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Peter Breevoort Weblog » 

18 June '09 - 495 W, 1 I - + 35 - 60

We are on a 40 ft cat sailing the Indonesian archipelago. All the boys’ toys are there, diving gear, speargun, laptop with google earth, engine powered dinghy, kite and wave surf kit, chess board and a multitude of black boxed beeping and glowing navigation gear including a gps tracker.

We sleep out on the foredeck trampolines and watch the full moon, the full-on Milky Way, the sun set and rise again – forever majestic , the usual bright red and orange sash droooping along the horizon- and hoist sail, snorkel around a bit through the multicoloured coral reefs and kaleidoscopic marine life.

Indo is a hot and humid place, the sun is relentless, the 1st thing I did was get my hair cut with a pair of rusty shears by a local babu advertising her ‘salon’ on a dried banana leaf with carved letters: inside a creacking stool and a broken mirror.

On the first night we needed to have the boys talk and boozyness, reclined on the deck after having dropped Kate on shore among happy bubbly backpackers and set to it. Hours later the sound of splashing oars brought a slightly intoxicated Kate back, after having fallen into the water, losing her wallet end drowning her Iphone and attempting to cuddle up to us.

Anchored on Northern Lombok in front of a small village, had a look around, followed by herds of kids all smiling and gazing and tottering about us, making us feel rather Pied Piperish. A small boy clinging to the stem of a rising coconut tree cut some nuts of and offered them to us, helpfully chopping them clean and open for us to taste its luscious juice.  The village had seemed a quiet and restful place but a local ghettoblaster played Indonesian house music until 2 a.m. Then an hour later the dogs, both wild and domestic set  in a voluminous stereophonic opera in howls, barks, grovels, snarls and grunts. It was quite impressive: a growl on the left followed by loud and multi vocal howls on the right as the middle part barked rithmically in baritone. It lasted at least 15 minutes. Just as deep sleep was finally about to fall upon us the fisherman fired up their rattling gun like diesel engines on their wooden proas and reverberated past. Soon after the cocks woke up and treated us to an a cappela orchestra in cuckolds. This then was a sign for the immam to climb his bell tower and chant his incomprehensive and a-tonal  inshallahs. He seemed to be in jolly spirit and full of enthusiasm as he persisted until the sun reared its early rays on the Easter horizon.

Having left that behind us some days ago we are now sailing a steady 7 knots east on a calm sea and the Matheus Passion loudly playing over the onboard music system.

Sweaty greetings from 08 S, 117 E.

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