1991 was the end of Eritrea’s 30-year civil war with Ethiopia but it seems that 1997 marked the beginning of Eritrea’s printing and/or coinage of their own money. Over time, the government began to discourage private enterprise and travel, resulting in depreciation of their money, and the extinction of Eritrean coins. Today, 26 years later, the most commonly exchanged denomination are the 5 and 10 Nakfa bills. Sadly, the streets of Eritrea house large amounts of beggars. One of which was a skinny old man with a kind face, distinct jaw line, and a gruff white beard. He hobbled down the pedestrian sidewalk of Liberation Avenue in downtown Asmara, past a line of homeless, grasping tight his well-used yet sturdy cane and then he stopped. He had spotted a young Caucasian teenager and his mother, us, sitting in front of the towering Ave Maria Cathedral.
Bryce Rigney in front of Ave Maria Cathedral of Asmara, Eritrea.
Suddenly the man came alive, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a handful of coins, Eritrean and those from other countries in North Africa. “Hello, hello,” he said with his aged voice, trying to catch my attention. Interested and frankly board of sitting down in front of the cathedral waiting for Dad, I moved over to see what he had placed out for display. Unmasked from his chapped palms were a 1 and 5 Eritrean coins from 1997.
On one side, they displayed images of native animals that had once thrived amongst the lands. The other side depicted soldiers raising up the new national flag to mark their independence in 1991. I asked to borrow his treasures for a minute so I could interest my mom sitting a few steps above with what I had discovered. At the time I hadn’t a clue that they were of no value. In exchange for a couple of 1’s and 5’s I gave him a 10 Nakfa bill, which would most certainly be spent on his dinner that night. It was obvious from his big smile that he was delighted. Before continuing his walk, in broken English he informed me that the dates of the coins were manufactured in 1991 and tried to explain their original values. Then he proceeded down the sidewalk and blended in amongst the busy paths of other pedestrians.
For more information, I found a great short website about the printing of Eritrean money: http://africa.worldofcoins.eu/af-eri.htm
April 7, 2018 – e-letter sent from Port Suakin, Sudan
Hello Dear Family and Friends – Thank you for your thoughts and prayers!
Praise God that we made it safely through the Gulf of Aden w/o incident. Our engine worked perfectly and we are extremely pleased to report that the coalition war force (31 countries providing naval support in the High Risk Area) was monitoring the shipping lanes in full force to great effect. Many of our friends and family have been praying for us and we are grateful. We did indeed feel protected even when, on two separate occasions, what were later deemed fishing boats got a bit too close for comfort. When we became concerned, we hailed the war force coalition on VHF Channel 16 and the coalition sent over a naval aircraft to survey our surroundings. In both cases, the fishing boats moved on. It’s entirely possible they were simply curious fishermen. We’ll never know.
Kandu tied up to Port Massawa, Eritrea.
From Cochin, India, after 20 days at sea crossing the Indian Ocean, Arabian Ocean, through the Gulf of Aden and into the Red Sea, we landed at Port Massawa, Eritrea, a predominately Christian country with many active Orthodox Christian and Lutheran Congregations. We stood outside an Orthodox Christian church during service one Sunday morning near Port Massawa and the mass, with its cantering, sounded very similar to the Muslim cantering that we’ve been hearing everyday over loudspeakers since arriving in Indonesia. The women arrived completely covered from head to toe in mostly white linens…a few had colorful long dresses under the long white head/body coverings. Before entering the church grounds everyone stopped to kiss the wall or the gate several times and concluded the ritual with crossing themselves. No chairs or benches, there was a lot of kneeling (touching forehead to ground) then standing and then more kneeling during the service. The men stood on the inside perimeter wall of the church property instead of approaching or entering the church. Of course, the service was conducted in the local tongue.
Orthodox Church, Eritrea near Port Massawa.
We couldn’t understand any of it, so after 45 minutes, we wandered away to visit a nearby war memorial featuring 3 steel war tanks aggressively posed. The war-hammered tanks were impressive; the surrounding memorial looked similar not having had maintenance performed on it since erected. However, we particularly noticed there was no extraneous trash lying around. It seems the Eritrean government is keeping up with the monumental task of treating the ever-increasing problem of refuse.
Port Massawa War Memorial
The locals are friendly and Port Massawa, being an international port, albeit sleepy, some speak English along with Italian and Arabic – their official languages. During our stay, several locals spoke Italian to us hoping we would understand. With my meager 1 year of Italian study, I was at least able to respond back with “Buon giorno” and a few simple sentences. We toured the nearby village close to the port of Massawa (the once thriving city of Massawa is now a ghost town because Ethiopia shifted its international shipping industry south to Djibouti after Eritrea gained independence from them) where we anchored (several bombed out “memorials” are still standing).
Kandu Crew’s first Eritrean cafe experience, Port Massawa.
Rental cars are non-existent in Eritrea. Hiring by telephone a local 5-seater taxi was the easiest way for the four of us to get to the local village from Port Massawa. It was also possible to take the local bus, but since we didn’t know where we were going and the local stores are not marked and there were no local maps to be had, it wasn’t practical.
The government limits Internet. We found that the country is pretty much managed by a one-man show. Very impoverished circumstances across the board as modern private industry is discouraged and distrusted. Just about everyone there is thin. We four were a major curiosity as everyone there is dark skinned with African/Egyptian features. They see few tourists coming up the Red Sea. We learned after talking with a handful of Italian tourists that obtaining permits to fly into the country is very difficult, but arriving by boat was similar to most clearance procedures we have encountered. As a cruiser, obtaining a visitor’s permit was not difficult and handled right near the port on the same day we arrived. Money talks, of course.
