The cellist

Welcome to fucking Belgium!

You know the movie “Top Secret”, one of Val Kilmers first. There’s a scene in Fluergendorf prison where Dr Flammond says to Nick “If they catch you here your life will be worth less than a truckload of dead rats in a tampon factory!”. I’ve never understood what that meant until now. Because that’s just how I feel. I’ve got a bad case of the Belgian Blues and I’ll tell you why:

Yes, I’m in Belgium, the land of monster cows and pedophiles. Traveling up the river towards Antwerp a thought strikes you. Look how wonderful the sewers run straight into the river. And oh, look over there, what a nice pile of gravel. What’s that? Why it’s a chemical factory! So on and so forth. It’s so beautiful here. And here we are waiting, waiting for pilot, waiting in locks, waiting to moor. In 72 hours I’ve had 12 hours sleep.

The last port in Belgium is Zeebrügge. My friends onboard wanted to go ashore to see the village next door called Brügge. I decline because I’m dead tired. When they come back they go on and on about how wonderful it was. As they tell the stories of the beautiful old buildings and delightful atmosphere it becomes clear that Brügge is the village from the movie “In Bruges”. Brügge in English is Bruges. Do you understand? I could have been In Bruges!!! I had an opportunity to be In Bruges and I let it slip for a few hours of pillow time. Normally I love seeing new places but I don’t want to anymore. I’m sick of new interesting experiences. I want to see something familiar. It is time to go home. I’ve been given a date. September 18^th. That’s when I go home. That is all I think about now. When I first came onboard I beat my fellow cadets at ping-pong. I not only beat them. I sent them home to mama. Actually first I took ‘em to school, then I gave ‘em a good slice of humble pie….and then I sent them home to mama! Crying! Yeah that’s how I roll. But in the following months their game has steadily improved, better offense, tighter topspin, the whole sha-bang. And today one of them almost beat me! I am glad I’m getting of this ship soon.

I’ll be home in time for my cousins wedding, thankfully. Sometimes I think I should get married too. But I can’t seem to find the right girl anywhere. And despite what you think, my standards are not too high. I can’t be the only one who want a Nobel prize winning cancer-researcher slash hiphop-video-girl that plays the cello, right? …right?

…

Dear reader, I regret to inform you that this bloggin’ business is on hold until further notice. You see, it’s not hard to come up with interesting material when interesting things happen around you. I am home again and have fallen back into comfortable routine. It’s nice. I like it. But I can’t write about it. Perhaps I will continue on the next ship, Cinderella, on which I am boarding on the 15^th of October. Let me put it this way…I’m quite certain that life will get interesting again. 

Thank you all for reading.

The sextant

There are talks of removing the celestial navigation parts in the education for people like me. I’m glad I learned it before they did. Here’s a short description of how it’s done.
Step 1. Try to collect yourself and have a coke or something. It’s going to take a while and you know you’ll feel older after.
Step 2. Take out the sextant and blow away the dust. 
Step 3. Go outside and measure the angle between the horizon and the lower limb of the moon. At the exact second you feel good about the angle, click start on the stopwatch. This gives you time to go inside and write down the log. The correct time is very important.
Step 4. Repeat step 3 after an hour.
Step 5. Repeat step 3 after another hour. 
Step 6. Do the exact same thing except instead of the moon, use a star. I chose Vega, because it was visible and in a good angle. The problem here is I don’t know any stars so I had to use a star finder. And in order to know what star you’re finding, you have to know your position. So I cheated there. You gotta problem with that?
Step 7. Step 7 is a real pisser. It involves math, looking up stuff in tables, scratching your head a lot. There’s a lot of writing erroneous stuff on papers, erasing all of it, and then writing correctly. Cursing is also essential.
Step 8. Step 7 gives you a bunch of LOPs, Line Of Position, and if you transport them along the course line they should cross in the same position. Your position. Compare with the GPS and you know your accuracy. My first moon angle and the star was really good. Maybe 2 nautical miles from the correct position. The other moons where maybe 8nm away. Still pretty good, I think.
Step 9. Step 9 is all about feeling good about yourself. Savor it, because it will only last until… 
Step 10. …where you realize Step 7 thru 9 took 2 days to figure out because your brain has turned into moosh after 14 weeks at sea. Which means you have very accurately pinpointed the position in the Mediterranean 2 days ago. After which you’ve passed Gibraltar and are halfway up the Portugal coast already. So yeah, it was a completely useless. But still pretty sweet. I dunno, I have mixed emotions about the whole thing.

Now the exotic parts of the journey is over. We’re on our way to Antwerp. “Antwerp”! It sounds like some kind of cruel animal trapping device. “Yes zeh teddy is trapped in ze antwerp by zhees razorblades and is zhen zloooowly strangulated wihzz piano wire for minimum damage to zhe furr”. Anyway it’s going to be tough up there. It’s Antwerp – Ghent – Zeebrugge, all within spitting distance of each other. We’ll be up day and night going thru locks, mooring and discharging. And if you followed my blog you already know that these ports are the worst ports in the world!

Finally, I wish to recommend the movie “Hamlet 2” starring Steve Coogan. It starts real mellow like, but the show at the end is deeply, deeply funny. There is also brief nudity although not the good kind.

The versatile sauce

Here’s a list of things that goes well with béarnaise sauce:
1. Everything.

I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I switched back to English again. It’s just not workin’ out, the damn words get stuck in my elbows or something. I’ll try to evolve the Swedish thing, I promise, but I’ll do it on my spare time so that no one has to suffer. 

Voltri, which is right next to Genoa in the north, is next. We have been awarded some shore leave and we intend to use it. As I see it, I have to eat at least one pizza and buy at least one pair of shoes in this country. And those shoes can’t be cheap and plastic either. Some kind of animal has to die. It looks like it’s going to be a beautiful day, and not too hot either. That’s a new experience for us now. I might even get cold, how did that feel again? When we came in I do believe we were subjected to the meteorological phenomenon known as “Mistral”. When conditions are right, warm fronts are pushing on the back of the Alps, the air gets cooled and falls down along the mountains on the south side causing a strong cold wind from the north. It died completely when we came close to shore because of ground friction. It’s nice when you see things in reality that you’ve learned in school. 

You know the feeling you get when you enter a clothing store and instantly know everything in there will look delicious on you? Of course you fucking don’t. Cause it never fucking happens! But it was damn close this time. I’m back from Genoa and the shoes-thing unfortunately fell through. But I did buy an all too expensive jacket. A jacket which looks so good I want to sleep with it. And I don’t mean I want to wear it in bed. I mean I want to meet it for drinks somewhere in a nice dark and cozy restaurant, chat for a while, find out what kind of music it’s in to, drink some wine, hold its..eh…sleeve. Then take it back to my place and sleep with it. Actually that’s gross, I just got a picture in my head of me rubbing my…..Listen, forget I even said anything, ok?. It’s a very nice jacket, let’s just leave it at that.

