Little Thai islands, plus Phuket, Chiang Mai, Chiang Rai et al

4th to 22nd February

Approaching the striking island of Koh Phetra

There are countless little hilly tree-topped white-beached islands on the Thai coastline stretching between Malaysia and Myanmar (Burma). The largest and most visited is Phuket. But many of the smaller islands have comfortable secure anchorages, some of them in a National Park where rangers appear at all hours to ask for fees.

(My conclusion a month later is that Thailand is best visited on land not sea. Boats that venture into Parks and marinas are charged eye watering amounts – though there are many exquisite and free uncrowded anchorages as well. But here at the Boat Lagoon, where I stop for a night to load new anchor chain, it’ll be about $50 a night. Yet visitors can find simple clean welcoming hotel or hostel rooms for under $12 dollars a night and experience all the delights of a marvellous country.)

Koh Muk and entrance to popular Emerald Cave (we swim through tunnel  to little bay, but I couldn’t swim with camera. Hence no photo)

Sailing slowly northwards I visit several islands and some popular bays on Phuket, where white Westerners are scattered on the sun-baked sand, big blobs and little blobs, in various stages of peuce, pink and brown, mostly 30 to 50, predominantly, it seems Russian, I hire a motorbike to ‘do’ the sights of Phuket.

Beach Life for sun worshipping visitors

There’s a wonderful calm lack of highway discipline such that we overtake on left or right, whatever way we want, drive contraflow on dual carriageways, and courteously refrain from using the horn. We smile at all-comers, ‘Road rage’ completely unheard of, but accidents commonplace.

A week’s visit to Chiang Mai and Chiang Rai makes a memorable and almost wholly delightful change from life at sea aboard Henrietta.

Chiang Mai Chinese Market

Chiang Mai may long have been a tourist mecca, and it’s a large town, but it seems supremely friendly, awash with good food and welcoming people, and of course the overarching, calming and beautiful presence of a multitude of Buddhist temples.

Chiang Rai, a much smaller northern Thailand town, is just a three and a half hour bus ride away. Armelle, whom I’d met earlier, and I go there.

And rather than expensive tourist trips to hill tribal villages, elephant sanctuaries of dubious credentials and busy temples, we hire a little pink motorcycle; and just muddle along very happily.

With just one night in each of several guest houses we whizz from super-popular and crowded and marvellous unorthodox modern Wat Rong Khun (‘White Temple’ ) to dark sinister and somewhat gruesome Baandam (‘Black House’), and museum and much more in between.

‘White Temple’….and…

…somewhat sinister ‘Black House’

At night, the markets of Chiang Rai are alive and bursting with colourful clothes, mysterious foods, and scents and bright lights, and music. The Flower Festival happens to be here too, one of those unexpected bonuses with this form of  unorganised and unplanned travelling. A festival, meeting, dance, concert, demo or party just sometimes unexpectedly comes along……

The motorbike ride up to to Doi Mae Salong,Santikhiri, an Akha hill tribe village near the Chinese border, is long and windy as the road climbs through tea plantations, terraced hillsides, lush bamboo groves and roadside stalls of fruitsellers. It’s growing blissfully cool in fresh mountain air.

A had had no breakfast

We enjoy walks in the hills (including one of those ‘we’re lost’ walks through rotting bamboo, scratchy tall grasses, pine trees and steep scramble slopes where, but for the miracle of smartphone GPS, you may not have heard from us again. And nighttime temperatures are cool enough to awaken my soggy somnolent tropical brain, and need a blanket. And the scenery is soothing and magnificent.

We’d lost the path

And, after our quick trip to the hills, and back in Chiang Rai, I bade ‘au revoir’ to Armelle, caught first pre-dawn bus to Chiang Mai, and via Air Asia and so on, was back aboard Henrietta in Phuket soon after dark (she’d swung and spun on a rented mooring buoy for over a week, the only way to avoid crippling marina charges).

Sharing a bottle of sweet mulberry wine in the hills

Though life on board is seldom dull for long, and there was no romance on land, I shall miss the happy friendly companionship of a lovely Parisian….and maybe dream of elephants instead…

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Langkawi, New Year, England, Thailand

21st December 2018 to 3rd February 2019

Christmas and New Year came and went with a bang, and just about quickly enough. Langkawi (perhaps Malaysia’s most popular tourist destination) is a pleasant enough place to spend the time, and after three Christmases of solitude it was good this time to share festivities with many friends. But, in truth one of the nicest things about January is that it’s 11 months till Christmas comes round again..