Solomon our taxi driver tour guide extraordinaire!
To get to Asmara, the capital city, was quite the challenge. We had to obtain visitor travel permits. We would never have been able to do this without our taxi driver/guide extraordinaire, Solomon. Once permits were acquired, traveling from one unmarked building to another located far from each other, we then headed to the bus station to stand in line with the locals to catch the next bus to the capital city…traveling by private taxi to Asmara was prohibitively expensive, not to mention the fact – not a particularly local experience…which tends to be our preference. Once again our taxi driver/guide Solomon saved the day and finagled four tickets for us and helped us get aboard, otherwise we would never have boarded the bus.
Old “blind” Eritrean beggar counting his money after boarding the bus and asking for handouts.
Finally the bus arrived, however, it sat ½ hour before allowing passengers to board. Once boarded, it remained another hour before leaving. The bus ride itself was 4 hours, switch-backing up the mountains with one stop off in a town where children heckled the passengers to buy food and sticks for brushing our teeth (a little girl kept holding up a group of sticks to me smiling and repeating “Brush?” “Brush?” until passengers re-boarded. No obvious toilets were to be found. Trent and I stayed on the bus the entire break hiding away from the onslaught of eyes, vendors, and the curious. Bryce, the adventurer, is always a hit because he plays with the children. There was one small little boy that giggled the entire ½ hour hovering around Bryce for fun and games: arm shaking when a hand is proffered and throwing him in the air. I forgot to mention that there are sometimes available privately owned vans that transport people, commodities, and goats on the rooftop between cities, but these independent entrepreneurs are discouraged by the government and tend not to be any faster. They are quadruple the price but are able to sustain since there are not enough government buses to serve the traveling population’s needs.
At the Asmara bus station area we were met by a most wonderful, pre-arranged host, Abel, the nephew of Eritrean friends of ours who years ago emigrated to Los Angeles. Bryce and Trent had swam on the Westchester YMCA swim team with their daughters. Without Abel’s help and guidance, we would have been completely lost….no Internet = no Google = no written travel guidance…you get the idea. Being the only white people at the bus stop, Abel had no trouble locating us in the otherwise hectic bus area. When he pulled up next to us in his white, beat up Toyota sedan, Eric asked, “How did you know it was us?” Abel laughed showing off a beautiful white grin. We discovered that speaking French together was the easiest as he had grown up in France and he felt uncomfortable speaking English. It was great to make use of our French again!
Abel and his beautiful family.
In his car, he toured us around the city showing us the sites and the lay of the land. Then he brought us to our hotel. We hadn’t realized that even the hotel didn’t accept credit cards. The country no longer supports credit cards or ATMs. So we couldn’t stay in the “expensive” international tourist friendly (i.e., running water) hotel because we hadn’t brought enough US cash to turn into Nafka, nor did we want to stay in that hotel because it was too expensive for us mostly because we would have had to book two rooms. The hotel manager suggested we try the next door sister hotel frequented mostly by locals. To our surprise, the Hamassien Hotel is an Eritrean historical site, featured on post cards and Asawa tourist brochures, built by the Italian colonists 100 years ago. It was a bit musty for sure and the furniture somewhat threadbare, yet clean with charming tall, narrow wooden shuttered windows which opened up widely so we could see a bit of the city.
Hamassien Hotel in Asmara, Eritrea.
Since we stayed in the cheaper ‘Hamassien Hotel,’ rather than the Intercontinental Hotel next door, we experienced the city’s normal and constant water shortages.
Sitting room as part of our hotel room in Hamassien Hotel, Asmara, Eritrea.
Our hotel staff regularly fills up the bathtub with water to use with buckets to flush the toilet and to wash with when the running water is diverted to another part of town. No water heaters, the water in the tub was frigid. Needless to say, we didn’t take showers, just spot cleaned! Water in Eritrea is expensive. Drinking water even more so.
Later that evening, Abel joined us to catch some dinner at a nearby western-style café. From our centrally located hotel, we could pretty much walk everywhere that was of interest, so we headed down to the main street “Liberation Avenue,” their “Champs Elysee” or “Rodeo Drive,” and just off the avenue found a burger place to satisfy our hunger. The ‘meat’ hamburgers were actually filled with vegetarian patties…tasted good though. Eric dove into a local dish of pit bread pieces in a tomato sauce with cheese and tiny bits of meat, a version of lasagna is how Eric described it.
Liberation Avenue, Asmara, Eritrea.
Liberation Avenue was bustling with pedestrians out to enjoy the nightlife – not out because of the ‘cooler’ weather. In fact, it was cold. Normally in the hot tropical/desert areas where we’ve been traveling the past three years, people venture out at dusk when the sun sets. As the air cools down, businesses in Polynesia, Vanuatu, Indonesia, Malaysia and India to name a few, tended to reopen from 3 or 4 pm to 9 pm. The typical nightlife type businesses were open in Asawa (restaurants, cafes, bars), but banks, government and most stores closed on the “Western” clock at 17h00. Eritrea is not very humid or tropical. It is either flat and desert or mountainous and dry – hot or cold – very little in between. Fortunately well warned by our taxi driver/guide Solomon in Massawa, we brought warmer clothes than shorts and T-shirts, yet we were still not quite prepared for the onslaught of the night’s cool breezes.