Genoa is so incredibly beautiful. Riding into town in a taxicab is like going on a roller coaster ride. The roads go up and down and left and right. It’s clear that either the city planner was drunk. Or he was just Italian. 
“Sir aaaah, how are we-ah going to build-ah a road to go passed this-ah building?”
“Can we go around-ah?”
“No”
“Can we go-ah under?”
“No”
“Aaaaah si si, we go-ah over it-ah!”
Maybe it isn’t exactly like that. But, I mean, the buildings are put there first, there’s no doubt about that. Then they start figuring out how to get into them. The town is from another time when people were walking, not riding around on a million scooters. I guess they are just adapting to that. The old part of town is straight from “Lady and the tramp” (Lady och Lufsen) with clothes drying on racks between the buildings, in every corner some older gentlemen stand around talking and waving their arms. I wish I spoke Italian.

The infidel donkey

There may be a donkey involved in the coming discharging operation. Libyans can’t afford nice cars, cars that will actually start. They have to be pushed out over the ramp and since it’s Ramadan the stevedores are weak. They don’t want to push anything. Enter the donkey! The donkey is strong and can also eat during the daytime since it’s not a Muslim. Just hook up the donkey and over the ramp we go!

Aww shit, there was no donkey, infidel or otherwise. But one of the drivers was 12. So that was nice.

Ok, we have left Libya and my theory as for the awful-next-port-syndrome has grown stronger. Libya wasn’t that bad. All the stevedores were very young, only a few over 20, I think, and they were just all smiles. They took their time, yes, and there were plenty of breaks, plenty of running around throwing shoes at each other, sure. But the atmosphere was ok. The vessel that came in before us had about the same amount of cargo and the discharging took 27 hours for them. But for us, it only took about 10 hours.

We have gone north, passed thru Stretto di Messina, right were the Italian toe meets the Sicilian football, and berthed at Gioia Tauro. The port has an interesting wiki page indeed. There were discussions of going around Sicily to get here at first. That route goes right over an area called Adventure Bank, which is right next to Terrible Bank. It’s right there on the charts, look it up if you don’t believe me. Someone said someone had named that waypoint Handels as a joke. Some of the crew are signing off here, the captain and the 3rd officer. The captain is great. The man can’t finish a sentence without uttering the words “vicka jävla dårar vettuh!” at the end. The things he’s seen, the stories he tells, it’s just an endless amount of fun. And the third officer, why I can’t think of a better combination of charm, humor and bitterness. He claims to be a misanthrope, but I see right thru that shit. He just wants a big hug, now doesn’t he? They will both be missed. I hope the relieving officer and captain will prove to be equally bitter. How else am I expected to learn?

I think I’m gonna start introducing myself like Patrick Swayze does in Road House? There will be no first name of course. And no corny “hi” at the beginning. “The names Lewander”. Yeah. 

Then again, maybe not.

The Ramadan

Min förhoppning att få lite mer praktik på tanker grusades idag när jag fick mail från min gamla kompis på Ek-River. Jag är nu officiellt ett offer av ”det ekonomiska läget”. Men det var nära. Jag kan inget annat göra än hoppas att praktiken på Cinderella blir bra, bara jag slipper vara med i tv. Om jag stannar här till Bremerhaven så får jag 3,5 månader och behöver då bara 2 månader på färjeskrället, det borde jag palla. Dessutom får man vara närmare Stockholm, jävlar vad jag saknar min stad.

Jag råkade visst hissa Sudans flagga på väg in till Aqaba, Jordanien. De är jävligt lika förutom att det står ”Sudan” med tydliga, härliga bokstäver på ena kanten så att man inte ska kunna ta fel. Bilden i det förra inlägget ger en tydlig indikation på hur de ser på vikten av flaggor där. Men på väg in såg jag det där aset till flaggstång och insåg snabbt mitt misstag. Bara att lubba upp och byta. Jag råkade dessutom glömma att hissa flaggorna helt och hållet när vi skulle in till Suez. Flaggor är viktiga där med. Speciellt den gula, karantän-flaggan. Folk är livrädda för swine flu i den här delen av världen. Jag nös nere i lastrummet i Tartous och stuvarna började ta långa omvägar för att undvika mig. Inga fler flaggrelaterade missöden om jag får välja, men resan är inte slut än och jag verkar dessvärre ha talang. Suez var för övrigt odramatiskt. Vi gick som andra båt i konvojen med ett italienskt krigsfartyg framför. Lotsarna hade de grävt upp ur någon sarkofag någonstans. Den ena gubben, 114 år gammal skulle jag gissa, gick omkring på bryggan och skakade och bjöd på mintgodisar, ganska smarriga faktiskt. Han var jävligt mysig den gubben, jag gillade honom skarpt. Jag, matrosen och den andra däckseleven handstyrde hela vägen och varenda gång man kom till kurs och rapporterade, utbrast han”THANK YOU, SEEERRH!” och log från öra till öra. För sitt glada humör och proffessionelt utförda lotsarbete belönades han, som sig bör, med en limpa röda Marlboro. Han var så nöjd så. Nu är jag i Medelhavet.

Jag tror mig ha gjort en upptäckt. Innan vi kom till Port Sudan så vill jag minnas att någon sa att den hamnen var förjävlig. Men när vi stack därifrån så var alla ganska överens om att det gick rätt bra. Då seglade vi mot Aqaba, den absolut jävligaste hamnen i hela Mellanöstern. Det var ju faktiskt inte så kul där, men när vi stack därifrån så pratades det en del om Tartous och hur många gånger de slitit sitt hår i den jävla hålan. Nu är vi på väg mot Libyen där det är, enligt utsago, så jävligt, att man inte ens vill sticka ut näsan genom hyttdörren om man inte absolut måste. Ser ni den röda tråden här? Det är alltid nästa hamn som är jävligast. Jag gör mitt bästa för att hoppa på det här tåget för jag tycker det är jättekul. Nästa hamn heter Misurata, Libyen, helvetet på jorden. Jag trodde det var ett smeknamn första gången skepparn snackade om det stället, men icke, det heter så. Vi ligger till ankars utanför och väntar på kajplats som så många andra båtar här. Ramadan pågår nu, så stuverigubbarna är inte så där studsande rappa i benen alla gånger. Agenten har däremot gett klara besked:
”We don’t expect vessel complete to be replace will complete very soon. Hope the above picture is clear and you are to decide, if any progress we shall provide you”.

Vi tar lots om enkvartfjortondagar, insha’Allah.

The Sevnska

Det första jag gör är att stava överskriften fel. Ja, det bådar ju gott.