Happy evening bonfire at favourite Lankawi spot (secret!)

Always make me smile

Still fine after 35,000 miles

But alas I can’t do that either. Self-censorship decided against it. Shame…

Instead I’ll just mention that I paid a quick visit to my homeland, Britain, and realised that Britain seems from my point of view to have much too much of the ‘P’ but not much of the ‘R’ and ‘S’. And the only really nice things when I visited were seeing family and some friends (and, to a lesser extent, finding plentiful shops stocked with everything man could ever want, and much he wouldn’t. Oh and I value the vintage architecture, BBC, public transport, green hills, recycling and central heating.)

Family and friends, Topsham, Devon

Two sons and friend and scones for tea (other son has exams and is working hard)

Some Indonesian headgear in Devon

My local cathedral, Exeter

The current U.K. soap opera is called Brexit and it’s quite gripping. There are two warring families: one lot are called ‘Brexiteers’. Their henchmen mostly have double chins or double-barrelled names, and the support of an embarrassing and scurrilous organ called Daily Express (and, for posher people, a bigger organ called Telegraph). The other henchmen generally have better haircuts, but some have double chins too, and they are called ‘Remaindeers’ and their supporting organ is Guardian (which is also preferred organ of educated vegans and people with rings in their tummy buttons). But really they are both quite passionate and bubbling with the peculiar certainty of self-belief (me too). But this soap opera raises my blood pressure, and when I feel calm again it simply depresses me. Nonetheless as I say, it’s gripping stuff.

If you take Brexit seriously (like me), do listen to this series of podcasts Brexit A Love Story

Returning to talk of Britain, it seems most folk live in January swaddled in dark clothes, in neat little brick houses beneath overwhelming damp grey skies, scurrying out to work dreadfully long hours in brightly lit office complexes, endlessly burdened with angst and ennui over the Brexit fiasco, troubled with mortgages and rent, ill-health, Royal Family, celebrities (whom you and I have never heard of) and debt.

If nothing else it genuinely emphasises the extreme good fortune of those of us privileged to live and see the world from a little boat.

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The sheer horror of travel by aeroplane, squeezed for 13 hours next to a snorting sniffling giant person, whilst whizzing across – and ignoring – a huge chunk of our planet, convinces me that a slow boat is the only worthwhile way to travel – unless you walk or bicycle….but you’d only say you don’t have time, or that’s not what you want….

And so now I’ll bring this nonsense to an end and finish by saying I got back to Henrietta, bought some bananas, cleared out of Malaysia (local bureaupratcy requiring a half day of boring stuff, while I travel between the three well separated offices of Harbourmaster, Customs and Immigration…), and sailed north into Thailand.

I know nothing about Thailand.

After a week in the country day-sailing north from one little tree-topped limestone island to the next I can say it seems friendly. The first young fisherman, in bright red t-shirt, on a noisy ‘long -tail’ boat, greets me raising both arms high, shouting “Welcome to Thailand”.

It took a week to reach Phuket where I clear in. Phuket is of course a well-known international tourist island. It would be unfair to judge it too quickly when I’ve only been here a day. But it doesn’t seem to be my sort of place. Nightlife is definitely intimidating.

More another time…..

But finally before I sign off, I’d like to tell you of three Youtube sites which have some excellent film of the sort of trip this is. All three couples are young and competent with videos and editing, and I’ve met them all  along the way. It gives a good flavour of the stuff that happens – from perspectives of Spanish man, French woman, British couple, American couple

https://youtu.be/w6d4_Gzjpd8

https://youtu.be/OMYmX8vvqFM

https://youtu.be/aOiBUUSsu_k

Port Dickson, Pangkor, Penang, Langkawi

27th November to 20th December

Another month sailing northwards (with drifting and motoring) takes us to Langkawi and Christmas time.

First then, I wish you a Merry Christmas, a good holiday, and health and happiness for 2019.