Having arrived in a faraway port town without internet access, we thought the country’s capital might offer some options. The hotels proudly advertised free Internet access, which proved nearly useless. But even in downtown Asmara there was no serviceable Internet cafes. You could pay for an hour and not be able to connect at all. The Internet café’s were useless. Bryce would stand outside their glass windows to measure signal strength, to be disappointed every time. Also credit cards are not accepted anywhere—cash only. They accept US$ but we exchanged our US$ into Nafka, Eritrea’s currency, because it’s easier; 15 Nafka to 1 USD. A “hamburger” and fries went for 45 Nafka. Our bus ride was 30 Nafka or US$2.
Aside from the official buildings and the churches, the capital city looked worn, with many closed businesses, no active cinemas (previously functioning ones were all closed) nor malls. In fact, the capital city shows very little benefit of international trade and industry – with the exception of small clothing stores, some liquor stores, small limited grocery type stores and a central market where they sell staple items like flour (they are very proud of their delicious Italian type bread called “pan”), rice, coffee, fruits and vegetables (mostly onions, tomatoes, chili peppers, watermelons and bananas) and goats.
Coffee shops on the main street are popular serving Italian coffees and tea, but few can afford to eat out at restaurants. We understand with unemployment so high, most men get together to discuss non-existent income opportunities and the much-anticipated passing of the president. Some bars exist, serving inexpensive Eritrean alcohol, but still too expensive for locals. Unlike Muslim countries, clothing for women is not heavily restrictive. Women in the capital wear tight leggings/jeans and close fitting tops. However, you rarely see a woman wearing shorts or skirts/dresses cut higher than the ankle. Although not required, 75% of the women wear head and sarong type coverings perhaps to keep off the dust. I didn’t wear tank tops off the boat, but I did wear knee-length shorts covered by knee-length Indian tops. Men wear pants, few shorts, and button-down shirts, T-shirts, and polos. All wore sweaters at night in Asmara against the cold. Clothes are well worn. There are many beggars.
People squat on their feet when they get tired of standing…they rarely sit down as there are no benches and the ground is dirty with feces and spit. Very little rain – the streets and walkways are rarely cleaned…maybe swept. Paved roads and tiled sidewalks (remnants of the Italian colonization up until 1941) are found in the capital and on main roads…the rest is hard packed dirt. Dust pervades everything, covering your clothing and sweaty skin. The very poor people near Port Massawa live in small communities of tin shacks with dirt floors – no running water.
The second day in Asmara, the four of us set off to find breakfast and the National Museum of Eritrea. Asking many people along the way where to find it, we got closer and closer, yet couldn’t seem to locate it. We asked some students who shrugged their shoulders. Turns out, I saw the sign directly across the street from where we were just inquiring. Eritrea has many archeological sites and some of the findings were displayed at their three-room museum. A replica of the rare, very early human skull of a woman found in Eritrea was centrally displayed.
Ave Maria Cathedral, Central Asmara, Liberation Avenue, Eritrea.Inside Ave Maria Cathedral, Asmara, Eritrea.
We then walked around back to the town’s main street to visit the impressive Ave Maria Cathedral, which unfortunately didn’t open to visitors until 3:00 pm. (We did return later and found it absolutely beautiful and impressive on the inside.) So we headed off to find a special area called Medeber, where used metals and items are recycled, turned into new things for sale. After much walking, getting a little lost, and asking people along the way, we found it and the effort was worth it. Men and women were industriously working on many projects, the women working on sorting dried chilis and the men creating new metal items for sale…donkey carts were available to rent for transporting goods. We stuck out like a sore thumb.
While friendly, most people didn’t want to talk to us long fearing that we were spies and that they would later be questioned. On the bus home, a nice looking, well dressed gentleman sat down with us. (BTW – we would never have been able to catch a bus back to Massawa without the help of our friend Abel. No one spoke English and the locals were so caught up in their own business, that they didn’t look out to help us…yet the beggars were all over us like flies.) The lightly bearded gentleman started up a conversation asking what were we doing in Eritrea. I responded, “We’re here as tourists, sailing around the world on our sailboat.” He spoke English well and wanted to see pictures. I pulled out my phone and filed through our years aboard. He then asked, “Where did you stay while in Asawa?” “At the Hamassien Hotel.” I replied. “Why did you stay there?” he asked. In all honesty I countered, “The biggest reason was the price and the fact that we didn’t bring enough cash because we thought we could pay with credit card. Also, we prefer to stay in the same room as our sons who are young to be alone in a foreign country.” “I see…” he concluded the conversation, “You’re sailing around the world and need to save money.” These questions and his response seemed a little too curious to me along with the fact that he looked rather ‘well-manicured’ and very well educated to be riding the cheap bus. Eric thinks I’m silly to have such thoughts. Perhaps. But they really didn’t like Bryce and Eric droning their Massawa memorials before traveling inland thinking we were reporters or something. After an altercation, one of the 5 men convinced the others that we are just tourists. Who knows? After that – authorities could have been more keen to watch us.
RigneysKandu touring Asmara city streets, Eritrea.