Kära vänner, jag tänker göra ett försök att skriva på svenska. Det kommer säkerligen stappla en aning ty jag har svårt att få flyt när jag använder modersmålet. Jag tenderar strula till det och använda ord som ”emellertid” stup i kvarten. Det är dock en bra idé att jobba lite i uppförsbacke ibland, lite intervallträning, if you will (fan.), om man vill växa som författare! (Jag sätter näsan i vädret, som sig bör, när jag skriver ordet ”författare”, var så säker!). Vi gör ett försök iallafall, och ni kan väl ha vänligheten att rapportera eventuella epilepsianfall ni får när ni gör er del av jobbet, läsningen.

Ett ganska besynnerligt skådespel spelar ut framför ögonen i Aqaba, Jordanien. Om Japans hamnarbete är en smekning för ögat så är Jordaniens en svullen böld i innerörat. Man blir lite yr och illamående, får en halv grad feber och skrubbsår på hakan.
I Japan; 50 gubbar kommer ombord, alla har en specifik uppgift som de blivit utbildade till. De har redan gått igenom lastplanen på det förberedande mötet innan, så alla vet vilka däck som är aktuella och hur det skall lossas. Tiden är knapp, de beräknar att jobbet skall ta 3 timmar och 50 minuter, så de jobbar hårt och effektivt tills dess att allt är klart. Det finns en förman, men han står bara där och glor. Eventuellt spänner han ögonen i någon som han inte tycker springer tillräckligt fort. De gör faktiskt det, springer alltså, och förmannen får knappast träningsvärk i ögonbrynen. Lossningen av 1000 bilar tar 3 timmar och 52 minuter och förmanen ber så hemskt mycket om ursäkt för dröjesmålet.
I Jordanien; 100 gubbar kommer ombord, skrikandes, gormandes och rökandes. En oförberedd förman, utan lastplan, med bristfälliga engelskakunskaper, får instruktioner av styrman på vad som skall göras. Han sprider detta till sina gubbar en och en eftersom det inte går att göra sig hörd över allt gormande. Operationen sätter igång och alla springer prompt åt varsit håll och börjar lossa surrningar. Jag och styrman springer runt och försöker hindra de från att lossa fel surrningar eftersom vi vet att de aldrig kommer sätta dit dem igen. Eller äsch, jag var nog inte till så stor hjälp där. Styrman fick göra det mesta springandet medans jag var sysselsatt med att samla ihop underkäken. Sen händer något ännu mer förskräckligt. De som skall köra iland bilarna börjar leta efter den bil de vill köra. Den som står längst fram, dvs den som går att köra ut, förefaller inte intressant. De sätter sig hellre i en bil längre bak, startar motorn, varvar ur ordentlignt och börjar tuta. Och när jag säger ”varvar ur” menar jag inte sånt där duttande som vi gör när vi startar bilen. Det är plattan i mattan, fulla flät. Och när jag säger ”tutar” menar jag inte sånt där duttandes som vi gör när vi tutar, de trycker in tutan och släpper inte förrän bilen framför flyttar på sig. Det står dessutom folk bredvid och vevar med armarna och gormar. 
Det blir således bilkö på rampen. Alla gormar, alla tutar, alla varvar motorn så ventilationsfläktarna hostar. Operationen beräknas ta 2,5 timme. Detta justeras först till 3,5 timme när de får klart för sig att det är 537 units som ska iland. Vidare justering halvvägs in i lossningen till 4,5 timme för att slutligen hamna på 5 timmar när bönestund är inräknad. Vi anpassar och beställer lots lagom till avgång.

Operationen tar 3,5 timme. Men lotsen är iallafall en kvart försenad.

Nu tänker ni ”Åh Gunnar, din eländige fjant, varför ska du vara så jävla dramatisk och överdriva hela tiden?” eller hur? Men i det här fallet är jag helt oskyldig. Endast fakta har presenterats. Aqabagulfen är dock otroligt vacker. Havet är turkost med höga dramatiska ökenberg på båda sidor. Om man är oförsiktig så kan man råka driva över gränsen ut på israeliskt vatten, Israel och Jordanien delar på bukten, varpå israeliska flottan ropar upp och ber en vänligt men bestämt att sluta upp med det. På vägen ut går vi förbi Sharm el-Sheikh, dykparadiset på Egyptens sydspets. Där finns koraller och grejer. Vi ska vidare upp genom Suez som av sjöman ofta kallas Marlborodiket, alla som kommer ombord måste mutas med cigaretter. Suez ska tydligen också vara ett skådespel.

Hur tyckte ni att det här gick? Tyckten i att flöt det bra eller svalma de ja?

The Pain don’t hurt!

The VHS player has broken down. No more crappy movies. No more Seagal. My theory as for the cause of the malfunction is this: the grease from Steven Seagals back-slick somehow excreted from the tape and slimed the magnetic reader thingy inside the VHS player. It’s perfectly plausible, the man’s head is a veritable petroleum refinery. Before the unfortunate fouling of the reader, we managed to watch the last Seagal movie in the collection, “The Glimmer Man”:
“We used to send him out in the jungle, right……First, there’d be calm. Then a glimmer……then you’d be dead.” 
The man has such range. 
Now we have to get used to the fact that there will be no more shitty old movies. We were planning to watch “Road House”, Patrick Swayze’s only movie as far as I’m concerned, to try to fill the void left by ol’ Steven. That will never happen now. It’s a great movie too, I love it when the sexy doctor offers him anesthetic before the stitches and he’s all like “naaah, pain don’t hurt!”. Solid!

The FLIR camera, Forward Looking Infra Red, was setup for the Gulf of Aden. It’s operated by a small joystick and there are friendly buttons to push to switch between the different modes. Apart from the standard black-and-white view there are 3 different “Predator”-modes. The thing is completely silent however, so the sound effects I had to do myself. There is also a small problem with the camera. It doesn’t work. You can see pirates on it, sure, but only if they come really close. So that kind of defeats the whole purpose slightly. Other than that, pirate watch is totally sweet. In the daytime I stand watch at the stern ramp in my underwear and work on my tan. At night I stand watch at the stern ramp in my underwear and work on my ideas for pirate counter measures. In theory, Molotov cocktails should work nicely.

After the gulf of Aden we passed through Babel Mandeb, “The Gate of Tears”, into the Red Sea. It felt very lord-of-the-ring-sy. I asked why it’s called the red sea but no one seems to know. There were theories about the African sand blowing in the wind making everything red, or the sunset being particularly red. Who knows? Our first stop was Port Sudan where I witnessed a more traditional ship loading method. Manpower. At least 100 men took part in the discharging of the vessel astern of us. White bags of stuff from a ship that looked like it already sunk twice, loaded onto trucks that looked like they’ve already been scrapped. It was 35 degrees in the sun today and 37 in the holds. How do you carry heavy bags for a whole day under those conditions? It gives perspective on hard work.