Malaysia has its share of seasonal stuff too, though lacking the scale and frantic intensity of Europe: but still with Christmas trees and twinkly lights, plump pink-faced Father Christmases, snow-dusted reindeer and so on. It seems absurd in a predominantly Islamic society where the climate is oppressively hot, brain-dribbling and humid (to the point where both snowflakes and overdressed Father Christmases would instantly turn to puddles of ploop). But Christmas here sells chocolate and colourful strings of flashing lights – all to the soundtrack of “Love Actually” piped insistently around the giant local shopping mall.

Dinner at a beach on Pangkor…

On the sailing front, I’ve enjoyed the company of friend Adrian on the sail from Pangkor to Langkawi.

Adrian on holiday

Colourful fishing boats everywhere..

…and fish farming

We’ve anchored in beautiful coves, swum in murky Melaka Straits waters, admired the sea eagles, monkeys and dolphins, eaten too well in many seaside spots – and took a full fortnight to drink the first bottle of whisky.

Winds have been fickle and seas usually calm, but the scenery as we near the Thai border is wonderfully improved over southern Malaysia; Langkawi island itself especially charming with its tree-cloaked hills and mountains and over 90 small offshore islands, providing endless blissful empty anchorages.

Like a scene from a James Bond chase…it’s just day-trippers in Langkawi

…who visit this UNESCO gem

The small low-key Rally, ‘Sail to Langkawi’, is over. Our final dinner evening and the next night’s cocktail party (alas! no cocktails) became border-line emotional as many friends bravely kissed and hugged farewells.

European friends at final dinner

Australian and American friends (cocktails-not) …

For many of us it was the end of over five months’ adventures and shared excitements, so tears were often near the surface, hearts bursting with emotions (not at all British, of course, but these folk are mainly from more advanced nations).

Langkawi (and nearby Phuket) signal a decision time. Sailors must choose to go southwest then via Sri Lanka  west via Suez to the Mediterranean, or via South Africa, or southeast round Singapore and on east to Philippines and North Pacific, or back to New Zealand/Australia, or linger around here for a year or two or more. Seasonal winds (monsoons and cyclones and stuff) mean timing choices are limited, and decisions must be made soon. It all gives me a headache – so, taking a cue from British government,  I haven’t made up my mind.

I’m sure, I think I’m sure, everything will be fine in 2019…………..

Malacca Straits

(Puteri, P. Pisang, P. Besar, Melaka (Malacca), Port Dickson)

6th to 26th November

We’re in the Malacca Straits, West Malaysia. Malacca Straits are the narrow waters between here and Sumatra, towards the left of this map.

It’s the world’s busiest shipping route. About 100,000 vessels a year pass through to feed the energy demands and shopping habits of us all. It is sobering to witness the procession of vast tankers and container ships that surge between East Asia, the Middle East and Europe. Amazing too that there are not more accidents as ships and fast ferries, slow barges and fishing boats criss-cross shipping lanes in and out of Singapore, speeds are often high, VHF channels buzzing with constant communications (many with incomprehensible English). Shipping in the English Channel seems a quiet country lane in comparison. 

We head north from Indonesia, briskly crossing the shipping lanes, turn left at Singapore (their patrol boats strictly enforce Singapore’s waters), and go to Puteri Harbour, first stop in Malaysia and first marina since Cairns over four months ago. It’s in soulless, eye-opening contrast to the simple and untarnished anchorages of Indonesia.

From here, Malaysia entry paperwork is quick and straightforward, diesel is piped aboard (after months of jerry cans that’s a treat!), fresh potable water is at the jetty, my torn sails are removed and sent away for repair, my grubby body has a long cool shower (and another one), and a long cool beer (and another one).

And there are all the other trappings of modern materialist sanitised living – fine for a day; but my heart already misses the special beauty and unexpected delights of Indonesia. But our welcome to Malaysia is warm and friendly.

I’ve joined another rally. It’s a small one, ‘Passage to Langkawi’, and many friends, and some new faces too, are with me. (The trips, discounts and sociability make it a popular option for the 400 odd miles heading north up the Malaysia coastline.)

But the Malacca Straits are not a pleasant cruising patch: ships, at anchor or streaming north and south, fishing boats, nets, grubby water with lots of floating rubbish (everything from plastic bags to trees), a dull low-lying shoreline, fickle winds interspersed with violent squalls, currents, and a horrible overheated humid climate. (Makes me sound like a whinger? – but this really isn’t a nice area to go sailing!)