I’ll have to provision in Sudan as anything we could buy in Eritrea was extremely expensive and slim pickings, so I didn’t buy much. I bought just enough fresh provisions to get us by: a large cabbage, tomatoes, okra, dozen eggs, potatoes, onions, oranges and a large watermelon. We’ve been eating through our dried and canned provisions in a big way since leaving Malaysia in February where I had stocked up. India didn’t have much in canned foods although we did find boxed liquid milk – the boys are drinking a lot of milk these days. That’s long gone…powdered milk is it!
All in all, Eritrea felt restricted because Eritreans have become increasingly oppressed by their own government since their liberation from Ethiopia in 1991 after a 30-year war. Today, Eritreans are not allowed to leave the country between the ages of 5 and 65, nor are they allowed to engage in much self-industry. Private enterprise is discouraged….wouldn’t want anyone to earn more than another….so everyone remains poor…no incentive, no hope. It was a sobering experience to visit such a depressed and altogether dry and dusty country with little active industry even though the country itself has excellent natural resources and is located on the Red Sea. We did our best to wash the 6 days of dust off our boat before picking up anchor and were ready to move on. Before we lifted anchor, Immigration came aboard to check if we had any stowaways!
Our total stay in Eritrea was 6 days. I wrote this account while sailing from Eritrea to Suakin, North Sudan, where Eric’s brother Nick had already arrived to meet up with us. Our trip up the Red Sea from Massawa to Suakin took longer than expected. It was supposed to be 2.25 days and turned out to be 3 full days. The Red Sea’s seasonal wind was already coming from the north (we’re running late in the weather window) – thankfully it was a light counter wind. But with a 1.5 knot counter-current, we weren’t progressing by motor quickly. Kandu is a slower moving boat anyway.
May 16th, 2018 – I planned to post this letter to our website while in Suakin, Sudan, but our time there was too condensed and brief before I could sit down to do so. Much has happened since our days in Sudan, like Egypt, where we had an equally interesting time. We are now in Cyprus enjoying our last days hanging with Nick.
We have been learning so much about this part of the world and are grateful for the freedoms we enjoy in the US and as US citizens.
Our Very Best Wishes to you,
Leslie, Eric, Bryce and Trent
Small Eritrean village hovering above the bus on our way back to Port Massawa from Asmara, Eritrea.
This article is also posted on the World Cruiser’s Noonsite website under Soaking in Sudan.
April 8, 2018
Before leaving Massawa, Eritrea, I emailed Mohammed Abubaker, Port Suakin’s wonderful yacht service agent, via inReach SE satellite text of our pending arrival. He had arranged a tourist visa, hotel, and transportation for my brother Nick Rigney who flew into Port Sudan from U.S. to join us. No commercial carrier offered flights to Khartoum, where visas are more expensive/complicated and U.S. State Dept considers the city a Level 3 security risk.
Kandu motoring into Port Suakin, Sudan. The ruins of Suakin Island as a backdrop.Mohammed Abubaker awaiting Kandu’s arrival.
Hailed Suakin Port Control on VHF Ch16 and 14 an hour before arrival. Not until 06h30 when we were almost at the entrance did we get a response, which after answering the standard questions (port of registry, size of yacht, number of crew and nationality, etc.), came immediate port entry permission and a kind welcome. Once well within the channel, we hugged the ruined city of Suakin Island to avoid the shoals of the channel’s opposite (western) side. Nearing the end of the season, we were the only sailing yacht except for an unmanned yacht anchored and covered in Red Sea dust. We anchored just south of the island, before the fishing skiffs, in about 20’: good holding on mud bottom. We were so guarded from swell that below deck, I thought we were in a well-protected marina.
Mohammed Abubakar and Eric Rigney clearing customs and immigration in Kandu’s cockpit.
Per my most recent email arrival estimate, the friendly Mr. Mohammed Abubaker (mo****************@gm***.com) was there to greet us, fresh local bread in hand. His English is excellent. He’s tall, handsome, cheerful, and has a deep bass voice, features worthy of a character-actor movie career. His white fiberglass panga/skiff served as our dinghy dock, from which he boarded our dinghy to our yacht, and efficiently collected our documents:
1 passport picture per person for the shore pass
1 passport photocopy per person
1 crew list
Charge for clearing the four of us in, including his commission, $220 USD.
He returned with our shore passes within a couple hours. Additionally we requested 600 liters of diesel (US$0.70 per liter delivered to shore in our gerry jugs), 2 10GB data SIM cards (US$15 ea), and to exchange US$140 (25 Sudanese pounds to the USD, an excellent exchange rate with the understanding that he’d buy back what we didn’t use). Our diesel jugs returned full within 3-4 hrs. Mohammad lent us his portable WiFi hotspot device gratis, so we could spread decent Internet joy among the crew installing one of the 2 SIM cards into the hotspot. (We hadn’t had Internet since leaving India, as Eritrea doesn’t really have anything useable).
Suakin Island ruins. After 100 years of no maintenance, the coral block buildings fell apart.
Visiting the Ruins of Suakin costs 10 Sudanese pounds per person (US$0.40) for an all day pass. Each time we walked around, we bumped into a friendly local authority ready to describe the ruins in his best English; very kind. After visiting the local museum a few days later, a short taxi or motorized rickshaw drive away, we had greater appreciation for what we were seeing, how old the site was and how quickly it fell apart.