At the top of the red sea there’s a fork in the road. The right rabbit ear takes you into the gulf of Aqaba. We’re going there next to deliver some more pieces of shit. After that we’re taking the left rabbit ear that leads up to Suez. Now, I need a shower. I smell like a pile of cod.

The Seagal

I bought another hat. It appears I am the biggest whore for hats this world has ever known. And this particular hat exceeds the coolness of the last one by far. This one also incorporates a great deal of swag. Think Will.I.am meets Humphrey Bogart. This is what happens when you put me in a shopping mall in Singapore. I get too damn excited. My brand new Doc Martens slippers are also pretty neat. I have up and till now walked around in flip-flops onboard and the amount of flip and flop they emanate with each step is quite disturbing. I walked pass the Bosun cabin the other day, he always keeps his door open, and I heard him say “No matter if I can’t see…I know who’s coming! MNUUAAAHHAHAHAHA!” (He laughs exactly like the scary guy in “Thriller”). Now, in my new slippers, I have stealth, they won’t know what hit’em. 
There was also a variety of exotic food in an abundance of different restaurants in the mall. A golden opportunity for new culinary experiences, to try the local specialties, get a taste of the Asian cuisine. We ate at Burger King. It was the best burger I’ve ever had and my internal Whopper levels are now restored. I need that shit, man. 
But the most successful shopping that day has to be the DVD “Under Siege” with Steven Seagal. The first one, the one on the boat. Oh joyous day, heavenly bliss, ladies and gentlemen, that movie is so good it hurts to watch. And this time the Playmate does NOT get shot. All is well.

Singapore is an interesting place indeed. The law is strict. There is no spitting on the street, no littering, no pornography, and lots lots more for those who like a healthy dose of repression. Can you imagine that, eh? No porn. Not even the slightest under-boob. No matter where I looked in the streets I could not find one speck of graffiti or art made by real people. No homeless people either. I wonder where they put them. There is art in the streets though. In the picture you see what is supposed to be happy children having fun, jumping in the water. But the bronze effect makes it all too Han-Solo-frozen-in-carbonite-ish for my taste. There was also a statue of a big fat pidgin not far from there. It was totally clean unfortunately, not at all covered in bird shit, that would have been nice. 

We have now left Singapore, the last port of call in Asia, and are headed west towards the gulf of Aden. Oh yes, that is correct, that’s where the pirates hang out. Local fishermen say there is no fish in the sea anymore, the Japanese fishing vessels are too efficient, so they have been forced to find alternate ways to support their families. Recently there has been so many attacks on merchant vessels, many countries, including Sweden, have sent military force to the area. We do our part in the fight against poor, desperate, brown people. Feels good doesn’t it? 
But I guess that’s only one way to look at it. The attacks are well organized and they have plenty of firepower at their disposal. So to say they are simple fishermen might not be the whole truth. And since pirating has become such great business, many people are attracted to it. It’s all ‘bout the money, all ‘bout the dum-dum duh-ruh-ruh ruhm (I don’t think it’s funney either)
We will be going thru the gulf of Aden at full speed with the anti-pirate fire hoses rigged along the side of the ship. There will be three lookouts on watch at all times and an infrared camera rigged astern. We will most likely not be targeted since our speed is good and the freeboard is well over 20 meters. But you never know. After Aden we are calling at Port Sudan. Then Syria, then Libya, then Italy. 

The VHS section of the movie library keeps treating us with dignity and grace. We just saw “Point Break” with Keanu Reeves and Patrick Swayze. Awful, just awful. Before that it was “Executive decision” with Kurt Russel, a terrorist plane hijacking story. I wonder if Hollywood played any part in the inspiration of Al-Qaida’s planning department. There is some remarkable resemblance. Either way, Steven Seagal showed up in the beginning of that movie, totally unexpected. Naturally me and my fellow cadets were overjoyed, his mere presence taking the movie to whole new level. But the joy turned to despair ten minutes later when his character dies in an unfortunate Boing747-Stealth Bomber docking accident. My buddy Nils took it very hard. When the airlock depressurized and poor Steven was sucked out I could hear him moan “Nooooo!!!!”. I too was disappointed, you’d think old Seagal could fly considering the size of those shoulder pads. 

The Cult

The lack of updates lately is due to the fact that I’m mildly unhappy and homesick. I can’t write when I’m down, nothing is funny. I saw a foreman a few days ago with a completely round head. I’m not kidding, it was like a basketball. And I hardly even smiled. We were in Gouangzho, China, a real shithole if you ask me. The local sludge company, apart from their regular filth business, also offer “massages” by young women who I’m almost certain have no training whatsoever in anatomy. Well maybe some areas of the body. Anyway, I got stuck in the elevator with the sludge company rep when she came onboard with her “assistant”, a girl in her early twenties I would think, cute as a button. They wanted to know if I was married and if I had a shore pass. For the record, I said no and no.
On the ramp I met a very enthusiastic Chinese tallyman by the name of Lu Zao Tian. He wanted me to write my signature in his book where he collected signatures from people all over the world. He also gave me his card as seen in the picture, of which he was very proud. He explained everything about it. The Chinese signs on the left side, “Yin Fan Feng Shun”, is kinda “Bon voyage”. On the right it says “Jian Kang Chang Shou” which means “yooh maddah enh faddah long livvh” and at the top there’s “Ping an Kuai le” which is translated below to English. I don’t know if you can tell but it actually says “SAFETY ANG HAPPY” and the “G” has been corrected with a pen. It also features seagulls, he bubbled happily.

The chief officer thinks I have cult management qualities. Well, he said I looked like a cult leader. It’s a start, I guess. This pleases me greatly since me and my friend Linus started planning, I mean scheming, for a cult a long time ago. The idea was actually a ship on international waters where we could get away with various stuff. Nothing fancy, just your average sect, indoctrination and general mind-fuckery. Everyone was to wear white linen clothing and there would be a spaceship coming. Of course, there would be some sexy content as well, why else would you start a cult if not for the mad orgies, right? At one point we were considering a female only membership policy but it was retracted. We figured the women might get restless fighting over our attention and start fighting each other. That might be pleasing to watch for a while, but we would eventually be forced to manhandle them somehow and I just can’t hit a woman. I respect them too damn much. Also, I think Linus still have some issues to work out with his wife.