150 miles up the coast, after a couple of overnight anchorages, comes Melaka (the local spelling for what you may know as Malacca), a World Heritage City. It has a dramatic and fascinating history with centuries of occupation by Portuguese, Dutch, and British (and briefly Japanese); and for centuries preceeded Singapore as the main Southeast Asian trading centre.

Now it’s overrun with tourists and accompanying glitze, tat and colour – some good stuff too…

Alas! Sailing is seldom a leisurely way of life. In pitch darkness we’re awakened to howling winds, and then abruptly scurrying north out of Melaka’s anchorage as 30-40 knot winds hit us at midnight. Such squalls are called ‘Sumatras’ (always blame a foreign source!), and mighty unpleasant in a shallow lee-shored anchorage with poor holding.  Luckily none of the 20-odd boats or crew are hurt as many drag anchors and we toss and roll in roaring wind and choppy seas, and head offshore and north to Port Dickson.

Port Dickson has a comfortable marina, local shops, a swimming pool and more. We indulge in some silly and harmless games….

His name’s Trevor

…and have a day trip to Kuala Lumpur….see Batu Caves temple complex, Twin Towers, National Memorial, and lots more…..

 

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KL is a fabulous city and I plan to visit again. But it’s time to sail on north…..

Penuba, Lingga, Equator, Benan, Bintan – Tanjung Pinang

25th October to 5th November

These islands are all within Riau Province, Lingga Islands and Riau Islands being two groups within the Province. The former are little visited: to quote from the Cruising Guide, ”…almost zero English spoken..transport non-existent…locals a mix of Malay, Bugis and Hakka Chinese..”.  The Lingga Islands straddle the equator and there’s a long history of international trade through such a calm and strategic area (though Singapore of course now dominates such trade).

It’s scenically either splendid striking unusual mountain peaks or flat mangrove islets, and there are hundreds of offshore simple wooden platforms with families of fisherfolk. Sailing at night would be a hazardous business.

Clusters of these fishermen dwellings sprinkle the shoreline

Heading slowly north, more motoring than sailing in such calm and windless seas, we stop briefly on tiny and rarely visited Island Penuba, but after gentle stroll, quick and simple shopping, opted to miss the rally ‘festivities’.

…local family…

friendly market stall..

wandering on Penuba

A couple of days later Henrietta’s back in the northern hemisphere, Caroline and Joyce, crossing for the first time, celebrating and placating Neptune in novel fashion. Unusually there’s both a sea crossing and a land crossing hereabouts. We wander up steps to a peculiar equator monument on a peninsular in Lingga.

equator

Henrietta’s crew…

back to northern hemisphere

And next day motor further north to the island of Benan for more rally festivities (dancing, visiting school and eating…) and, prompted by party-oriented Americans, Halloween party – enjoyed by local people as an example of Western culture …(I cringe).

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Halloween….

It is then only a thirty mile sail to the island of Bintan and its capital, Tanjung Pinang, by far the largest city we’ve seen since Cairns, some 3,000 miles behind us.

Two of my crew leave on the fast ferry to Singapore, soon to enjoy a well-earned shower (though I shan’t publish the happy photo of post-shower pink and smiling faces!).

Going our separate way at the fast ferry terminal

I could write lots and lots about the joys and trials of sharing small boat life with two, and then three, women. Suffice to say, I’ve enjoyed the time and adventures shared, learnt much, eaten lunches, tried to keep my mouth shut and never thought of taking my shorts off. Ann leaves me too a day or so later, and I slowly return to the routines and rigours of single-handed sailing.

There’s a final rally outing around Chinese temples on Bintan, and to the birthplace of the Indonesian language, Pulau Penyengat (which alone would merit a chapter of a book…but here’s a photo or two instead….)

..and welcome dance..

Tanjung Pinang’s Mayor

another feast

Final port of call in Indonesia, a soulless modern resort for well-heeled Singaporeans, is where we collect exit paperwork and passports (and eat yet another final dinner!). There are many emotional farewells as we part from friends established over the past three months and more – though I shall stay close to many as we soon head north to Malaysia.

A trip to Penyengat – before the rain…

Belitung, Gelasa, Bangka

18th to 24th October

Love birds but no butterfles

Before leaving the island of Belitung and its remarkable islets of massive granite boulders, we visit a newly opened butterfly farm – so new that we visit on its very first day.