That evening, Mohammed drove us in his worn four-door Mercedes to an excellent local herb-grilled chicken restaurant. Reading how traditional Muslim Sudan is, whenever ashore, Leslie opted to wear her full body Muslim dress and head scarf so as not to draw too much added glares against herself and the family in general. We saw many more men than women out at night (women made up only about 5% of those out after dark). Our tab for the delicious dinner of 4 chicken halves, 3 bean plates, fresh bread, 5 small water bottles and 2 Cokes was $14 total. No flatware or napkins, yet all food establishments have set up a water can with working spiget and a bar of soap to wash before and after. Air dry always.
Eric Rigney, Mohammed Abubakar, Nick Rigney at Port Suakin in front of Mohammed’s car.BBQ Chicken Restaurant in the adjacent village.
Mr. Mohammed answered all our questions and solved all our visiting requests. He was our dream official and guide. He drove us to the open market for fruits and vegetable provisioning, as well as shops that sold UHT boxed milk, pasta, and canned goods. He then drove our provisions and us back to the “dinghy dock.”
Leslie wheeling and dealing the local Sudanese merchants for quality produce.
He found a replacement 30l gerry jug for one of ours which its lid no longer held tight. And he arranged a taxi fellow in Port Sudan to act as a city tour guide (Mr. Gafar’s English not so good, so he called Mohammed to clarify whenever necessary. It worked fine). We took a 1hr public bus from Suakin to Port Sudan (US$1/pp). Mr Gafar met up with us and drove us around the port, took us to a fish market, to a wonderfully rustic restaurant for grilled lamb, and an open market for more fruits and vegetables, (we didn’t know how to ask to see the handicrafts bazaar), and drove us back to Suakin Island. There, he took us to the museum and to an awesome local bazaar to buy smaller aluminum jebbanas for serving Sudanese coffee. Total cost for driving us all around: $20.
Leslie and the boys decided to relax on the boat, while my brother, Nick and I went ashore to find some local dinner adventure. We stumbled across a small popular shack serving among other items a traditional bean dish, sprinkled with cheese, topped with fresh chopped tomatoes, onions, and greens, as well as a medium spicy oil sauce. They called it the “special.” Served with the local leavened pita-like bread, we dug into it with relish tearing pieces of bread to dip like tortilla chips at home and drinking small glasses of hot, sweet mint tea. Total cost for two, including 2 teas each: US$2. Note: I’ve been traveling awhile in ancient-culture nations, so I’m perfectly ok to eat with my hands, no flatware, communal plates, bread tossed on a rickety table, flies everywhere, goats, donkeys, etc. Tourists love it, tolerate it, or hate it. I happen to love it . . . a lot. The locals watch us with curiosity and esteem when we partake in their ways.
Early the next morning, Nick and I went to a flimsy blue coffee shack Mohammed recommended, and enjoyed strong ginger-flavored Turkish-style coffee served from a small aluminum jebbana, complete with a filter of dried grass stuffed in the jebbana’s spout. The ceramic shot glasses were half filled with granulated sugar. We spoke in informal international hand language. Flies, goats, donkeys, cats, hawks, local stares, dirt floors, rickety old timber construction, table about to fall down? . . . Loved it!!!
Clearing out with Mohammed was equally as simple. The cost was low, don’t remember because the 30l jug filled with diesel was included in the over all price. Another boat arrived, a French charter captain who’s sailed this part of the world for 14 years. Mohammed highly recommended we speak with Captain Jack. Jack gave us advice that we are exercising:
On the way to Egypt, stop at Sanganeb Reef & lighthouse to snorkel, buy a T-Shirt (US$15 ea. supports the workers), and tour the lighthouse. Per the Red Sea Pilot Guide, we just tied up to the lighthouse pier’s bollard for a couple hours as the current and wind gently kept the boat off the pier. We did all that Captain Jack suggested, enjoyed the pristine beauty and then easily untied and took off. Wonderful experience, super friendly people.
Check into Port Ghalib, cheaper, faster, and friendlier. Make arrangements with one of the two Egyptian Suez Canal agents before proceeding. Visit Luxor.
Skip Hurghada where a new bureaucrat charges boats a lot to check in again and all other costs are high.
Check/clear out of Port Suez after visiting the pyramids.
Stop in Ismailia, required anyway, and visit the wonderful yacht club but don’t leave it to go further ashore as we would have already cleared out of Egypt from Port Suez. Stay until the weather is good, but hopefully spend a couple days at the club: laundry, showers, etc. Hire a pilot.
Drop the pilot off in Port Said, but for the sake of your boat, sanity, and wallet (damage due to ship’s wake, clearing out is harder, more expensive, etc.), keep on going, preferably to Cyprus. From there, cheap flights can take you to the rest of the eastern Med for a lot less money and hassle than arriving by boat.
Suakin, Sudan ruins
Well that’s our experience and learning. We were one of 28 boats this season to stop in Suakin. We heard only 18 stopped in Eritrea. With Mohammed’s help, nothing could be simpler, easier, and more enjoyable than stopping in Suakin, Sudan. He really made it a great experience. If you have more time, I hear you might wish to see Sudan’s pyramids, precursor to the larger, newer Egyptian “copies.” If you want to scuba dive, you need to make arrangements ahead of time through the dive companies in Port Sudan. Most scuba operating boats are liveaboards and in high season, depart for a week at a time. We didn’t dive because all the boats were booked and there were no day trips available. We don’t carry our own dive equipment on Kandu. Just no space.
Sunday, March 25th 2018 11:17 am – 16th day at sea having left Cochin, India on Saturday March 10th.