De Grey

Scientist are working on a cure for aging. Yeah, that’s right people, check out this awesomely bearded dude talking about it on TED. (His name is Aubrey de Grey. Is that the most badass name for a scientist ever? easy! It’s almost a shame he’s not an evil scientist.) I know people are terrified of this kind of science, “they’re playing god” and “how will we feed everyone” and “the traffic is gonna be awful”. Not me. I think it’s just Tits! 
Imagine living in the future, I’ve always wanted to live in the future ever since I saw Star Wars. And I need the extra time too, there are plenty things left to do in this life. No, I don’t worry about the future, it will sort itself out, it always has in the past. I worry about the present. There are some serious stuff going on right now that we have to fix. Like Microsoft Excel 2007. The captain has given me an assignment to reformat this diagram graphics doodle for this thing and it involves me working with excel. Or rather cursing at excel. It’s not doing what I want it to do. WHY WON’T YOU FUCKING DO WHAT I FUCKING WAN’T YOU TO DO YOU FUCKING PIECE OF WORTHLESS CRAP?!! There’s a reason I stopped working the IT industry, y’know. And it’s Sunday, it’s supposed to be my day off. And I’m sitting here with THIS FUCKING EXCEL!!! 
“Excel” my ass, by the way, it should be called Microsoft “Underachieve” 2007. Or how about Microsoft “Depression” 2007? No, I got it. Microsoft “Slowly insert barbed wire up your urethra” 2007. Maybe you, my precious reader, have a better name suggestion for this software abomination? By all means, share. 

Either way, I just taxi-drivered the fuck out of my hairstyle and I feel much better. I’m as bald as a….no I won’t say it.

We’ve had some adventures with the stern ramp. Some minor involuntary design changes. Or to put it another way, it broke. And it didn’t want to close. It’s not this tiny little ramp that you can simply adjust with a screwdriver. It’s a huge thing powered by hydraulics and when it breaks it’s a major issue since we can neither load nor discharge. But after some advanced carpentry and metal work, it closed again. But will it open in the next port? Ohh it’s ever so exciting for the chief officer who is responsible both for the ramp and cargo operations in general. It was 30 degrees today but nobody was sweating like him.

Every month the Swedish Seaman’s Service send out 6 new movies to all the Swedish vessels. After a few years the collection adds up. There are no doubt 500+ movies to choose from onboard, some good, some bad. I just saw “Under Siege II” with Steven Seagal. You know, the one on the train. It’s clearly not as good as the first one but it was still pretty funny. They shot the Playmate in the leg though. That was uncalled for.

On our continuous story “Beverages and snacks of the world” we have today a wide selection from the wonderful nation of Japan. Let’s start from the left, shall we? The Japanese seem to like ice coffee, there is a variety of choices for the stuff in the local supermarket. I opted to try a can of ice cold Bruno. Not terribly exiting but with a name like that I had to give it a go. Next is Skal, a very sweet limy flavor. It would have potential as a drink mixer if it wasn’t so sweet. And the color of the drink made me think of something, never mind what that was. The next one has to be real healthy, why else would they make the bottle bright pink? It had a nice black currant flavor but I was expecting some kind of buzz and I got nuthin'. The one in the middle turned out to be iced tea. No flavor. By far the best one. The little black one I took one tiny sip of and decided it was enough for me. All I know is it says 500mg and there’s a garlic on the label. That’s also what it tasted like. Why would they make that?
The Mitsuya cider goes straight into the alcohol-soda category. It was pretty good the first two sips with a very rich and balanced flavor of vending machine bubble gum and I’m sure it would be a hit amongst the teenagers at home. On the right is not actually a beverage but a fake cologne given to the chief officer by papa-san. “you give girrfreeenh”. He didn’t like it cause it smells like soap so he gave it to me. I didn’t like it cause it smells like soap so I threw it away.

The Bongo

What do Koreans do when their Hyundai vans are too old to use? They ship them to Sudan, we’re going there soon. Of course, they pimp them first with some fake chrome details, put a reinforced bumper in the front, a luggage railing on top and a ladder in the back. The Sudanese like to have their luggage on the roof when they bump into each other. They are real pieces of shit cars, leaking oil and smelling of garlic. Some of them don’t even run. But there is a special Hyundai van called “Bongo Frontier II”. Can you understand this? I mean, really, understand it? Bongo Frontier Two !!!
That’s no ordinary Bongo. 
It’s the very forefront, the edge of Bongo, the Bongo Frontier. And it’s model two which must mean they’ve reached the front of Bongo and gone further, further into unknown Bongo, pushing the very limit, walking, balancing the Bongo edge. One step too far and there’s just too much Bongo, one step back and it’s hardly even Bongo anymore. On top of that this van was made in 1999. Imagine the level of Bongo they must now have reached! Do you think you and I will ever live to see Bongo of that magnitude? I think not. But we can dream. Dream of Bongo.

Going ashore in Kobe, Rokko Island, was nice. The place is rebuilt since The Great Hanshin Earthquake destroyed most of it back in 1995. All the residential buildings look like hotels and the parks look very artificial. But nice. We found a big department store. I wanted to buy a hat as usual but I couldn’t find any good ones. They all fade in the shadow of the hat I’m wearing now. 
Something happened to my friend and colleague, the third officer. He drank some weird seaweed tea. We had a lot of traffic on our watch tonight and he didn’t seem even bothered. Usually he swears at other vessels. Not this time. He simply navigated thru the mess and went on and on about the tea. He worried he wouldn’t be able to “score” anymore “weed drink” and kept shuddering and looking worried. I’m concerned.

Papa-san returned in Kobe as well. Not the same papa-san but I’ve recently learned that papa-san is more a concept than an actual person. He comes in many forms. This one actually had ninja swords. Real badass ones too. But I realized it might be a problem to bring it on the plane home. I also had flashbacks of the Hobbex-catalogue from when I was a kid. You could buy all kinds of sexy interior design items in there, such as spinning ceiling fans, ninja swords and beer glasses in the shape of a boot. I think it’s not for me. Besides I would probably break a lamp swinging it. But I did buy a Casio watch for 3000 yen. 

The enemy

Do you remember that Southpark episode about Russell Crowe? The one where he fights everyone. I’ve managed to stick that little theme song in the 3rd officers head. “Makin’ movies, makin’ songs and foytin’ ‘round the woourld!” I’m on watch with the 3rd officer right now and it’s great fun. He doesn’t care much for the local fishermen, he calls them “the enemy”, but all in all he’s a very nice guy. We try to communicate as much as possible using Chinese English. If we have an accident, the people listening to the recordings on the VDR(Voice Data Recorder) are going to wonder if we’re drunk. 

I just thought of a funny sketch. Right, picture this. A Korean guy, right…..singing Coldplay covers. “a rushhh of brood toode heeeead”. Well I think it’s funny, so there. I’ve had some complaints on my English impersonations. It seems people don’t think asians can say the letter ‘R’ but that is false. They can say it just fine, just not always when it should be said. You see, sometimes they mix the ‘L’s and the ‘R’s up. Like this:
“This is Korean Navy, how do you read me, over?” 
becomes
“Dis Koreanavy, how do you lleadah me, ovah?”
and 
“Arrange pilot ladder starboard side 2 meters above water”
becomes
“Allange pierott raddah staahboh sai two metah a-buhh-watah”

Yesterday we received a man overboard distress call on the MF/HF from far, far away. It’s the old school type radio and it doesn’t work very well. You are supposed to get a short text message and then be able to connect to a frequency for audio, but 95% of all messages received are “Error in call” and you can’t hear anything when connecting. And people don’t know how to use it. Yesterday we received distress calls, distress forwards and distress acknowledgments every 30 seconds for over an hour. And some tech guy had been onboard and raised the volume on the alarm signal. My finger hurts from pressing the “ignore” button.