Alex, originally a Scot, is a youthful ex-teacher living with his young family near our anchorage. Rumour, which proved correct, had it that he was making pizzas; butterflies were a bonus, as was his exuberant and chattily imaginative son.

Alex and family

Butterflies were a problem though. Ideally they needed to be found at caterpillar stage when it was clear what leaf the caterpillar liked to eat (they are very fussy about their diet). Trouble was that caterpillars having spent ages munching leaves tended then to emerge as rather dull brown moths, not the hoped-for flashy butterfly. If caught at butterfly stage however, it wasn’t known for sure what leaf the egg/chrysalis/caterpillar would need, so offspring might simply starve, unless you happened to find the right leaf. The upshot of the complex butterfly reproductive system was that on the first day of opening there were only two butterflies, which we could not find anyway. But I admire such enterprise and enthusiasm, and can only wish success for such a venture.

Despite lack of butterflies there were some colourful vivid yellow and green love birds, in the vast netted enclosure Alex had built. And I’m always fascinated in the stories and plans of men like Alex who choose to pursue passions way outside the norm. Pizzas were a delicious treat too. On the walk back, a fabulous torrential downpour and early monsoon storm freshened the sultry hot tropical day.

..shelter and watch and wait….

Next day we motor northwards, winds these days very light and fickle. It’s a rare bonus to have the sails up and drawing.

We stop between coral reefs for a night off the densely wooded and uninhabited island of Gelasa. Just a handful of colourful little fishing boats anchor there by day, and fish offshore after dark.

Fishing boats at Gelasa

Then, with some wind at last, on to the next Rally stop off the large island of Bangka. A lee shore was the designated anchorage but with heavy swell it is uncomfortable and feels insecure, and landing means total soaking of all on board – despite willing help of local youths who wade out to their necks to guide the tender onto the beach. After two such landings and two sleepless nights we, along with several others, sail gently 35 miles north to a large empty peaceful bay at the northeast corner of Bangka. (Later we learn the swell abated a day or so after we’d left)

Sailing north, overtaken by ‘Anemos’

Numerous fishing platforms off Bangka

It’s Caroline’s birthday, 21 all over again. The day is sociable with morning ramble over beach and hill, and evening bonfire on the remote sandy beach with food and friends from most corners of the sailing world. Local Indonesians are invited to join, and shyly sip drinks and nibble strange western food. The inevitable photo session, complete with obligatory thumbs-up, is just part of local life.

Inevitable photos

A gentle walk together

Caroline’s Birthday

Such evenings linger in one’s memory as among the best of a sailing cruiser’s life, a harmonious contrast to the discomforts and limitations of being off the beaten track of normal dirt-dwelling life.

Kumai, Kalimantan, and Belitung

6th to 17th October

A fashion show!

The sail from Bawean to Kumai in Central Kalimantan was marred by running aground near high tide on a lee shore near the river’s bar. Even with very capable help from fellow sailors and an Indonesian tug, we were unable to float free for many hours. After midnight a wind shift thankfully helped ease us off. (In case you’re interested, Navionics charts are hopelessly inaccurate in this area!)

Welcome dance for Central Kalimantan 

Then followed a few wonderful and especially memorable days. First, an action-packed day that left us dizzy with new experiences: in the space of 15 hours on that one day we had welcome dances, lessons in blowpipe use (the Dayak weapon of choice, though we did not use poisoned darts), drinks of rice wine in Dayak longhouse, a colourful children’s fashion show (in torrential rain), a ‘getek’ race on local river (‘getek’ is local open narrow motorboat), two palaces, gala dinner with speeches and dances (lest you think these dances are all the same, they’re not – Kalimantan’s being much less formalised with livelier rhythm (and apparently happier participants) than Bali’s, for example, but everywhere the costumes are fabulous). It was a supremely well-organised and fascinating introduction to Kalimantan. Here are a few photos….

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Next day, we’re collected by our ‘klotok’ (local boat, colourful double-decker) for ‘the orangutan trip’; three days and two nights when we are spoiled and guided by the local crew – four of them for the four of us.

A busy spot for ‘klotoks’

These trips are the prime reason for tourists to visit Kumai, and in peak months as many as a hundred of these boats are navigating the narrow waterways to and from the various orangutan feeding stations, and allied jungle walks, and viewing – and hearing – the varied local wildlife (which includes kingfishers, proboscis monkeys, fireflies and the amazing cacophony of creatures whose loud orchestra fills the night).