We’re slowly but steadily making our way through the Gulf of Aden. Up until yesterday over the Arabian Sea, we’ve had a marvelous sedate ride traveling the Indian Ocean: motoring, gently sailing, motor-sailing. These last 4 days we’ve been just motoring. Only this morning the wind picked-up and we’re downwind sailing – the wind is behind.
Movie night starting at Sunset.
On Kandu, as with most sailing boats, downwind sailing is restless, uncomfortable business. After enjoying idyllic sea going for the first 15 days, rolling from side to side, rocking 30-40 degrees, sails filling and luffing, the movement is disconcerting and mind numbing. Stored food items bang around in their lockers while the clicking and clacking of the main and staysail add to the cacophony of sound. How can one think? And the crazy part was I had plenty of time to write and prepare the state and federal income tax returns before the incessant movement began – yet I didn’t. Somehow even in the calm, I couldn’t focus and center my thoughts. Perhaps we all needed some brain and body downtime from all the work accomplished in Malaysia, the massive cultural differences experienced in these latest countries, the fast-tracked sightseeing in India, and then the preparations for departure for 23 days across the historically notorious pirate infested waters of the Gulf of Aden.
Now after 16 days at sea when all the fresh fruits and veggies have been consumed and life aboard is rather exhausting because it’s impossible to sleep well for all the movement, it seems I can focus my thoughts. Silliness I know. Perhaps I can attribute it to a couple things: the fact that I’ve had enough mental rest, and the other, the heightened insecurity of having entered the High Risk Area (HRA) which is forcing me to be diligent and thoughtful. We’re sailing on the southern edge of the shipping corridor…closer to Somalia than Yemen. Yemen is presently in civil war. Six weeks ago, Yemenese soldiers tried to close the strait between the Red Sea and the Gulf of Aden. We heard before leaving India that their efforts to control the international shipping lanes endured about 2 hours before international navy warships “scared them off,” whatever that really means.
Every hour on the VHF radio Channel 16 since we entered the Gulf of Aden we hear:
“Securité, Securité, Securité
All ships, all ships, all ships:
Please contact the war force coalition (31 countries) on Channel 16, of suspicion or illegal activity.”
Every morning a coalition war force navy plane circles overhead and contacts us to make sure we’re well. This a.m. it was a Japanese voice that hailed us directly, by our vessel’s name, and announced that the surrounding waters were clear of all boats (suspicious fishing boats). The day before, we had experienced a fishing boat and 3 skiffs approaching us within 1 mile. The mother ship stopped right in front of our path. We contacted the war coalition on VHF. I hailed them three times while getting no answer until in the heat of the moment, I added that we were “under attack.” Eric proceeded to change our course 180 degrees motoring full-speed at 2200 rpm away to see if they’d follow. It turns out that the fishing boats did not follow. The war coalition couldn’t hear our initial hails. When a closer merchant ship heard we were under attack, it relayed the message to the warship coalition. Eric explained to them that we were not under attack after all. Still, they wanted to know our position and details; they even sent the naval aircraft overhead to check on us. It was reported as a non-incident. I felt quite foolish, the excitement of the moment having gotten to my head.
The day after that incident, having experienced positive results, brought a sense of security due to the coalition’s dominating presence in the area and the additional piracy deterrent: the weather. Wind and seas increased making it difficult for skiffs to travel over the sea’s surface. These factors combined, our worry over pirate threat dramatically lessoned since entering the Gulf. Perhaps this lessoning of worry is what is allowing me to focus my prevailing thoughts: thoughts that have been swirling about my head these past months.
Thoughts such as: “Why are we traveling on a sailboat engaged in this around the world trip?” “What purpose is it serving?” Answers to those two questions are constantly changing. Most of the time, I find our travels with the boys are serving well. Other times, like in this moment, after spending 16 days at sea, as if standing still in time, I wonder “What’s it all about?” (That’s to be sung to the pop tune!! Haha)
Other questions that I have been chewing on during this passage in particular: What does this navy warship coalition think of our decision to sail in the HRA (High Risk Area) Gulf of Aden and Red Sea maritime corridor, and what does the UKMTO (United Kingdom Maritime Trade Operations) with whom we’re regularly sending position reports think? Are we a nuisance or are the coalition and this incredible maritime protection community happy to protect all seafarers in the quest to allow world freedom of travel and commerce in the betterment of international trade and understanding? Are these just high-minded thoughts? Probably. However, I like to think that if the American belief of “freedom of speech” is a right, it follows that the “freedom to travel” is also a right. After all, a couple thousand years ago, the Romans worked very hard to create roads and to protect those roads to allow safe travel through their territories. Most certainly, there are risks when engaging in both practices. Are these freedoms ‘rights’ or ‘privileges?’ Either way, they constantly need to be protected, even when it’s uncomfortable, expensive and unpopular to do so.
Bryce Rigney presenting his Eagle Dive off the bow.Trent Rigney jumping into the Gulf of Aden.
On one of the becalmed days of this passage, Bryce and I were together on the front deck. Looking out over the expanse of glassy waters, a light haze permeated the sky such that the horizon opposite the setting sun was undistinguishable. The color was so unusual: a very light purple-blue hovering closest to the water and a mauve to pink coloration closer to the sky—a magically serene moment. Thousands of schooling fish were running on the surface likely being pursued by predators…sunset is the best hour to catch fish, evidently known by the fishworld too. Individual trails of water marked the individual fleeing fish. In every direction we looked, we could identify large schools of these fleeing fish interrupting the mirror quality of the sea – the activity continuing on past sunset’s lingering light. Mesmerized, Bryce and I shared this delicious moment of wonder and peace, quietly chatting together in awe of the wondrous spectacle of nature playing out, seemingly just for our benefit. If we didn’t have the freedom to travel, this moment would never have been.
