Good day and welcome to the renewed
saga of The Rime of the Ancient Mariner,
a tale of a seafarer from Bolton as he navigates the treacherous waters of West
Africa. In this weeks edition there is a story of why seafarers don’t like to
fly, another brush with the thieving b@st@rds of Gibraltar as they sell us
fuel, a little bit of literature, a bit of star-gazing and another recipe from
the Galley.
Aluminium Budgerigars
Ah the joys of international air
travel; the endless queues, the insufferable delays, the excessive “additional”
charges and the discomfort of aircraft seats! Why do it? Travel by sea is far
more civilised, and if it does go wrong us humans do retain the ability to swim.
Flight is still beyond us… just saying…
So as Bolton isn’t on the
Mediterranean I am required to fly to Marseille via Paris Charles de Gaulle
airport. The first half of the journey from Manchester is usually the simplest
part; the problems frequently arrive during the transfer in Paris, Charles de
Gaulle airport is legendary for its ineptitude! If your transfer time is less
than 2 hours, you can forget seeing your luggage at the destination airport
baggage carousel. However on this particular day the problem lay with the
flight from Manchester to Paris, or the Parisian weather. As we approached the
runway, we were hit with “hailstones the
size of golf balls” and lightning strikes all around the airplane so just
as we were about to touch down the pilot aborted and powered us away to a
destination unknown. For an hour we headed away from Paris, and thanks for
keeping us updated Mr Pilot, until once again we approached for a landing. In
Paris the skies were dark and threatening, at our unknown destination the skies
were cloud free; it’s was safe to assume this wasn’t Paris Charles de Gaulle
airport. As we landed and taxied off the runway we ended in a car park full of
budget airlines finest aircraft, I’ll emphasise that it was only the budget
airlines that seemed to be affected by the weather, just saying… So we finally
discovered our secret destination, Lille some 150 miles North of Paris and 800
miles from Marseille.
As too many aircraft for Lille to
handle began to discharge several thousand disgruntled travellers, the
legendary French organisational skills kicked in. Everybody in a uniform
vanished, and those few that remained were unable to speak any language that
anybody could communicate in; if you spoke English they only spoke French, any
body that tried to speak French was met with a Gallic shrug of the shoulders.
We were ushered out to the front of the terminal to be met by a fleet of buses
and a mountain of suitcases piled up in no particular order, the baggage
carousel/handlers had long since given up the ghost and buggered off for a
coffee and Gauloise.
It was at this point that I took a
chance and decided to attempt to transfer to a flight from Lille to Marseille,
rather than take a three-hour bus journey to Paris and attempt to take a later
flight to Marseille. The poor brave lady who had foolishly stayed at her post
whilst everybody else buggered off was soon swamped with all kinds of transfer
requests, but she must have taken pity on this poor seafarers plight as she
chose to help me first. In typically swift manner, Mademoiselle Air France had
me booked on a lunchtime flight to Marseille. All was not lost; a rather
content Pugwash arrived in Marseille just a few hours late and, as a bonus,
with both items of luggage in hand.
Marseille
Very soon I was back on-board the
mv Maestro Sea and being quickly brought up to speed on the events of the
previous six weeks. The major talking points being the lack of beer (again!!),
the lack of stores (again!!) and the lack of air conditioning in the engine control
room (again!!). So to sum up the handover nothing had changed and nothing had
happened, lovely! The schedule for the ports had changed several times, but for
this trip we would be heading to Dakar, Senegal; Lome, Togo; Cotonou, Benin;
Malabo and Bata, Equatorial Guinea and Douala, Cameroon before heading back to
Valencia, Livorno and finally Marseille in early August. Strange how these
six-week trips seem to be stretching to seven and beyond… However the weather
forecast was great and we did have plenty of beer that contained a very nice
selection of Spanish, German, Dutch and Danish beers.