More comfortable than ‘Henrietta’

Crew, Ati, Sabri, Faqih and Oji, happy with t-shirts

With need to move briskly from Kalimantan to the next rally stop on the island of Belitung , nearly 300 miles away, we leave as soon as our orangutan cruise is over. It’s a tiresome trip with motoring and motor-sailing most of the way, adverse currents and a shipping lane, plus many tugs that pull big loads of coal or oil or goodness-knows-what across the Java Sea.  

Small island Belitung boasts white sandy beaches and crystal clear water, and seems popular with Indonesians from Java and Sumatra. We have an organised coach trip to the town, our unflappable and smiling guide, Kiki, keen to show us the local sights (school, traditional house, market, dancing, snacks, meals, boat building et al.) and is only a little put out that no-one was up for karaoke on the return journey.

And then we’ve had a day of leisure on a gorgeous little islet decorated with huge rounded granite boulders, and the happy spectacle of young Indonesian girls learning to swim (or float at least) which they do with headscarfs and full dress, and lots of giggling…..but I had no camera…

Bali, Menjangan, Raas, Bawean

19th September to 5th OctoberThe days pass very quickly, as we meander our fabulous route across central and now western Indonesia. The staggering variety, colour, diversity and beauty of these islands coupled with the warmth and kindness of Indonesians means senses glow with appreciation and gratitude. We sail across a dreamlike world of surreal beauty and magical warmth.

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Bali has for many decades been the main focus of Indonesia’s tourism. And although I weep at the changes inflicted on villages of my early experiences – Ubud the prime example – there is still the appealing pervasive Balinese Hindu culture of festivals, of scented offerings, of gorgeous colours, spiritual meaning and dignified elegant dancing.

A few of the 800 village women who will dance on the beach at Lovina at start of Festival

In just a few days on Bali we had welcome ceremonies, rambles through paddy fields, art galleries, temples, schools, markets, a bull race, big dances, little dances, gamelan music and mega-amplified pop music, the inevitable ‘gala dinner’ and just time for a couple of ice creams

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…before…it was time to weigh anchor and……via a night in north west Bali’s National Park (snorkelling) and another night in Rass Islands off eastern Madura…

We reach the island of Bawean.

North Bawean Anchorage (and my motorcycle driver on first day)

This is the first time a rally has stopped at Bawean. And foreigners rarely visit. So there’s the delight, after Bali’s tourist hordes, of empty roads, not a souvenir shop in sight and a more spontaneous smiling chaotic welcome. A local student gives me a lift to town on her motorbike (to top up internet – a contemporary sailors’ staple)

Early next morning Henrietta’s crew mount motorcycles, my own driver, Alvan, a slight, safe and gentle 16-year old, unphased by a retired Englishman clinging on behind; and the four of us (that’s Caroline, Joyce, Ann and me) putter and roar and bump our ways through tranquil villages waving happily and marvelling at life’s rich landscapes.

My young motorcyclist, Alvan, who takes me round Bawean

A swim in mystical lake (firmly warned against swimming far off shore), village of local batik, dance and music, plus the inevitable stops for ATMs, lunch and supplies….then, as if we’d not already had a full day, a long evening bouncing across Bawean in pickups to yet another gala dinner…oh!

A freshwater swim with my crew

With stop at hot spring – I know not why! Then dinner where I’m refreshing my Indonesian with an important politician’s proud mother, her son, an MP, back from Jakarta to develop his island’s tourist appeal (an airport has just been finished). I think I’m to be enlisted as skipper for her large motor vessel. She’s a charming and determined lady (with clout), so it’s time to bid a polite farewell and bounce back in pickup to peaceful relieved sleep aboard Henrietta.

The island of Bawean has been another delightful treat….but it’s already time to head north towards Kalimantan (if you hadn’t heard of it, it’s Indonesia part of Borneo – the lion’s share)….

Phew….it’s getting hotter

Flores, Sumbawa, Komodo, Lombok

1st to 18th September

Nusa Tenggara (Southeast Islands) forms part of the lesser Sunda Islands. It’s one of the world’s most geologically active areas, the recent Lombok earthquake and backdrop of volcanos a reminder of that.