Life Aboard on long passages – a stream of thought…
One evening during our passage across the Indian Ocean/Arabian Sea, I popped up into the cockpit from under the cabin, from the galley where I was cooking dinner, and looked forward over the ocean towards the descending sun. The sun was fluorescent orange, radiating intense color. The ocean glistened dazzlingly like I’d never seen before in shades of gold, silver and opalescent blue. It reminded me of a book I read that said we on earth see things through hazy lenses. If we were to remove those glasses, we’d see that everything on earth including ourselves is sparkling and scintillating with energy. In that moment, I felt a little outside myself witnessing that magnificent, brilliant beauty.
The four of us have been occupying our time differently – sometimes together, other times independently. We come together in the morning to eat breakfast if I make something special. Today is so bumpy that we independently ate cereal and milk. In the late afternoon or early evening, we assemble together in the cockpit to share linner (lunch/dinner) or dinner over conversation and to enjoy the coolness under the setting sun.
Trent and Eric Rigney furling in the Genoa.
Eric spends a great deal of time communicating with our InReach Satellite texting system. He follows the weather, sends UKMTO position updates, posts to our RigneysKandu FB account and catches up with family and friends. Text-chatting with friends seems his hobby. Of course, he is regularly busy captaining our space/water vessel making sure we’re on course, that the engine and fuel are in order, making water, setting & trimming sails, etc. He’s been working with the boys on writing a paper about designing an act of civil disobedience, inspired by our visit to Malaysia and especially India and our study of Gandhi. We are all working on new vocabulary words. Today is a test on comprehension and spelling.
Trent Rigney boatschooling.
Bryce, Eric, and I are enjoying downtime watching episodes of the popular British television series, “Downton Abby,” sometimes together, but mostly independently during our night watches. We discuss together the characters, plot development, historical significance, English aristocracy, the World Wars, editing, acting styles, etc. . . . much food for discussion. Trent has been watching a video that my parents bought for us to improve one’s “mental math.” He’s been working those techniques into his math skills.
Yesterday, Eric and I finally showered after several days. The night before, I could hardly sleep against my own stench. Showering is a bit of work. We have a shower inside, but it is currently utilized as our large item storage locker harboring our Hookah air compressor, two folding bicycles, extra life jackets and other bulky items. So, we shower outside on the poop deck where a large cooler is stored and acts as a seat. When it’s windy, the experience can be very refreshing. The shower water is warm if the engine has been running. And, of course the boat is rocking. We sit lightly atop the cooler and wash positioning our feet in such a way as not to slip on the soapy, slippery deck. The boys go down below when I shower. I go down below when they shower. Only Eric has the luxury of not caring who’s showering or if he’s showering. We are all careful with the use of water as it takes hours and precious gasoline to convert salt-water to fresh with our reverse osmosis desalinator. Yesterday, two large ships were motoring at full speed past our starboard side as I was showering. They were a minimum of 4 miles away but I wondered if anyone aboard had binoculars – our lovely colorful gennaker was flying. Someone might have enjoyed a couple shows.
Bryce and Trent often say to me these days “Mom, you’re so small.” I reckon that’s their way of telling me they love me because it’s said in such a loving way and often accompanied by a squeeze or hug. Or perhaps they’re pleased with their growth spurts. Either way, as small as the boat is, we find ways to be kind to one another. We also find ways to carve out our own space. Half a day might go by and I won’t have spoken or related to one or any of them.
Bryce and Trent Rigney: Kandu Crew!
Passage life makes one lethargic. Accomplishing something is by shear will of spirit. We all try to be complimentary to each other and outright thankful when one of us has completed a necessary but challenging task (everything is challenging when the boat is rocking even 10 degrees): making water, transferring diesel, raising the gennaker, jibing, cooking, washing dishes, vacuuming, doing homework, etc. Watching movies is the easiest thing to do. Even reading can be difficult. By being outwardly thankful to one another, it’s our way of encouraging and being encouraged…even taking a shower gets praise!
Kandu making it’s way through the Gulf of Aden.
During my ‘study time,’ I’ve been dividing my interests into learning the geography and world history of the areas we have recently seen and are soon to visit: Indonesia, Malaysia, India, Somalia, Eritrea, Ethiopia, Sudan, Egypt, and Israel. The depth of ancient political and religious diversity and trade is so profound. It’s no surprise these countries struggle to find themselves and prosper. In North and South America, the indigenous cultures were basically destroyed and/or blended by force, and the colonial enforced languages (English, Spanish, Portuguese, French) dominate their modern communications. Although more are spoken, there are 23 languages officially declared in India, each protecting special long-standing cultural traditions. But if an Indian wants to communicate widely, English is their go-to language. Ashamedly, I thought most East Indians spoke English, but only the higher educated actually speak some English. A similar situation exists in Indonesia and to a lesser degree in Malaysia where Bahasa is considered the official language. Various dialects of Bahasa make communicating widely difficult…so many Malaysians prefer to speak their local village tongues and then English. Some we met speak only English.