It’s spelled “Incheon”, I apologize. Actually the correct spelling is a lot more complicated than that involving some serious Korean spelling from the actual Korean language but I don’t have access to that so this will have to do. I like Incheon because the downtown area is very close to the port. We took a walk today and saw the fish market, the foppa-toffel market and the bright-pink-women’s-clothing-market. I took the opportunity to flirt with some teenage girls of course. They were on some kind of school trip outside a big catholic church. We also met a real sweet, very talkative, catholic nun, who wanted to know where we were from and how religious people were there. She said maybe so much as 10% of the population in South Korea are Catholics but most of them are a little Buddhist on the side. I didn’t have the heart to tell her I was an atheist, she was really sweet.Speaking of nuns, you’re all gonna wanna have sex with me now because I bought the coolest hat. It’s the kind of hat that makes women swoon. I could get Princess Madeleine with this hat, no problem. This hat is so cool, I can wear it naked and no one will notice. My hat could solve the Israel-Palestine conflict. My hat is the destroyer of worlds. I out-hat even the Burtest of Reynolds. In short, it’s a really cool hat. I also bought some refreshments as seen on the picture. After last times green tea fiasco in Japan I decided to take a safer route and go with the grapefruit thing on the right, but then I got bored with myself and decided to also purchase the green bottle in the middle. I have no idea what it is, I haven’t tasted it yet, but it says “fresh 500” on the label. I find that very comforting. I also bought some cookies. 

The Sludge

We're on our way to Inchon right next to Seoul, good Korea. A few nautical miles to the north is the bad Korea where Mr Ill rules. Yesterday we met the USNS Effective. You gotta hand it to the americans, they know how to name their navy ships.

The satellite phone rings. The 3rd officer and the captain look at each other, a knowing look, and say in chorus “I ain’t pickin’ that up!”. Experienced as they are, they know better. Answering the phone might lead them to talk to some Chinese person, let’s say a sales rep from some sludge company or something of that nature (“sludge”, for those who don’t know, is leftovers after the good stuff has been separated from the Heavy Fuel Oil, the good stuff goes into the engine and makes it go, I think, and the sludge goes into a tank until pumped ashore). “Gunnar, can you get that?” Guess what, it turns out it’s a sales rep from the local sludge company in Shanghai.

“-Herroh, dis “%&3?+½§¤&¤” caarring from Shanghai Srudge coppanee, you want discharge srudge, yes?”
After 4 calls and some minor communication failures we establish that he wants some stuff faxed to him and I have to do it. I know now why it’s never a good idea to answer the phone.

Chinese pilots. There’s a thing worth mentioning. 2 pilots with 2 portable VHFs each covering 4 channels. In order to hear everything being said on all channels they max the volume. That, plus them screaming rudder angles in my ear. STAAABOOOH FAJJJ! (starboard five). 
The wind picked up slightly when we left the berth and this ship is practically a sailboat, she’s very sensitive to wind. When the pilot realize we are going sideways instead of forward, he got a little exited and raised his voice slightly. All his pilot friends on the other vessels picked up on it and took it up a notch too. The whole operation was silly. 

The captain on this ship is really cool, a bit too cool perhaps. I sort of wish he would be one of those badass police captains that scream at you for accidentally blowing up that warehouse but secretly respecting you for being the only straight cop on the force, dammit. He might be that captain, maybe I just haven’t pissed him off enough! Hmmm….I did do something slightly stupid today and he let me know. But it was more like a “don’t do that again.” than a “Goddamit, you’re outta control! Turn in your piece and shield!” Maybe next time.

On another note, who the fuck carbonates apple juice? The fucking Germans is who. It’s called Apollinaris – Big Apple, The queen of table waters. Yeah that’s right, they even claim on the bottle it’s not actually carbonated apple juice but apple flavored mineral water. But that’s just a goddam lie, now isn’t it? I tell ya, this pisses me off to no end. I suspect I may need sleep.

The Burt

My metabolism is changing, I can feel it. And I see it too. It appears I now have a spare chin right behind the original one. Just in case the original should malfunction or something, I don’t know. Can you see it there in the picture? Of course you can, it’s practically covering half the picture. I worry about it, you know. I worry that if that extra chin grows any more in size it might gain consciousness, realize that I am a threat to its existence, and try to take over my face! A Skynet scenario basically.
There’s a three letter word for my condition. The problem here is that the work is hard half the time, and easy-peasy the rest. But the calories consumed remain constant. I don’t know what to do about it either since the food is fucking delicious and there’s dessert every other day. And then there’s the candy, beer and coke(no, not the stripper-tits kind). I am trying not to enjoy life, but it’s so hard. 

We have onboard a VHF, a radio communication device we use to contact other stations and vessels to ensure safe navigation. How does it work, you ask? Have you ever seen the movie “Smokey and the Bandit”? It’s kind of like that, except I don’t have the awesome Burt Reynolds mustache. (No one does.) But it works the same way. You press the button and talk. Channel 16 on the VHF is reserved for two things, initial contact and emergencies, and all navigators are obligated to monitor this channel in case someone should need help. In this part of the world there is a somewhat lack of respect for these rules however. They sing. On channel 16. I can confirm the torture method of playing horrible music hours on end like they did to the inmates at Guantanamo. You lose it after a while. And there’s a guy imitating a frog. If I ever get my hands on that little shit-stain I’ll end his life using only a blender and a rusty spoon.

There are hundreds and hundreds of dead dragonflies on deck which further strengthens my theory that the Yellow Sea is not a sea at all but a swamp.

The Jinkuk

When I was a kid I liked watching the snow plow. That’s not the whole truth. I still like watching the snow plow. The clearing of snow, the creating order from chaos, there is something about it that pleases me greatly. Its twisted, I know, but I can watch it for hours. I get the same feeling, only milder, when watching Japanese stevedores load cars. They are fast, efficient, skilled, and they never make mistakes. It’s a science to them. Some highly intelligent short little scientist has recorded this stuff on video, studied it carefully while making all kinds of eyebrow movements, come to several clever conclusions, and written them all down in a manual. That manual has then been sent on review to other scientist who have agreed and disagreed, gotten agitated, called each other names, become quite angry at each other, but finally made up and decided that their friendship is more important than whether the stevedore waving the white flag should wear a pink or a green cap (even though the color contrast is clearly increased by no less than 12% in the latter. Clearly!). They have amended the manual further and made it even more perfect. Other scientists have continued this work for quite some time, centuries perhaps. Now, the stevedores follow this manual in every detail of their work and the result is astonishing. I want to live here.