We sailed from east to west. Winds have been fickle, much affected by the high volcanic islands and high temperatures, and there’ve been many hours motoring and a day or two of very strong headwinds and choppy sea.Flores (you may not have heard of it but it’s about 200 miles long, thus dwarfing its Azores namesake at the western extreme of Europe), has some low key tourism – tourists begin to burst the seams of Bali and now spread eastwards, chiefly to Lombok and Komodo National Park but also to Sumbawa and Flores.With friends from a fellow Najad yacht, we enjoyed a long day out in the Flores countryside, our driver, Hans, friendly and very helpful in finding us culture, hot springs, traditional Ngada villages, mountainside stops, fruit market and boxes of beer. Here are some photos.

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We potter along the northern coast of Flores, anchoring in empty spots, as we’ve done elsewhere, often off little islets where we may snorkel, privileged to enjoy the beauty and colourful diversity of coral life. Komodo National Park comprises a few islands at the western end of Flores. It includes several endemic species, the best-known being the Komodo dragon. Weighing in at up to three metres and 90 kg it’s the world’s biggest lizard. Considering it’s a pretty vile beast, a carnivore that may even eat its own young, and poops white faeces coloured by the bones of its victims etc, it attracts a lot of tourists. Our anchorage off the island of Rinca, home to most of the dragons, is busy all day as hundreds of foreign and Indonesian visitors flock ashore. By evening it’s quiet and calm, just a handful of us visiting yachts watching the monkeys and birds along the shoreline.

Next morning our ranger guide, I think named Primus, takes us on the ‘long’ two hour walk in search of these fascinating but loathsome dragons. He carries a forked stick for dragon defence purposes, and it doesn’t take long to find one – possibly lurking up on a harmless and gentle water buffalo (which it chooses to leave alone). Enough…a few photos….There’s little time in the rally programme for lingering, and we opt to catch up a bit by sailing overnight along most of Sumbawa’s northern coastline, reaching Pulau Moyo and, next day, the small town of Badas. The annual festival, Moyo Tambora, is underway and we join many friends and hundreds of Indonesians for typically generous friendly helpful welcome, and tantalising glimpses of local culture.

Next stop heading west is the island of Lombok, first night anchored beneath the imposing sight of Mount Rinjani, a semi-active volcano (its summit about 3,700 metres); and next night the anchorage in the northwest, Medana Bay, its ‘Marina’ just two stubs of wobbly pontoon (but shower, helpfulness, bar/restaurant, et al. a real treat.

The recent earthquake was centred near this corner of Lombok, and the damage is widespread. Indonesians have many years’ experience of natural disasters, and cleaning up and rebuilding have started, though it will be a long time before the rubble and cracks are cleared, let alone the human pain. Kimi and Trevor, energetic youthful Americans from the rally, have instigated a project to build a new schoolroom, so many of us spend a few hours or days shovelling rubble, shifting earth and assembling the bamboo frame that will form the basis of the new structure.

Despite the trauma of earthquake, there’s a memorable happy afternoon when we eat with local villagers, who have prepared baskets and trays of food, and afterwards enjoy wonderful drum music and dancing; the colourful diversity of local music and dance endlessly fascinating……..

Additional crew joined us in Lombok, so now we have the warm wise helpful good-natured Irish Anne with us too: ‘Three women on a boat‘ (Henrietta) adds a new dimension to my more usual solo sailing life. (The book may follow in due course…but probably not)

Off we all sail to three popular tourist islands off this bit of Lombok, first stop at the most popular, Gili Trawangan. It would normally be crowded with party-focussed backpackers and holidaymakers, “The Indonesian Ibiza” according to Cruising Guide. But earthquake damage here was severe so it’s quiet, bars and restaurants largely empty or destroyed, and just a relative handful of tourist visitors cycling and snorkelling. Mooring buoys dragged off Trawangan so we anchored in strongish currents, and it was an uncomfortable night; we left early next day for Bali…..

Wakatobi and Buton and Bonerate

Wangi-Wangi (Wanci), Hoga and Buton (Pasar Wajo), Kalaotoa and Bonerate

12th to 31st August

Our guides and friends in Wangi Wangi, Agis, Jujus and Anti

(Above place names may be meaningless to you. We’ve not even touched the main island of Sulawesi, the world’s 11th largest island. Buton is itself quite a big island, 80 miles long, Wakatobi is a group of smaller islands, a National Park, renowned to keen divers but tricky to get to, so little visited. Incidentally, none of these names is pronounced ‘wanky wanky’.)

