leaving the islands behind

May 9 -- 2:14pm

It’s hot and muggy and I’m in a pissy mood. I’m waiting at the dock for a boat that’s already here, but it won’t be leaving for another hour and 45 minutes.

The scuba resort owner told me there’s only one ferry that goes from the island of Havelock (where I am) to Port Blair (where I need to go). That ferry is the slow one, a 4 ½ hour ride (I was on the “fast” one on the way here. It still took 2 ½ hours and was unpleasantly uncomfortable). The owner gave me the ticket and said the boat leaves at 2pm.

With a few hours to kill before then, I wandered around taking pictures, went on a nice walk, then took a rickshaw to Number 7 Beach, which is I read somewhere is one of the most beautiful beaches in the world -- or at least in Asia. It’s a cool beach. I don’t know if it’s one of the best in the world (or in Asia), but whatever. I dig it.

I made sure to be back at Café Del Mar well before 1:30, the time the “shuttle” (another rickshaw) was scheduled to take me to catch the ferry. The rick showed up at 1:40, we reached the dock at 1:50. I tried to board the ferry, but the ferry guy said there’s no boarding until 15:30 (3:30pm). The boat wasn’t delayed, he said, it was always scheduled to leave at four. Dagnabbit. I could’ve had an extra two hours to do whatever, instead I get stuck here at the dock. I called Café Del Mar to say they got the times wrong. I wasn’t able to talk to the owner -- just Jez, the annoying British hippie scuba guy. He said it wasn’t really the owner’s fault since the ferry times change a lot. Whatever. The guy handed me a ticket and said it was for 2pm, it turned out to really be for 4pm. Sounds like his fault to me.

So now I sit outside the packed passenger waiting room, swatting the more-than-occasional fly, watching goats and dogs fight for the used coconuts that were tossed into piles after people drank the sweet milk inside. I’m sweaty and uncomfortable and irritable. And I still have another hour and a half until the boat even leaves. I just want to reach Port Blair. I want to get to the hotel and take a shower.


May 9 -- 3:34pm

I’m on the ferry. After waiting in another of those hellish Indian queues, I am on the ferry. This one is actually much better than the fast one on my way over. It’s bigger. There’s more leg room. The seats all face the same direction -- and they recline! Actually they seem to be stuck on permanent recline, but I can live with that. Plus I’m in the direct path of a large (oscillating) fan. Nice. Now I shall rest, perhaps snooze, drink the (cold!) water I’d just bought and read my book. Just five hours till I reach Port Blair. Woohoo!

The scuba resort manager actually came down to the dock to talk to me an hour ago. He didn’t have to do that (and I never asked him to) but I thought it was a classy move. He’d felt bad about the departure time mix-up, which I appreciated.


May 9 -- 6:48pm

It’s night time. The ferry has been moving for a while. I read a few chapters of my book (an anthology called “St. Lucy’s Home for Girls Raised by Wolves.” I bought it a year ago after I heard the author on NPR. Book scholar that I am, I only just started reading it -- but it’s very good). I have grown used to the saran-wrap thing layer of sweat covering all my human and clothing surfaces. My lips taste salty. I decide to walk around and stretch my legs.

Many people sit in their seats. A few stand, sticking their heads out the portholes. On the dirty floor, some barefoot men play cards while an old woman sleeps under a blanket.

I walk up the steps and down a narrow passage I stumble into a food service area (is “galley” the proper word?). The menu taped to the wall lists times for breakfast, lunch and dinner. The dinner time was been crossed out by hand, changed to a time after which the ferry will have reached Port Blair. Was this done deliberately so passengers couldn’t have a solid meal? Hmmm... But no biggie. I’m happy buying chips. I eat them as I stand by an open rectangular window, watching the fuzzy reflection of the ferry lights in the undulating waves of the dark sea water. The wind feels good against my face -- not cold, or even cool -- but cooler.

I decide I need to pee. I can actually hold it a while, but looking for the bathroom gives me something to do. A goal to reach for while exploring the passageways of the boat. I end up outside on the back of the boat, then outside on the front. It’s very dark. I can only see the silhouettes of the other passengers, talking in a language (or languages) I do not understand. I see bright lights in the distance. Port Blair? I can’t imagine there’s much else out there, at least much else with such bright lights.

The bathroom I find is vile, as expected. But at least it smells okay. All the toilets are in their own little rooms. The first one I check has a small palette of wood covering the floor. It’s floating in some liquid (water, I hope). I decide to look for another toilet.

I find a less objectionable toilet but it’s still a little strange. It looks like a bathroom would look in the 12 Monkeys universe, presuming the 12 Monkeys universe had bathrooms. I stand on two small metal platforms, each shaped vaguely like a foot, and have to aim for a drain between them, far, far below. A challenge, yes (and I can only imagine the challenge if I had to do anything more). But then, I am always up for a challenge. And I succeed.


May 9 -- 8:30pm

Finally, after traversing the reams of hotel check-in paperwork, and climbing up and down (roughly) a bazillion stairs, I am in my hotel room. I’m at the Megapode Nest, apparently named after some species of bird. Some species named Megapode.

I’m excited that I’ll be taking a shower. I would love for it to have hot water (haven’t had that since leaving Bangalore), but at this point, even if the water was piped in directly from the arctic circle, I would still be very happy.


May 9 -- 8:47pm

The water was only hot for 30 seconds, but man, those 30 seconds were AMAZING. And they allowed me to overlook the lizard that greeted me upon entering the bathroom.


May 10 -- 7:17am

I wake up naturally at 6:30am. I have to meet the airport-bound shuttle at 6:45. I must’ve passed out before setting my alarms last night. And I have no recollection as to whether I received my wake up call or not.

I hurriedly get all my stuff together, of course it’s strewn everywhere. I run around jamming things into my bag. In my haste, I slip on the non-skid (!) bathroom rug. I manage to brace my crash landing with my hand, right on one of my many little cuts. Now my wrist hurts.

I do a super-quick paranoia check (making sure I’m leaving nothing behind), the speed of which makes it even more paranoid. I run up and down the (roughly) bazillion stairs. I make it to the shuttle just five minutes late. Oh yeah, I rock.

On the ride to the airport, I get a call from Indian Airlines. “Oh no,” I silently exclaim. Has my flight been cancelled? Nope, just delayed. There aren’t many flights that leave Port Blair, so I’m fine with just a delay. And it was nice of the airline to call me.

Now I sit at the gate in the small Port Blair airport (whose airport code is IXZ, for some strange reason). I’m near the TV, which is showing something in Hindi (I think it’s Hindi). At first I thought it was a shop-from-home show. Now it appears to be a read-your-astrological-forecast-from-home show. I guess. Unless maybe it’s a shopping show that sells tarot cards.

Since another flight was boarding as I first came in, I sat in an empty seat in a whole sea of empty seats. And of course two minutes later, some guy has to sit right next to me. Of course.


May 10 -- 10:44am

It’s wild. I’m flying on the plane and a handful of people (in different groups) are taking pictures of each other. I’ve never seen that before. It’s been going on for fifteen minutes now. Maybe these are their first flights or something. Weird.

(Pix from Number 7 beach and the dock at Havelock? Click the link at the bottom of the previous post. Because who doesn’t want to see dogs and goats eating coconuts?)