Daylight wakes me up, I find la madre, give her dieci dollar, which is more than the Portuguese told me it would be.
Across the street is the market, I buy some breadrolls for Rp.2000 from the worst looking young woman and walk to the police station. Sharply at 7:30 I'm there, make my presence known to the Kiwis and wait. At about eight I ask what's happening, they go "Oh, yes, forgot about that", call a couple of guys and tell them to go patrol Com, to see it. Apparently, they are new and haven't been there yet. One is from the Philipines (the Pilipines), the other Nepalese. A local interpreter comes along and then they are told that I'm to go with them. I wave at Stewart, who is having his morning coffee on his verandah across the street, he shouts "See ya later mate!" on the top of his lungs. The four of us jump on the truck.
Again, it's a beautiful ride, this time approaching the ocean from the hight of the mountains. It's spoiled only by the driving capacities of the Pilipino, who doesn't stop shifting gears on the automatic transmission. I'm in the passenger seat and on the verge of going for the steering wheel a couple of times. After swirling to avoid a buffalo and almost turning over the landrover in the ditch, the chauffeur slows down considerably and everyone relaxes.
The police don't really understand why they are driving me to Com and I don't volunteer any information. Eventually, they guess I'm a journalist and that's fine with me.
Back at the jetty. The whole boat is disemboweled on the concrete, there are at least 20 people doing things, I notice two boys wiping off Dave's CDs with tissues, three other wiping off all the exposed surfaces in the cabine, two cleaning the storage boxes, a man stitching some sails…
Within the hour they are all gone, everything is thrown into the cockpit in a big pile and we have to leave immediately, according to the skipper. We pull in all the ropes, including the 50+ m long one and there is really no place to stay any more.My mind is still occupied with Los Palos and the ride, but I'm on the small yacht, struggling with stuff everywhere, standing knee-deep in ropes, snorkeling masks and fins, clothes, dishes, and this guy is giving me directions where to drive the boat, he himself again having his "visual" on the coral from the bow, there is a slight drizzle on top of everything. He shouts to me to hoist the sail, put on the spinakker and keep steering, "And what about those dishes from breakfast?"...
Eventually I tell him that this is the worst departure I have ever seen and that a normal person would first organise his vessel, think of the course and all in all, generally prepare himself and his stuff before untying the boat and going somewhere. Strangely enough, he himself goes silent and starts cleaning up the boat, too.It's a good sail, strong sidewind, spinakker is out and we're doing at least 6 or 7 knots, without the engine. I'm getting the hang of it, steering the boat, the Rolling Stones are on high volume, flying fish jump from under the boat and stay airborne for about 200 m. Dave is lying and reading in his cabin, out of sight. The coast is truly spectacular, bright green with fluffy white clouds casting shadows on the hills. Com and Los Palos are far away in another life. It's lower 30s, I drink Cokes from the fridge, drive the boat and rule, knowing that I'm off her at the next stop.
Later in the afternoon the wind goes mad, the sea becomes rough, Dave comes out and has a steer himself. He is obviously pushing the yacht to her limits, I'm a bit afraid but keep a straight face. A gust sends the boat within inches of taking in water, Dave starts shouting "Hold this rope! It's your life!", I hold it and feel my life slipping away from me. It's the spinakker pole vang (or whatever), the spinakker goes up with the pole, the whole boat is shaking and I'm sent to the bow to take care of things, it feels like a real emergency and is pretty unpleasant. I pull the sails down and we diesel on. After consulting the GPS we find out our speed has been at least 10 knots, because we're close to Baucau, which is that visible town on the mountain after all.
Just after dark the anchor is out, 50 m from a beach in murky waters with a lot of phosphorescent things. On the beach there is a huge crowd, mainly children. Once in a while I shine the floodlight at them, there are at least 100 people, cheering. We throw out the dingy, Dave paddles to the beach, ties up the long rope, comes back with some of the locals, a couple speak English, we chat a bit, eventually chase them away (in our dingy) explain to them that they should untie the long rope from the tree, just in case. They nod, say they understand, paddle to the beach, put the dingy high and safe and just go. We untie the long rope from the boat ourselves and let it float, hoping it'll be there in the morning.
I sleep outside again, every once in a while shining with the torch at the suspicious sounds around the dingy. There are kids playing in it the entire night, eventually some teenagers come, chase the kids away and sit themselves in the dingy, smoking. After they leave, the kids are back.
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