In the US and Canada, cultures are allowed to thrive. However, looking in from afar, I see that through our mass-education system and the media, we are brainwashed, which isn’t always a bad thing. By such a process, we have a more homogeneous society, blending traditions and religions together. Recognizing our similarities is the key, trying to understand each other’s cultures, being forgiving, accepting and especially being open-minded. Of course, problems pervade. The fear-based human condition of greed and cruelty is challenging to conquer.
My other, for lack of a better term, ‘hobby,’ or interest, is soul-searching spirituality. During our passages, lacking television plus other distractions, I have been reading a myriad of historical religious, but mostly spiritual related books: “Great Lion of God” by Taylor Caldwell about Apostle Paul, “Harlot By the Side of the Road” uncovering and explaining hidden biblical scripture by Jonathan Kirsch, “Siddartha” by Herman Hesse – read after we visited the Buddhist temple Borobudur in Indonesia. “The Story of Mohammed” by Harry Richardson a disturbing book which Eric read to me about the beginnings of Islam, “The Good Earth” by Pearl S. Buck that all four of us read and studied together, “World Without End” by Ken Follett about English middle ages and the Catholic Church, “Bridge Across Forever” by Richard Bach regarding a soul-mate couple that struggles to understand and to bring out the best in one another spiritually. Most importantly, a friend suggested that I read “Journey of Souls” by Michael Newton and “Same Souls, Many Bodies” by Brian Weiss.
These two latter books have answered so many of my questions about life’s purpose on earth, collective thought, quantum physics, existence after death, our soul’s earthly struggles, and the pervading message of: living on earth together in peace and sharing the planet healthfully while learning, teaching, and understanding each other. Love, kindness, generosity, compassion, forgiveness, anger-management, empathy, patience, free-will, open-mindedness, inner-contemplation, prayer, meditation and spiritual connectedness – these concepts have been utmost in my own learning.
“The past is history; the future, a mystery. Today’s a gift, that’s why it’s called the ‘present.’”
With all this soul-searching, I remain at a loss as to what I’m to do when we return home. I’m certain to continue to be involved in music, making and teaching, plus of course, helping the boys to achieve their educational goals. I’ve decided that I want to be more politically active in legislation regarding environmental issues, and gun control, and religion. Plus, both Eric and I will need to return to work . . . perhaps more travel once we’ve financially recovered. In any case, it’s a mystery. Appreciation of what we’re doing right now is paramount. We don’t want to miss experiences and possibilities presented in the moment. Even during these active travels, complacency abounds and the draw of comfort is all too real: escaping into sleep, losing self in games and/or movies (entertainment), not exercising, becoming irritable and picky, and a general failing to be grateful for the opportunities, beauty, protection and love that surrounds us. In our little space capsule on the open ocean – alone to ourselves – there is so much beauty and there are so many lessons to learn if one choses to be present and aware.
Rigneyskandu wishes a Merry Christmas 2017 and a Happy New Year 2018 to our dear friends, family and followers. We’ve experienced a formidable year sailing north through the South Pacific, Torres Strait, Timor Sea, Java Sea and the Strait of Malacca.
Christmas on the Hard 2017 at Pangkor Marina, Malaysia.
We made the cover of December’s issue of The Argonaut – a West Los Angeles newspaper. Have a look! Somehow it seems appropriate. The definition of the word ‘argonaut’ is: an adventurer engaged in a quest. RigneysKandu’s quest is to share to our friends and family that the world isn’t scary…it’s grand and awesome!
“I don’t feel I’m living a dream. I feel I’m living. I think we all are, in our own way, living our values. It’s not what we say, it’s what we do that matters most. I imagine no life is stress free. Mine is very stressful. We’re spending our savings to be with our boys as we explore the cultures of those with whom we share the planet. But I’m having to pass up a lot of special places along the way. Oh, poor me, I don’t get to experience Thailand this month. Sounds ridiculous, right? But think of all each one of us has, how we spend our good fortune too often thinking about what we wish we could do, not realizing we are already doing so much. Do we trust each has a purpose and God will provide or do we just hope it might be true for us someday in the future? I’m learning supreme lessons because this experience kicks my ass on a regular basis. But they are only learned if I put them into effect. I hope I do, or what a supreme waste. I think no matter where we are, the same holds true. You don’t have to spend your savings and leave home to take advantage of the beauty and the relationships that surround us. Your pictures of family and of sunsets show me that you are grateful for the life that is yours. Mine is not better, only different (more expensive!). We didn’t spend the holidays with family this year, but spent it with new friends. Not better, … different.” Eric
Here is the pdf version of the Article as printed in Los Angeles’ newsweekly paper “The Argonaut” : Argonaut_12-21-2017 cover story found on pages 10-12.
On one side, they displayed images of native animals that had once thrived amongst the lands. The other side depicted soldiers raising up the new national flag to mark their independence in 1991. I asked to borrow his treasures for a minute so I could interest my mom sitting a few steps above with what I had discovered. At the time I hadn’t a clue that they were of no value. In exchange for a couple of 1’s and 5’s I gave him a 10 Nakfa bill, which would most certainly be spent on his dinner that night. It was obvious from his big smile that he was delighted. Before continuing his walk, in broken English he informed me that the dates of the coins were manufactured in 1991 and tried to explain their original values. Then he proceeded down the sidewalk and blended in amongst the busy paths of other pedestrians.
