructed entirely of white coral blocks and wooden joists.  They've all fallen down and the whole island is rubble, with the odd elegant gate, doorway or minaret hinting at past glories. The Turkish government is financing a rebuilding project; what they've done so far is tasteful and

Nicky and Suakin schoolchildren

authentic, but it's an immense job. Locals were paddling, fully dressed, in the shallows and Nicky acquired a gaggle of schoolgirls and was glad to give away some exercise books, pencils and tee shirts; this is the poorest place we've been to on our travels. It's somewhere I doubt we'll ever return to, but am so glad we had the chance to visit.

We pressed onwards after only one night, knowing that northerly winds (we
get very accurate weather forecasts in "grib" files over the Satphone) were on their way, passing Port Sudan at night, with its oil refineries blazing. The border between Sudan and Egypt is disputed, so the question of when to
change courtesy flags was tricky. The Sudan one had to be cobbled together on board, using an Oman flag and some scraps of black material - a fun sewing challenge!  Having delightful and
competent Aussie Kurt on board makes it less tiring; this would have been a long slog two-up.

We were aiming for Port Ghalib in Egypt, nearly 1000NM up the Red Sea from
Aden; it's been a month since we left Galle, and we have had very little
time ashore in that month, and only 3 nights at anchor (ie not sailing since March 18) so we need some land time. We are now 3500NM sailing from Male, which is the same as Galapagos to Marquesas in the Pacific and that is all downwind.

Our plan was to head off to Luxor and Aswan. We were well and in good spirits.  Then we arrived in Port Ghalib only to be asked for Yellow Fever vaccination certificates. Kurt, Calum and Steve from Miss Tiggy and Matt from Lisanne did not have them. After much arguing we were sent out to sea at 9pm into 25 knot winds on the nose, and told to go to Suez and stay in transit.  Arguing that Sudan doesn't have Yellow Fever in the north where we had been was to no avail. Apparently it's a new regulation introduced on April 1st, and the harbour master and agents who had been aware we were coming since January 11th, didn't tell us.  Yes, you can argue it's Africa and we should all have had them. Anyway after 24 hours of beating into the waves and wind, when already very tired we have
arrived and dropped anchor in a large windsurfing bay and will shelter here for 48 hours until we head for Suez 2 weeks earlier than planned and then into the Med for Cyprus or Turkey or Israel.

So it's 200 NM to the Suez Canal, and 400 NM to Marmaris in Turkey. So we are indeed in the home straight. Those 600 NM would once have seemed like a major voyage; but, of course, they could easily be 1200 NM of "tippee" sailing, if the northerlies continue blow in the Gulf of Suez as is their custom and we need to tack back and forth, rather than taking a straight route.  Calliope will be looking forward to some TLC and a bit of a rest.