I said earlier that we were taking the FRB, Fast Rescue Boat, out for a spin on Tokyo bay. It sounds sexy, doesn’t it? But in reality we have to ask the harbor master for permission to perform drills in port. And we got permission to use the boat not more than 20 meters from the ship. Even though we broke that rule slightly, it wasn’t exactly out on the Bay. But goddammit was it fun. That thing is such a joy to ride. It’s water jet propelled so there is no problem flooring it, 33 knots, and then shifting to full reverse. It stops on a dime. The steering in reverse on the other hand, is reversed, which messed with my head at first. But when you figure it out it’s so easy to steer.

We have three Koreans onboard with us fixing something in the engine room. One of them is named “Jinkuk”……This is all we ever talk about now. I suggested it was an old pirate medical term for unfortunate symptoms related to unsuccessful intercourse during heavy influence of alcohol. "Argh matey, tharr be no movement in the one-eyed pirate….me’ve come across the ol’ gincock from the wenchin’ and grogg, ay!"

The Sturgeon

I’m baptized. Even though I was expecting it to happen it caught me totally by surprise. I’m going down to have lunch, right, and security grab me just outside the galley, put shackles on me and my fellow heathens, escort us to the garbage room and lock us in. It’s 35 degrees in there and the smell is not all that pleasant. 5 minutes later a friendly face opens the door and delivers a case of beer. Oh thank you! Not quite. The case has been placed to simmer for 2 days close to the funnel so it’s even warmer. Have you ever tried 45 degrees warm beer? It tastes like sweaty sauna. 

Of course we drink it anyway.

One sharp engineer remembers the old “sock and water” trick where you place the beer in the sock and drench it with water. As the water evaporates it steals energy from the bottle thereby chilling it. Its freakin’ science, man! And it worked too. After only 15 minutes we had gone from warm beer to almost drinkable. And it got even easier after the first one.
Two hours later security comes again. They take only me. They snatch me away from my friends just when I need their support the most, and I am taken to a strange place I have never seen before. And there in front of me...as if magic...sits King and Queen Poseidon. 

The rest I cannot foreclose. Needless to say, I was educated and received the name Sturgeon. That’s the one they make Russian caviar from, baby! It’s all me.

Afterwards we had a big barbecue and I ate myself silly.

The mop

I’ll never again complain about cleaning my apartment. I’ll smile and do a little dance even, a little boogie. The standard for cleanliness in a vessel like this is high since the cargo is brand new cars most of the time. For me that means mopping. A hella lot of mopping. All day long. My apartment is 35 square meters. This ship has 60.000 square meters of cargo deck and we mop most of it. It’s the equivalent of cleaning my place 1714 times. And it’s not like the dirt on my floors either. At home I just use water and add some sweet lemony fresh floor cleaner goodness, swing the mop a bit and BAM, it’s sparkle city! But here the shit sticks! You gotta work it. And use motherfuckin mean chemicals. But I am not alone down there in the holds. There are 4 of us swinging mops.

We passed the equator this morning and are now back on the upper side of the planet. It still feels good to be upright again. Since this is my first crossing there will most likely be a baptism ceremony this weekend with a little humiliation and lots of laughs. One of the ABs have been commenting my haircut all week. He looks strange when he says it too. The eyes, they’re empty somehow. I don’t know what it means but I’m sure I will have lots to write about next week.

Next stop is Japan, Yokohama to be exact. Yokohama is right next to Kawasaki, which is more than just a motorcycle apparently! Who woulda thunk it? And Kawasaki, in turn, is right next to Tokyo. There will be lots of Japanese people there I’m sure.
Papa-san will come onboard then, the local duty free salesman. That’s not his name, by the way, that’s just what the guys call him. Because he is Japanese and, for it all to add up, someone’s father. At least we hope he will come onboard. Because of the…eh…incident. A haggling situation got out of hands when one of the ABs wanted to buy something for practically nothing and he would have nothing of it. Papa-san left the ship swearing never to return. We’ll see. I need to buy a watch. And a ninja sword obviously.

The Delight

In the car into Melbourne town the driver looked at me and said “Yeh gonna bey coald mite!”. As soon as I figured out what he meant I just answered “Listen buddy, I’m from Sweden, you know nothing of cold, ok!”. (Actually I didn’t say that, but it would have been cool if I did) Melbourne is a busy place with lots of construction and positive vibes. There is also an abundance of young “backpacker”-looking people. Plenty of blonde white chicks with dreadlocks, dragging a kid in each hand, all wearing knitted clothing. And it is no wonder since there seems to be an arts museum and a ballet school on every block and every ethnicity is represented. Found some really cool street art too. A culturally rich town it seems. But what the fuck do I know, I was there for a few hours only. I’m becoming somewhat of an expert on instant tourism.

When returning we met the chief officer on the ramp. He looked anything but pleased. My watch began with me checking every lashing on the loaded 400 cars because the stevedores had suddenly forgotten how to lash properly. Whoopdidoo. But it is very therapeutic work and a good opportunity to come up with some clever smartassiness.

The Candy Bar of the Day is none other than Turkish Delight as seen in the picture. I bought it in a quickymart in Chinatown, Melbourne, along with a bottle of green ice tea. How Turkish it actually was remains unknown. It certainly wasn’t delightful. It is some sort of chocolate covered red sticky marmalade tasting somewhat similar to hairspray. I was drawn to it since “delight” is another one of those words that sounds so great in the aussie accent. Duh-loyt! Come on, everyone, say it with me! The ice tea tasted like very uncared for high school swimming pool.  

The glue

I went for a walk in Freemantle town yesterday evening and visited the local Seaman’s club. 

I will pause the telling of this story for a while to give you immature little piglets some time to laugh it up, because I know what you're thinking! But a seaman’s club is, in fact, not a fancy gay bar where the disco never dies, mustaches run wild and everyone is oiled up and ready to go. No, it’s a place where crew members can go and use telephones, internet, drink a beer and play some billiards. Some seamen have 9 month contracts and to be onboard for that long can drive anyone insane, so it’s very much appreciated to leave the ship and be somewhere else for a while. In many ports, like this one, the club is run by the church and people working there are volunteers. They also organize transport if you want to go somewhere, like a shopping mall or a restaurant and they give you a friendly smile and a pamphlet about the benefits of guilt and how you killed Jesus. I appreciate this service, I really do, but on the other hand they want some of us to have AIDS. So I dunno.

Ok back to the story. It was pitch dark and as I was walking past a doorway I heard a noise right next to me. I turned and there was a guy sniffing glue from a paper bag. But I was super cool and not scared at all. 