…who joined us for tea on Henrietta….

In the past month we’ve crawled haphazardly across about 700 miles of eastern Indonesia. It’s a truly huge country and it will take another two months for this rally to cover the next 1,200+ miles and innumerable anchorages on the way towards Singapore – or somewhere nearby. The term ‘Rally’ is, in any case, something of a misnomer (most folk much too independent and inclined to self-will; just a loyal few visiting all the rally venues) but it’s a convenient, sociable, recognised, supported way of muddling along – which is what most of us do anyway. And it’s a good way to introduce us to unvisited bits of Indonesia and its marvellous diverse culture and natural history.

From the last blog entry, in Central Maluku, we sailed a day and night, winds adequate for most of the hot sunny tropical way to Wakatobi. (We’re ‘off-Rally’ at this stage; not ready yet to risk more long Indonesian speeches.)

Wakatobi (named from larger islands of Wangi-Wangi, Kaledupa, Tomia and Binongko – it’s ok, you won’t be tested…) is a delight. In the capital of Wangi-Wangi, named Wanci, we’re welcomed warmly by VHF, led by piloting dinghy through the coral reef pass and instructed where to anchor, (holding’s not good, but it’s nice and close to mosques’ early loud insistent discordant calls to prayer and out of the path of local ferries).

For the three days spent exploring ashore, we have charming, pretty, willing, friendly guides/companions/chaperones named Agis, Amti and Jujuss (17, 17 and 15 years old). They want to practice English and excuse themselves from school. There’s a week of pre-Independence anniversary stuff going on anyway, so schools’ classes are all over the place, and youngsters join streams of processing junior half-mast goose-steppers stomping smartly through crowd-lined dusty streets, Indonesia’s red-white flags fluttering everywhere.

Our laundry is done (everything both spotless and ironed), papers handed in, etc, then our young guides A, A and J lead us off. On day two, Jujuss organises her special tour for us, hand-picked venues with car, driver and all five of us. We’re invited to her home for lunch and her mother (herself only 30) has prepared a fine meal. Remember J is only 15!

You won’t read it if I write too many details so just a few photos, and I’ll say we enjoyed a happy and informative few days with our hosts – especially walking round the fascinating Bajo Mola village (indigenous islanders dwelling in densely clustered, stilt-founded houses over water), a quiet couple of hours on sandy beach, and especially lunch with Jujuss’s family (despite the harsh reality of sitting/eating decorously at floor level – if you’re over 65, European male and don’t do yoga, sitting for much time on a hard floor is pretty troublesome – if you ever want to stand up again).

After Wanci, it was a slow day sailing over to the much smaller island of Hoga. It’s heavenly: white sandy beach, crystal clear water, unspoilt coral and the widest variety of reef fishes I’ve ever seen. (I read there are over 1,000 different species, but it’ll take a long time to recognise and name even 100.)

A slide show of the last photos from my ‘waterproof’ camera, which wasn’t..

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Hoga is hardly populated; it’s apparently ‘owned/operated/leased’ by a UK company that enables international researchers (Operation Wallacea) to visit and study coral life. A handful of more off-track backpackers are in evidence; and two dozen young New Zealander marine scientists from Wellington University arrive as we leave – they must find the beauty, peace and warmth of the place a delight from the bustle and icy blasts of Wellington’s winter.

And from Hoga it was a long day’s sail over the 55 miles to Buton (day sailing always preferable when there are so many unlit, poorly marked fishing boats and FADs).

Back with most of the Rally fleet in Buton and the anchorage at Pasar Wajo, there’re lots of quasi-organised events, catch-up chatter, local hospitality and more. The girls have day trips to Bau-Bau (Buton’s capital) and markets and the local ‘entertainment’ (5,000 dancers/singers/speeches – partaking in one of Indonesia’s many festivals), returning laden with gifts to eat and exquisite local sarongs. I missed out but have photos, some of which I share with you now.

From the big island of Buton, we head south, independent of rally once more – a fine day and starry night’s sailing – then spend a night at Kalaotoa (peaceful, isolated and somewhat mysterious) and next night, Bonerate (traditional boat building, a wedding, some more wondrous coral, yet somewhat spoiled with sandy foreshore of plastic detritus …maybe more another time….

Some photos from Bonerate….

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