Piracy in the Straits…
Due to logistics once again were
required to top off our fuel tanks in Gibraltar before heading out of the
Mediterranean for our journey south. You would think that with Gibraltar being
British, bunkering would be simple, well think again! The bunkering is
undertaken by several groups of thieving bastards, the bunch of thieving
bastards selected this time was Aegean Bunkering Ltd (I’ll name and shame
them). All we wanted was 100 tonnes (100,000 litres, 22,000 gallons, 2000 tanks
full or 750,000 miles for your average family car), a very modest amount in
terms of ships. It should be a “splash and dash”, we can load at a rate of 300
tonnes an hour so sign a few forms, 20 minutes to load, sign a few more forms
and away you go. If only… once the fuel hose is connected there are 24 forms to
check and sign, then all of the tanks on the barge had to checked, all of the
tanks on the ship had to be checked (because of past problems an independent
surveyor was on-board to verify the correct amount of fuel was delivered) and
only then could we start to load fuel. So 20 minutes later the loading stopped
and the bunker barge presented me with a receipt for 100 tonnes, unfortunately
I reckoned we had only received 85 tonnes and so for the next 90 minutes a
stand-off ensued as I refused to sign the forms and the barge refused to give
me more fuel. Eventually the “independent” surveyor stepped in and the barge gave
us another 5 tonnes, the surveyor then decided he was happy! Well I wasn’t, and
pretty much accused everybody of being corrupt and to them all to “go away” and
refused to sign the receipt. So after seven hours of stress and grief we
eventually left 10 tonnes short and I had a headache, oh yeah and then I got a
bollocking from the owners for not getting the full 100 tonnes. Grr… “Don’t
make me angry, you won’t like me when I’m angry…”
Mentions
Only two birthdays this week; happy
birthday to my Mum for the 21st June and Geoff Burrow for the 25th
June.
Our only port of call this coming
week is Dakar, Senegal on Wednesday 26th June. Once again I have to
face the Customs Officials from Hell; Prostetnic
Vogon Jeltz I am ready this time!
A Super-Moon
On the 23rd June, to
those fortunate enough to have clear skies, (that’ll be me then!) there will be
a very large moon, it will be at it’s closest to Earth this year. I knew you’d
be impressed!
From the Galley
We have a new cook on-board, so
expect lots of wonderful recipes. This week we have Panzanella Salad a classic
Cheese and Onion Pie for your enjoyment.
Panzanella Salad
Ingredients: 2 large
tomatoes (trimmed and each cut into 8 equal pieces); 3/4 pound day-old crusty
style whole-grain bread (cut into 1-inch cubes); 1 cucumber (skinned and
seeded, cut into large chunks); 1/2 red onion (chopped); 1 bunch fresh basil
(torn into little pieces); 1/4 to 1/2 cup good olive oil; salt and pepper to
taste.
Nutritional value: Calories
294; Sodium 543mg; Total Fat 15g; Potassium 345mg; Saturated 5g; Total Carbs
32g; Polyunsaturated 1g; Dietary Fiber 2g; Monounsaturated 8g; Protein 9 g;
Cholesterol 22mg.
Classic Cheese and Onion Pie
Ingredients: For
Pastry: 85g butter/white vegetable fat; 155-170g plain flour; cold water. For
filling: 3 medium onions (chopped); knob of butter; chunk of cheddar cheese
grated; 3 eggs. Optional extra filling: Splash of milk; balsamic vinegar;thyme;
salt and black pepper.
Method: Put the flour and fat into
the food processor. Mix it until you get breadcrumbs. Mix cold water to bind
the mixture to prepare the pastry. Put the pastry in refrigerator or cover it
with a wet cloth to prevent it from drying. Preheat the oven. The pastry dough
should be divided in two balls, keeping one a little larger than the other.
Gently fry the onions in a pan with butter on a low heat until soft, then leave
to cool. Add grated cheese into a bowl and mix it with onion, eggs and cream.
Add salt, pepper, thyme according to your taste. Pour the eggs over the
onions/cheese. Brush beaten egg over the top, make a hole in the middle. Bake
for about 30-45mins at about 200C until golden brown and the cheese is bubbling
from the hole.
Nutritional value: Calories
451; Sodium 650mg; Total Fat 23g; Potassium 0mg; Saturated 9g Total Carbs 49g;
Dietary Fiber 4g; Sugars 5g; Protein 11g; Cholesterol 0mg; Calcium 0%; Iron 0%;
Vitamin A 0%; Vitamin C 0%.