The blackout

We’ve lost the internets. Of course the new chief engineer needs to get creative on his first turn, and of course he’s going to have ideas about surprise fire drills and planned blackouts! I can imagine how it all came to be. “Let’s pull the main switch and see what fucken’ happens, yeah!”, he says to himself after a few beers, smile wider than the face, face redder than the fire alarm button. He can barely sit down now, he wants to jump, jump, JUMP with joy! 
Unfortunately, to do stuff like this is exactly what they are paying him to do. We now know that the main panel for satellite tracking runs on UPS, Uninterrupted Power Supply, but the antenna itself does not. A very important lesson since this communication channel is more and more crucial to both safety and business. A “blackout” is when the ship loses all electric power from the auxiliary generator or the main shaft generator. All crucial stuff onboard, like bridge control, are connected to UPSs and should never go down. There is also an emergency generator that starts up automatically when the power goes out to run other very important stuff. Since the system is very complicated it has to be tested and the only way to really know is to try and make it as real as possible. But now the satellite dish is broken. Which is, on the other hand, not so good.

Obviously we have now gotten our internets back, how else would I be writing this on..eh.. its?

The eclipse

The electrician has doodled together some sort of gadget that downloads the stream from Swedish radio and hooks on the internal cable system. So all I do is tune into 89Mhz and I have Swedish radio in my cabin. It’s slightly wierd to be in the middle of the Indian ocean and listen to Swedish celebrity Linus Wahlgreen talk about his new movie and how upset the poor thing is for being referred to as an “artist” instead of an “actor”. Well gosh darn it, cry me a river.

Karaoke anyone? Well onboard this ship it is pretty much mandatory thanks to the Philippino crew. I am sad to say, last night I sang “Total eclipse of the heart” by Bonnie Tyler. I am not proud of what I did, but at the time it seemed like a good idea. I sit here now, tears in my eyes, it’s hard to breathe as the shame flows over me and reddens my skin like severe acne on a teenager. But I guess, somehow, my heart will go on?...no WAIT!….
…shit…

The snake

“WHAT IN THE FLYING FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?!?” That's my body communicating with me. It’s because this is the first real exercise I’ve had since the unfortunate incident in Åre last January. After the arm broke I have spent a great deal of time in a more or less horizontal position and now I am working hard. The ship is capable of carrying 6000 cars. Each car needs 4 lashings to make sure it doesn’t move. How many lashings is that, pray tell? It’s a lot. And you cannot appreciate how many it is until you’ve spent an entire day picking them up from the cargo decks. It’s like most jobs, I guess. Sometimes you have to bend over.

Today was 14 hours long. A foreman greeted me thusly: “Diss is Africa my friend and you are welcometoit. Be com-for-taybell!” And one of the stevedore asked me if I liked mushrooms, said he had a good dealer. And snake. “You like snake?”, he said. Instinctively I said no even though I have no idea if he was actually offering me reptile or if “snake” is some kind of forbidden aphrodisiac. I think I did the right thing but I must say I am very curious. 

For those who’ve been at sea knows that ships have a certain smell. The recipe is simple:
3 oily rags (preferably hydraulic)
3 table spoons of old grease
1 dl Heavy Fuel Oil 
3 dl salt water (1.025)
Put in blender and mix well. 
Set on fire.
Enjoy.
But in this case it’s not true. The smell of this ship is totally bizarre. Since the cargo is always brand new cars, that is what it smells like. I have “new car scent” in my cabin. And I’m not really sure how I feel about that.

The cute, the good and the soon to be extinct

At the Arlanda airport I spotted my friend Nathalie. Turns out we’re on the same flight to Frankfurt. She is later turning left towards Singapore as I continue down to South Africa. And I have so far met two South Africans. One exceptionally nice man who sat next to me on the flight to Port Elizabeth by the name of Cheslyn. He had been up in Johannesburg for the weekend watching a rugby game. Apparently his team, The Blue Bulls, had beaten some New Zeeland team and he was quite pleased with that. Together we went thru the trauma of the 3 landing attempts with harsh humor. Him, “I better call my wife in case we don’t make it…”. Me, “Can I have your puke bag? Mine is full.” He also told me about the new football stadium being built in PE for the upcoming World Cup 2010. He gave me his card. 

I also met the agent at the airport. He is hired by the shipping line to make sure crewmembers came onboard safely. He was very upset about the plane being delayed so long and wanted to know if the pilot was a white man or a “darkie”.

I swear, that’s what he said. Can you spell See You Enh Tea? He talked some more nonsense after that but I stopped listening.

The Flight

Have you ever tried to land a medium sized plane in 25 m/s windspeed? Well me neither, obviously, but I have been around for 3 attempts. One of them successful.

As I am writing this, I am sitting in the departure hall in the airport of a small town named George. It’s not Georgetown. It’s just George. Unless I got it wrong. But it matters not because I didn’t really want to come here and I wasn’t supposed to come here either. But apparently all flights have what is known as a “alternate destination”, where the plane will land if it can’t make the landing at the primary destination. I’ve never considered this because I’ve never been in a situation where I’ve had to before. The first attempt at landing in Port Elizabeth, that’s what it said on the ticket, was awful. I’ve never been so scared in a plane before. But the second attempt was from another angle and therefore even worse. I hate sounding repetitive but I’ve never been so scared in a plane before. The captain then proceeds to inform us, in an alarmingly care free manor, that we’re proceeding to the alternate destination, George.

The fear almost makes me miss the stunning mountains surrounding this town. Soon we will be taking off again to try once again.

some time later...

Do you remember back in the old days when people would applaud after the landing? Yeah that just happened. We have now landed where it said on the ticket, Port Elizabeth. This time the wind was stronger but at a better angle.

It was awful. I’ve never been so scared on a plane before.

The Q&A

Q: Why is this pretentious fuck writing in English? 
A: I have some friends who don’t speak my native language, Swedish, and I don’t want to exclude anyone. And besides, I really like writing in English. Furthermore, I can’t spell words like “regurgitate” without a spell checker. My current installation of a Word can only do English so there we are. In fact, I can’t even translate the word regurgitate to Swedish, and it’s like my favorite word. 

Q: Why would you even bother writing?
A: A few people have mentioned they’ve enjoyed my words before. They’ve said it, not in a sarcastic You-should-reeeeally-try-stand-up! kind of tone, but with a straight, honest face. It might be an elaborate joke at my expense in which case I am going to be very upset.

Q: Will you stand by your words on this blog?
A: Under no circumstances. I find that every word I have ever written has an expiration period of about 6 days after which I can’t say I agree with it or even stand to read it. I should probably write some sort of disclaimer. Or is that what I just did?

Q: What will you write about?
A: I dunno. Stuff. I’m on a boat. I could write some about that I suppose. But it’s going to be a bit messy this thing…

Q: Can you lick your own elbow?
A: I wish.