A little bit of poetry
The title of this little “blog” is The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, and so for the next few weeks I
will read a little poetry to you. It should be noted that the poem is extremely
long-winded and a little “boring”; if anybody should suggest the same of this
blog, I’ll come looking…
Part I
It is an ancient Mariner, And he stoppeth one of three. `By thy long grey beard and glittering eye, Now wherefore stopp'st thou me? The bridegroom's doors are opened wide, And I am next of kin; The guests are met, the feast is set: Mayst hear the merry din.' He holds him with his skinny hand, "There was a ship," quoth he. `Hold off! unhand me, grey-beard loon!' Eftsoons his hand dropped he. He holds him with his glittering eye - The Wedding-Guest stood still, And listens like a three years' child: The Mariner hath his will. The Wedding-Guest sat on a stone: He cannot choose but hear; And thus spake on that ancient man, The bright-eyed Mariner. "The ship was cheered, the harbour cleared, Merrily did we drop Below the kirk, below the hill, Below the lighthouse top. The sun came up upon the left, Out of the sea came he! And he shone bright, and on the right Went down into the sea. Higher and higher every day, Till over the mast at noon -" The Wedding-Guest here beat his breast, For he heard the loud bassoon. The bride hath paced into the hall, Red as a rose is she; Nodding their heads before her goes The merry minstrelsy. The Wedding-Guest he beat his breast, Yet he cannot choose but hear; And thus spake on that ancient man, The bright-eyed Mariner. "And now the storm-blast came, and he Was tyrannous and strong: He struck with his o'ertaking wings, And chased us south along. With sloping masts and dipping prow, As who pursued with yell and blow Still treads the shadow of his foe, And foward bends his head, The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast, And southward aye we fled. And now there came both mist and snow, And it grew wondrous cold: And ice, mast-high, came floating by, As green as emerald. And through the drifts the snowy clifts Did send a dismal sheen: Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken - The ice was all between. The ice was here, the ice was there, The ice was all around: It cracked and growled, and roared and howled, Like noises in a swound! At length did cross an Albatross, Thorough the fog it came; As it had been a Christian soul, We hailed it in God's name. It ate the food it ne'er had eat, And round and round it flew. The ice did split with a thunder-fit; The helmsman steered us through! And a good south wind sprung up behind; The Albatross did follow, And every day, for food or play, Came to the mariner's hollo! In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud, It perched for vespers nine; Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white, Glimmered the white moonshine." `God save thee, ancient Mariner, From the fiends that plague thee thus! - Why look'st thou so?' -"With my crossbow I shot the Albatross." |
Part II
"The sun now rose upon the right: Out of the sea came he, Still hid in mist, and on the left Went down into the sea. And the good south wind still blew behind, But no sweet bird did follow, Nor any day for food or play Came to the mariners' hollo! And I had done a hellish thing, And it would work 'em woe: For all averred, I had killed the bird That made the breeze to blow. Ah wretch! said they, the bird to slay, That made the breeze to blow! Nor dim nor red, like God's own head, The glorious sun uprist: Then all averred, I had killed the bird That brought the fog and mist. 'Twas right, said they, such birds to slay, That bring the fog and mist. The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew, The furrow followed free; We were the first that ever burst Into that silent sea. Down dropped the breeze, the sails dropped down, 'Twas sad as sad could be; And we did speak only to break The silence of the sea! All in a hot and copper sky, The bloody sun, at noon, Right up above the mast did stand, No bigger than the moon. Day after day, day after day, We stuck, nor breath nor motion; As idle as a painted ship Upon a painted ocean. Water, water, every where, And all the boards did shrink; Water, water, every where, Nor any drop to drink. The very deep did rot: O Christ! That ever this should be! Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs Upon the slimy sea. About, about, in reel and rout The death-fires danced at night; The water, like a witch's oils, Burnt green, and blue, and white. And some in dreams assured were Of the Spirit that plagued us so; Nine fathom deep he had followed us From the land of mist and snow. And every tongue, through utter drought, Was withered at the root; We could not speak, no more than if We had been choked with soot. Ah! well-a-day! what evil looks Had I from old and young! Instead of the cross, the Albatross About my neck was hung." |
Did I tell you there are 29 parts?
Well there are, told you it was long winded! I will be asking questions at the
end.
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